A minute passed. Silence from the other side. No lights shone from the windows. Last I’d checked the clock on the dashboard, it had read close to midnight. I sighed and rang it again.
An echoing click sounded from the door, and I jumped.
The door opened and a man stood there. He wore a formal black jacket over silk pajamas. Both hung off his lean frame and he stooped a little at the shoulders. His dark hair was thin and combed straight back. “Can I help you?” He seemed unruffled considering the time of my visit.
“Um, yeah, I’m Tara Godfrey. We’re here to see Astor DeLuca.”
“We?” His brow rose, a gesture that elongated his nose.
“Oh, my friend and me. He’s there.”
I pointed and the man craned his neck to peer around the corner. He didn’t register any surprise at the fact that George was unconscious. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked.
“An …? No.” I stared at him, trying to decide if he was being serious. “I’ve come a long way and my friend is sick. It’s an emergency.”
“Hmm. I’ll see if he’s available.” He started to turn away.
“I’m his niece,” I added.
The man turned back, expression still neutral. He peered down at me. “You’re Tara, you say?” he asked finally.
“Yes. My father was Jeremiah DeLuca.”
“Hrmph,” he said. Then he closed the door.
I blinked once, twice. By the third time, heat coursed through me. Tears stung my eyes. I’d come all this way to be turned away at the door? I looked over at George. He was still slumped against the side of the house, unmoving. The entire side of his face was raised and red with the beginnings of what would surely be a nasty bruise.
I heard a noise, the sound of the lock being turned over, and sucked in a breath. The door inched open, and a pair of deep-set eyes set against bushy, white eyebrows peered out at me. “You’re Tara?”
“Yes.”
He continued to stare.
“Are you Astor?”
He straightened and swung the door wide. “Well, I ain’t the Pope. Get in here, then.”
I took a hasty step forward and then stopped on the threshold, gesturing to George. “My friend. He’s sick.”
He waved a hand, dismissing it. “Jeeves’ll get him. Come on.” He turned in his fuzzy brown slippers and headed down a long, dimly lit hallway spanning left.
I hesitated a second longer. I didn’t see “Jeeves” anywhere and I wasn’t about to leave George lying on the porch.
“Jeeves!” Astor yelled.
I jumped.
The man who’d first answered the door appeared from a side hallway.
“Get that boy off the porch,” Astor told him.
“Where shall I put him, sir?”
“Put him in the east wing and lock the door. I smell something not quite right on that one.” Jeeves nodded and headed for the open doorway. “Let’s get on with it,” Astor said as he resumed his trek down the hall. Behind me, Jeeves was already working at dragging George into the foyer. With nothing else to do but follow, I hurried after the strange man.
At the end of the hall, we turned right, and I found myself in an open room. All of the furniture had been pushed back and stacked haphazardly against the wall. In the center of the room stood an easel speckled with various colors of paint. Beside the easel sat a small side table littered with brushes and jars and rags. What had once been a white cloth covered the floor underneath my feet. It was hard to tell if there was more paint on the easel or the cloth.
Astor closed the door behind me with a decisive click. “How did you find me?” he asked, eyeing me sharply.
“Vera Gallagher, sir,” I said.
“Vera sent you here? You mean, you’re not here to arrest me?”
“Arrest you?” I echoed, thoroughly confused. “No, I came to ask for your help. I’m your niece, or great-niece, or something. My father was Jeremiah.”
“Jeremy?”
“Um, yes, Jeremiah DeLuca, leader of The Cause. Married to Elizabeth Godfrey.”
He locked his hands behind his back and chewed his lip, lost in thought. “Huh.”
He walked to the easel and began fiddling with the bottles of paint. He selected a bottle and faced the easel, a short distance away. He brought his arm back and, in a look of deep concentration, flung the contents of the bottle at the canvas. Cobalt paint splattered this way and that, mostly on the floor beyond. He grunted and went back to his bottles.
“Sir?” I said when he didn’t speak again. “I mean, Astor. My friend George was injected with a serum that’s going to turn him into a Werewolf. It’s a dangerous mixture and his body can’t handle it. If I don’t help him, he’s going to become a monster, without any humanity or reason. I was told you might be able to help us.”
“And who told you that?” he asked without turning.
“Vera … and Miles DeLuca.”
A tremor went through Astor, a violent tremble that shook him from shoulder to knees. He raised his hand and pointed a bony finger at me. “Don’t you say that name to me. That man is evil and I won’t lift a finger to help him. If you’re working with him, you can forget it. Get out, get out!”
His demands turned into screams and I backed away, at a loss. I had no idea what brought on the sudden outburst, or how to fix it. Every time I opened my mouth to reassure him I wasn’t working with Miles, he only screamed louder.
“Get out, get out!” he repeated. His hands were clamped over his ears, drowning out my rebuttals.
I backed toward the door, trying to remember the way out. Then I remembered Astor telling Jeeves to take George to the east wing. I had no idea where that was. This house was huge. I started to say that to Astor, but he continued to rail at me. His screams drowned out my own. His eyes had gone wild and unfocused and I ducked just in time to avoid taking an orange bottle of paint in the face. I backed up and the flat surface of the door brushed against me. I felt for the latch, afraid to take my eyes off Astor, and ducked another bottle of paint.
I flung the door open, ready to flee, and pulled up short. A familiar figure stood in the hall, blocking my path. Her red hair hung in fiery waves around her shoulders, her petite frame wrapped in a thin robe.
“Hello, Tara.”
I blinked. “Professor Flaherty?”
Her gaze flickered to Astor, who’d come up behind me still ranting. “I see you’ve caught him at a bad time,” she said. I nodded, unsure how else to respond. “Give me just a moment, don’t go anywhere,” she said, sweeping past me.
She went to Astor and gently took his hands away from where he’d held them over his ears. He kept his eyes on hers as she spoke. I couldn’t hear the words but her tone was gentle, soft. After a moment, his body went slack, as if he’d given up the tantrum, and he let her lead him away. I stood aside as she guided him down the hall.
“This way, Tara, if you don’t mind,” she called as they passed. The way she leaned into him, the way he responded to her, were they … a couple? It was too weird, and unexpected, not to mention she was half his age. Then again, after the shock of Vera and Kane, I couldn’t discount the possibility.
Professor Flaherty took a different hallway than the way we’d come. This one was narrower and lined with doors, all closed, all the same shade of brown. Some were labeled with small plaques on the wall beside them: “Lab 1,” “Lab 2,” and “Supply.” She stopped before an unlabeled door and opened it. I stood a fair distance away, feeling like an intruder as more whispered words were exchanged. At last, she patted Astor’s arm and he disappeared inside.
She walked back to where I waited, smiling. “Sorry about that. He doesn’t do well with surprises,” she said. “I was just on my way to get some tea. Would you like some?”
“Um, sure.”
“The kitchen is this way.”
I fell into step beside her as we made our way back through the maze of halls. The sconce lamps became closer together as we
walked, and I thought I recognized the main hall I’d come in through. We passed the foyer and the front door and continued on, stepping down into a low-ceilinged room.
Professor Flaherty motioned to the small, high-topped table against the wall and I sat and looked around. Counters, cabinets, appliances—everything was white and modern and made softer by the hanging lights set on dim.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, filling a stainless steel teapot with water.
“Maybe later,” I said, ignoring the emptiness in my stomach. “First …”
“First you want to know what I’m doing here?” she finished.
I attempted a smile. “I’m a little curious.”
Professor Flaherty continued making tea. Her back was to me but the set of her shoulders was relaxed, as if she’d anticipated my questions or, at the very least, didn’t mind them. “He’s not entirely insane, you know,” she said while she worked. “He has his good days and bad days.”
“I’m guessing today was not a good day?”
“Actually, it was, but then, he’s not used to having midnight visitors, either. Or visitors at any time, really.” She set the kettle on the burner and turned to face me. “Aside from me, you’re the first in ten years.”
I gawked at her. “No one’s visited him in ten years?”
“Close to it. I think it was Millie Hayes from the Baptist Church. Or so Mathias tells me.”
“Mathias?” I repeated.
“Yes, he works for Astor, keeping up the grounds and overseeing operations. Tall, thin, stooped shoulders.”
“Astor told me his name was Jeeves.”
She laughed. “He likes to mess with Mathias. They’ve been friends since childhood. It’s a unique relationship.”
“So his name is Mathias?”
“Yes, though he’ll answer to almost anything these days, with all of Astor’s nicknames. Anyway, Mathias tells me all of the comings and goings when I’m away at school. According to him, that sweet, old church lady was the last.”
“Oh.” I was trying to piece it together as she talked. Did she mean she lived here—with Astor—
when she wasn’t teaching at Wood Point? “So what did he do to her?”
“To whom?”
“The church lady. You said she was the last. Did he … do something?”
“Oh, heavens, no.” She laughed. “I just meant no one has come since, from the human world or otherwise. And you can be sure no one will, especially from our world.”
“I see.” I couldn’t help but feel relieved.
“And what about you?” she asked. “How did you get here? And what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”
She was poking in the fridge now, assembling the makings of a sandwich. “George, my friend, he’s sick,” I answered.
She paused to crinkle her brows. “George … is that the hostage Miles used to get to you at Wood Point?”
I hesitated. Coming here to ask Astor for help was one thing, but I had no idea where Professor Flaherty’s true loyalties lay. What if I told her about George and she called CHAS? Or Kane? I knew they were friends.
“Tara?” she prompted. Her face clouded. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can keep a secret. As evidenced by what you see before you.” She gestured to the room around us and slid a plate in front of me: a turkey sandwich, with the works. My stomach grumbled. I caved. On both counts.
“George’s sickness isn’t … human,” I said. “Miles injected him with the serum he used to create the hybrids. Only, it doesn’t work the same on humans. They can’t handle it. They become something else. Something with no humanity. They aren’t themselves anymore.” I spoke around mouthfuls of food.
Professor Flaherty didn’t seem to mind. Her mouth was drawn and she tapped a finger against her chin, like she was concentrating on the story.
“And you think Astor can help him how?”
“Miles told me there’s one way to help George’s body adjust properly to the change. He said my blood would heal him. I want to know if that’s true. And if not, I want to know another way.”
“And where is George now?”
“Jeeves—I mean Mathias—put him in the east wing when we got here. He’s sort of unconscious.” Her brows rose in an unspoken question. “He was beginning to change in the car, and—oh, my car!” I slapped my forehead. I’d completely forgotten.
“Where is it?” she asked. I told her about George fleeing and how we’d ended up here. “I’ll have Mathias retrieve it in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
“You were saying? About George?”
“Oh, I had to chase him. I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t even think he knew it was me anymore. I had to knock him out in the driveway.”
“You hit him?” The corners of her mouth twitched.
I nodded and grimaced. “In the face. He’s going to kill me when he wakes up.”
She chuckled. “You’re always a surprise, Tara. Your poor mother …” her smile faded. “Speaking of, does she know you’re here? And Edie, your grandmother?”
“Yes,” I said, though the hesitation in my voice was obvious.
“And they’re okay with you being here?”
“Define ‘okay.’”
She clicked her tongue. “I’m calling your mother in the morning,” she said sternly. “She’s probably worried sick. I know what people say about Astor, and I can’t imagine she’s all right with you being here.”
I couldn’t argue with her calling my mom. I’d always known at some point, they’d come to haul me back. I just needed to make sure I had my answers before then. “Do you think Astor will talk to me?” I asked.
“We won’t know that until tomorrow,” she said. “He’s not the sort that can be made to do something against his will. Miles contacted him, you know, a couple of years ago. He wanted Astor to work for him, but Astor wouldn’t even let him in the front door. I’m told there were a few letters, a phone call, but he was adamant, didn’t even care about the project details. He’d made up his mind.”
“That’s why he was so upset with me tonight. He thinks I’m in league with Miles. He must think that’s how George was injected.”
“We’ll get it all straightened out tomorrow. In the meantime, let me see that hand.” I placed my hand in hers, wincing at the sight of my bruising, swollen knuckles. The pain had dulled to a low thud, but it flared again when she touched it. “This needs ice and some ointment. Tell you what, you finish that sandwich and I’ll go get the ointment and check on George.” She walked to the door.
“George is going to need some ointment too. His cheek was bleeding.”
She shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. “What would your friends do without you?”
Chapter Twelve
A creak in the mattress jolted me upright and goosebumps flared anew across my arms. I looked around, my memory hazy until I felt the soft cushion of the armchair against my back and remembered. Across the room, George shifted restlessly in the king-sized bed. He’d tossed and turned most of the night. The covers were a rumpled mess, knotted around him like a mummy suit.
After Professor Flaherty finished with her dose of first aid, she’d led me into a spare room, fully furnished, the covers turned down. The dark walls and stylish artwork reminded me of a five-star hotel. All I’d wanted was to sink between the sheets and down comforter and fade into oblivion, but I couldn’t get past my anxiety over George. He’d almost turned, and I wasn’t convinced the process wouldn’t begin anew as soon as he woke. I hadn’t been able to shake these goosebumps all night, a sure sign George was now more Werewolf than human.
I’d spent the night in the chair, in a corner of George’s room, watching him sleep. I’d spoken to Wes twice but he’d made me hang up and promise to rest. Now my hand was numb from propping up my chin while I dozed.
George’s blankets rustled again. He rolled over so he was facing me and I saw his eyes we
re open—and stained with yellow. I swallowed hard. He spotted me and his head came off the pillow. He winced, his progress slowing as he sat up.
“Tay, what are you doing in here?”
I sat forward, shifting my weight in case I needed to get up quickly. “How are you feeling?”
He frowned and seemed to be taking stock. He wiggled his jaw, his fingers pressing against his swollen and already bruising cheek. I hoped he liked the color purple. “Like I got hit by a bus. What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” He shook his head. “You started to shift last night, in the car, and then you ran. I had to … subdue you.”
He blinked and stared back at me for a minute. Slowly, understanding dawned. “You hit me?” He sounded more surprised than angry.
I nodded, feeling awful. “It knocked you out.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
I sat up straighter. “You’re not mad?”
“Of course not. Yeah, I’ve got a headache from hell, but I’m still me. You saved me, Tay.” He sat up, moving carefully, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“I didn’t think of it like that,” I said. I decided not to mention the yellow eyes just yet. Or the goosebumps. I’d give him a moment to wake up. He stood and swayed on his feet. I jumped up to help him but he waved me off.
“I’m good,” he said. “Besides, I don’t really want an escort for where I’m going. Do you know where the bathroom is?”
“Across the hall.”
I followed him as far as the hall and leaned against the doorframe while I waited. Mathias appeared from around the corner.
“Good morning, miss. Breakfast is in the sunroom with Master DeLuca,” he said. His pajamas had been replaced by a crisp white shirt and black pants. The suit jacket remained, as did the lack of personality or facial expression.
“Thanks,” I said. He gave a curt nod and turned back the way he’d come. “By the way,” I called after him. “Where exactly is the sunroom?”
He pointed down the hall behind me. “Go to the end and take a left, then an immediate right. You can’t miss it. The lilacs are fragrant this time of year.” Then he walked away.
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