Eveline paced the short distance between the sofa and fireplace, working the cross on her necklace between her forefinger and thumb. “I must ask. Can you break the curse without the book? Do you have the spell memorized?”
All eyes turned on Mercy, and her stomach tightened.
“The words, yes,” she said, glancing at Victor. “But there’s more to casting a spell than the words. There’s an incantation to the goddess, Freya, in the beginning, and instructions on how to prepare the space to set the mood and how to arrange the stones.” She shook her head. “In order to cast the spell properly, I need the book. This is too important.”
“Very well,” Eveline said, squaring her shoulders. “We’ll inform Hatchet of our revised plan.”
The moment Eveline and Dominick exited the room, Victor held Mercy’s hand. “It’s here somewhere. We found the stones. We’ll find the book. But until this business is settled, I don’t wish for you to be alone. May I come to you tonight? Even if it is to sleep on the chaise lounge. Please, Mercy. Otherwise I might go mad with worry.”
His very life was in mortal danger, and yet he worried over her safety.
“Come to me tonight.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Victor strode down the corridor in complete darkness, his thoughts mired with the unsettling turn of events in the past twenty-four hours. He didn’t require a candle to find his way to the Golden Room.
“Would you slow down?” his father called from the bottom of the stairwell. “Please, wait for me. I’m sure you’re overacting.”
Hell, no, he wouldn’t wait! He should’ve arrived over an hour earlier to Mercy’s bedroom, but the conversation with his father had taken an interesting turn, which required further exploration.
Turned out, the secret chamber he’d discovered with Ambrose’s guidance was not an anomaly. There were multiple hidden passageways and chambers throughout the castle. Disturbing, to say the least, because one of them lay directly beyond Mercy’s closet, and several of the family’s most trusted servants were privy to its existence. Which gave them unfettered access to her bedroom.
He quickened his pace as fear clawed at his gut. She was in danger. He felt it in every fiber of his being. There were too many signs to ignore. Vivian’s locked coffin. The missing spell book. Someone didn’t want the Blackburn curse broken, and Mercy was the last obstacle.
When he arrived at the Golden Room, he charged inside. Coals smoldered in the fireplace but offered little light. Still, he could see the outline of Mercy’s bed . . . and a shadowy figure hovering over her.
His heart skipped a beat.
“Stop, you there!” he shouted, running head-on at the figure.
His nemesis turned and swung an object, connecting with the side of his head.
• • •
Mercy woke with a start. She sat up and peered into the darkness of her bedroom, disoriented. The door to her closet slammed shut. Why was someone in her closet? She stumbled out of bed, literally. She tripped over a body and screamed.
Victor groaned.
“Oh, goodness,” Mercy said, kneeling by his side. She could not make out a single feature of his face. “Victor, are you all right? What happened?”
“Closet,” Victor whispered. “Don’t go into the closet.”
Lord Blackburn entered her bedroom, his gaze frantically searching the room. He marched toward her, his candle held high. “What happened?” he demanded.
“I haven’t a clue,” she hissed while rubbing Victor’s cheek. “One minute ago I was fast asleep. Shouting and banging doors tore me from my slumber. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”
“Don’t go . . . ” Victor whispered again and then fainted.
Lord Blackburn kneeled and held the candle to his son’s face. A small gash on the side of his head trickled blood. Not life threatening, but he would suffer a terrible headache when he woke.
“What is in my closet?” Mercy asked, staring at Lord Blackburn. “I’m sure I heard it slam shut only moments before you arrived.”
“The secret chamber,” Lord Blackburn said. He jumped to his feet, racing to the closet. He disappeared inside while Mercy gaped after him. Secret chamber? She glanced at Victor. Should she follow his father or stay with him?
Dominick and Eveline charged into the room, and she made her choice.
“Stay with Victor,” she cried, wobbling to her feet. “He took a hit to the side of the head, but I think he’ll be fine. Don’t let anyone else in,” she added, pausing at the closet door. “Lord Blackburn is pursuing the perpetrator.”
Dominick shook his head. “That’s far too dangerous. You stay with Eveline. Lock the chamber door.” He glanced about the room. “And put that chair under the closet door handle. Do not open this door unless you hear me or Lord Blackburn.”
And with that final command, he disappeared into the closet as well.
“Come care for him,” Eveline said, waving Mercy over to Victor. “I’ll secure the room.”
Eveline handed her a wet cloth, and Mercy dabbed it against the gash, clearing away the blood. He moaned and pulled away before his eyes fluttered open.
“You’re going to have a headache,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.
He perched himself up on one elbow and winced. “I’m afraid I already do.” His gaze connected with hers for a brief moment, and then he rested his forehead on her lap, sighing. “You didn’t go into the closet. Thank you.”
“I would’ve,” she admitted, “but Dominick wouldn’t allow it. He and your father are chasing after your assailant. We’ve been ordered to remain here, under lock and key, until they return.”
“Good man,” he said, coming to a sitting position. He smiled at Eveline. “I thank you as well. Without you here to keep an eye on her, she would’ve been fast on their heels.”
Eveline’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you calling me a coward?”
He laughed and then winced. “Not at all. You’re a very sensible woman. That was a compliment.”
“I’m not a sensible woman?” Mercy asked, getting to her feet.
Victor scowled and climbed to his feet, using the bed to assist him. He sat on the edge and rubbed the base of his neck. “Don’t play word games with me when I’ve just had my head bashed in. It isn’t very sporting of you. Of course you’re sensible. In most things. You agreed to marry me.”
“True, but I was under the influence of a potent drug at the time.”
“Cheeky girl,” he said with a growl, though the corners of his mouth twitched.
The closet door rattled on its hinges, and Eveline crept closer to it. “Who is there?”
“Lord Blackburn,” came the reply.
She pulled the chair away, and Lord Blackburn and Dominick stormed into the room, their expressions grim.
“No luck catching the perp?” Victor asked, standing.
Dominick shook his head. “Milton stopped into the kitchen for a midnight snack in his cap and gown. Gave your father quite a scare, but the butler didn’t see anyone sneaking about the halls either. I gather your assailant was fully clothed, and we can rule out Milton?”
Victor sighed, rubbing his temples. “It was dark, but Milton is much too tall.”
“Our search wasn’t a complete loss,” Lord Blackburn said, his eyes trained on Mercy. “You must come see what we’ve discovered.”
Gooseflesh rippled over her forearms. Why was he looking at her in that way? She hadn’t known a secret chamber lay hidden behind her closet. Taking a steadying breath, she trudged forward.
“Lead on,” she said.
Victor’s father ducked his head low and exited the back of the closet through a small panel that had been pushed to the side. The secret chamber boasted a square wood table in the center, plenty of shelves for storage, and a wide hearth that was also set deep.
But Mercy’s attention was riveted on the pedestal at the far end of the table that hosted a round, shallow stone bowl. Her
fingers ached to touch the smooth surface and pour a thin layer of water inside.
“This belonged to Vivian Thorne,” she said, tracing her finger over the initials VT inscribed in the bottom of the bowl. It was a twin to the bowl Mercy’s family had owned for generations through Elizabeth Thorne. “What is this room?”
Lord Blackburn pinned her with a baleful stare. “The Golden Room once belonged to Vivian Blackburn, named after her golden hair and fair complexion. She commissioned a workroom. But it hasn’t been used in centuries.”
“Only it has been used,” Mercy said. She breathed the air, noting hints of jasmine. “This morning, in fact. We could smell the brew in my bedroom earlier.”
An ancient cauldron hung on a hook beside the fireplace, drawing Mercy’s curiosity. Her stomach grew queasy as she neared it. She glanced at Victor and saw the recognition in his eyes.
“Was it you?” Lord Blackburn asked, his brow cocked, almost challenging. “You’re the only one who practices witchcraft in this household.”
She leaned over the cauldron and inhaled deeply, isolating the various scents lingering in the pot. Someone was brewing Elizabeth Thorne’s love potion. And she had the horrible notion that she knew who it was. The pieces were falling into place. The evidence seemed irrefutable.
“Hear me out,” she said, turning to the company at large. “You may find what I have to say bordering on insane, but please, listen closely. Our lives depend upon it.” She peered over her shoulder, scanning the room. “Are you certain we’re alone? No one can hear us?”
Lord Blackburn nodded, and Victor came to stand by her side. They all crowded in.
“We all share the fear that someone wishes to thwart our efforts to break the Blackburn curse. And I think I have reasoned out who it is.” She bit her lip and sought Victor’s gaze. “Mrs. Hart is Elizabeth Thorne.”
Dead silence greeted her. Followed by nervous glances at one another. And wide, concerned eyes. They questioned her sanity. Every single one of them.
“Are you mad?” Lord Blackburn finally shouted, stalking away from their close- knit circle. “I cannot believe this. Mediums and ghosts. Witchcraft and spells. And now I’m to believe that a centuries-old witch walks among us. No, ma’am. I will not. You ask too much of me. I must draw a line in the sand here. You’re behind this entire debacle, only my son is too bewitched to see the goddamned truth!”
Victor stared at her, a riot of emotions vacillating in his eyes. He had to believe her. Her theory was fantastical but supported by data.
“Listen to me,” she said, her eyes directed on Victor, and Victor alone. She had a short window of opportunity to convince him of the truth before he locked her away and tossed the key. “The Brisingamen necklace was handcrafted by the Black Dwarves and is reputed to hold mystical powers of youth and beauty. Why is the necklace in her possession? You saw it as plainly as I did.” His brow knitted, and she pressed on. “She dyes her hair black. We found the ingredients in her box, and I recall dark smudges beneath her fingernails when we met.”
“Many women dye their hair,” Lord Blackburn growled. “What nonsense is this?”
She ignored his tirade and held Victor’s gaze. “Think on her high cheekbones and the shape of her nose. I couldn’t place the connection when I first saw her, but wash away the black dye, and she is the spitting image of Vivian Blackburn. They’re twin sisters. You saw her face in the coffin. Think on it!”
A glimmer of surprise lit in his eyes, and she smiled. “Mrs. Duncan died after we located the second amber stone. You discovered a thumbprint smudged on her neck. It smelled of hay. Henna is a key ingredient in hair dye, and it reeks of hay or earth. And Mrs. Hart hired on within a short period. Too short. How many housekeepers interviewed for the position?”
Victor blinked and swallowed. “One. Her letter of reference was on my father’s desk the day after the incident, along with two or three others. None of them were qualified but her. I didn’t think . . . ”
He was beginning to hear her, to follow her reasoning. “Who else is powerful enough to cast an enchantment spell? Elizabeth wants Vivian to suffer for all eternity. She’ll do everything imaginable to stop us from breaking the curse.” Mercy squeezed his hands. “I also think she wants you for herself. She’s brewing love potion. And you’re the spitting image of Ambrose. Elizabeth never stopped loving him.”
“What of the spell book?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, massaging her temple. “Perhaps she plans to reverse the curse herself after you’ve taken the love potion. This is her opportunity to reclaim the love of her life.”
“But why now?” Eveline asked.
Mercy shrugged. “As far as I know, none of my ancestors have attempted to break the Blackburn curse. Perhaps Elizabeth felt compelled to intervene, and once she did, she was enchanted by Victor and his resemblance to Ambrose. You saw her that first morning while he gave her a tour of the castle.”
“On my word, you cannot buy into her tall tale,” Lord Blackburn said.
“That’s enough, Father,” Victor said, catching him by the forearm. “I’ve seen the necklace. We found it locked in Mrs. Hart’s chest. And there is no doubt the housekeeper bears an uncanny resemblance to Vivian Blackburn. Everything Mercy has said rings true. I know you struggle to accept the supernatural, and I can’t blame you. For years, I denied it as well. But I’ve seen things in the past two months that defy my tightly held beliefs. We cannot ignore the facts or the possibility that what Mercy suggests is true. To do so may cost lives. So I’m begging you to hold your tongue and follow my lead in this matter.”
Lord Blackburn’s shoulders sagged. “But how will we ever know the truth? You cannot hope to confront her. If she is Elizabeth Thorne, she must be dangerous. Deadly, even.”
Dominick nodded and leaned against the worktable. “I’m at a loss for words.”
As was Mercy. Her head had started to throb while Victor reasoned with his father. There was no way to prove her theory. And she was much too tired to think of a way out of their predicament. Elizabeth Thorne lived among them and had reclaimed the Tome of the Accursed. But where had she hidden it?
“We can’t confront her,” Eveline said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “But we can open her coffin. It rests next to Vivian’s, does it not? If it is empty, that would strongly suggest Mercy’s theory is true.”
Dominick kissed his fiancée full on the lips and grinned. “You, my dear, are brilliant.” He consulted his pocket watch and glanced at Victor. “Might I suggest we visit the crypt while everyone sleeps? I don’t know about you, but I won’t get a moment of rest until we know what is, or is not, in that coffin.”
“You can accompany me and Mercy to the chapel,” Victor said, taking her hand, “while my father remains in the castle with Eveline, keeping a watchful eye on the staff. Milton mills about at odd hours, but I don’t want anyone else knowing of our late-night activities.” He glanced at his father. “Wake Hatchet if you wish. But please, do not share what you’ve learned tonight with anyone else. Not even Mother. The fewer people who know, the better. At least until we have a plan.”
Victor draped Mercy’s coat over her shoulders and handed her a pair of gloves. Within minutes, they were on the path leading west to the chapel. The night air was cold on her cheeks, and she shivered, more from anticipation than the wind.
A colony of bats screeched in the night. She jerked in surprise and glanced up at the west tower, watching as the dark cloud of birds careened into the forest. A flicker of light in the highest window of the tower caught her attention.
“I thought you said the west tower had been abandoned years ago,” she said, tugging on his arm.
He looked down at her, his brow lifted. “It is abandoned.”
“Then why can I see a light?”
They paused and stared at the tower. The flickering light faded, and Victor stiffened under her hold.
“I’ll have Hatchet investigate tomorrow,�
�� he said, resuming their clipped pace.
The surrounding forest was alive with night creatures scurrying through the fallen leaves. Crickets chirped, and owls hooted. And the nearly full moon shot beams of light through the trees, illuminating the path and bringing the chapel into view.
Mercy peered over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling of being watched.
“We’re alone, lass,” Victor said, patting her arm. “No need to worry.”
They hurried along the path and entered the chapel. Warm air enveloped her, relieving some of the tension in her body. She offered a prayer to her goddess as they walked the length of the aisle to the apse. Victor lifted the door to the crypt, and Dominick entered first. Mercy trailed behind him, with Victor bringing up the rear.
He didn’t bother lighting the wall sconces but handed his lantern to Mercy as he fished the key out of his pocket. She held her breath, he slid the key into the lock, and the coffin lid popped open.
“Oh, goodness,” she gasped.
The coffin was empty, except for the Tome of the Accursed, which lay in the center of the velvet lining.
“It appears we have our answer,” Dominick said, collecting the tome. “I’ll take this for safekeeping tonight. Tomorrow we can gather after breakfast and determine our next steps.”
“Our next step is clear,” Mercy said, staring into Victor’s eyes. “We break the curse tonight, by the light of the moon. Waiting would be sheer folly.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mercy scanned Vivian’s secret chamber one last time, ensuring everything was in order. An herbal stew of rosemary, sage, periwinkle, and balm of Gilead simmered in a bowl, saturating the air with its calming essence. It was within these four walls that the deception between the two family lines began, and so it would mark the location where trust was restored.
After accepting a taper from Victor, she lit three white candles forming a half circle in the center of the table. The soft glow of firelight illuminated the pages of the Tome of the Accursed, opened to the appropriate page.
Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2) Page 23