Colin stared down at the portraits, shaking his head. “Listen, there has to be a logical, reasoned explanation. There is no fiend named Belzaria. The plaster was probably loose—the pictures have hung there for decades. Maybe an animal got in here and tore the portrait after it fell, then escaped.” He turned to Sinjun, gave her a brooding look. “And that brings up a question I’ve asked you over the years that you always refuse to answer. Why did you insist that Pearlin’ Jane’s portrait be hung here next to the husband who murdered her? I never wanted either of them here. You told me once, when I got you tipsy, that you owed it to her for what she’d done. But you refused to tell me what it was. Tell me now, Sinjun.”
She lightly laid her fingers against his cheek. “She asked me not to, Colin. It was important to her, and so I never shall. There’s nothing more.”
He knew there was a lot more, knew she was an excellent liar, something he admired. “Will you tell me once we’re in the afterlife, looking down at Philip and Rory and Dahling and all our grandchildren?”
“I might tell you when we’re looking down on our great-grandchildren,” she said.
Colin gave her a quick kiss and sighed. “I’ll commission an artist in Edinburgh to come and paint another portrait of Jane, all right? As for this idiot husband of hers, we’ll throw his portrait in the dustbin. Finally.”
“You’re a splendid husband,” she said, and leaned up to kiss him again. “I don’t think Jane will mind.”
Grayson wondered, watching them, if his wife Lorelei had lived and they survived together thirty years like Uncle Colin and Aunt Sinjun had, if there would still be such love between them. And secrets too, at least on Aunt Sinjun’s side. What had Pearlin’ Jane done for her that she couldn’t or wouldn’t tell Colin? He looked down at the ripped portrait. He fully expected Pearlin’ Jane to pay him another visit that night.
But Pearlin’ Jane didn’t wait that long.
Mrs. Flood, the Kinross housekeeper of twenty-two years, planted herself in the doorway, looking both scared and determined. Mrs. Flood was solid, unimaginative, and believed her mistress daft when she spoke of their resident doolie—ghost—as if she were a member of the household, though naturally she never said anything. She looked down at the two portraits on the floor and cleared her throat. “Mr. Hobbs refused to tell ye, my lady, he said I was all aboot in my upper works. A right feardie he is. Mrs. Hobbs tells me if it weren’t for the six lovely bairns he gave her, she’d be right sorry she married him thirty years ago.”
“What is the problem, Mrs. Flood?”
“My lady, Pearlin’ Jane is causing a ruckus in the kitchie, even though I know she canna be—any devout Christian would know it’s impossible for a doolie to do much of anything except flitter aboot. Please, ye must hurry.”
As they all ran down the long corridor to the nether regions, they heard screams and yells. When Grayson stepped into the vast Kinross kitchen, it was to see flour raining down, turning the air white, apples rolling out of a big bowl on the wooden table across the floor, and the door on the new Cumberside oven slamming shut, opening, then slamming shut again.
Sinjun put her hands on her hips and yelled, “Jane, that is quite enough! You have made a mess. Stop it. Tell me what you want, and I will do my best to get it done.”
The oven door continued its banging.
“I’m having your portrait painted anew,” Colin said.
The oven door snapped shut one final time.
There was immediate blessed silence except for the crying hiccups from Brenda, the scullery maid, and the occasional whimper from Teddy, the nine-year-old castle errand boy.
Jane evidently didn’t want to speak to Sinjun. She wanted Grayson. Come to the apple orchard, NOW.
Grayson said quietly, “Please, no more dramatics, Jane. I’m coming.”
The cook, Mrs. Keith, smoothed down her apron, tucked back in a strand of stone-gray hair, and curtsied to Colin. “Thank ye, my lord. Ye stopped the hurricane. I have never afore experienced a hurricane in my kitchie, but I suppose it could happen, what wi’ the planets hoppin’ aboot so close to each either this month.” She turned to her terrified staff and clapped her hands. “Let’s get back to work here. What a guddle, wi’ all the flour swirlin’ aboot, making the air white. Teddy, I will vreet ye a note, and ye will go to Mr. Gunn and buy us more flour.”
Mrs. Keith gave a small curtsy to Sinjun and Colin, then turned back to begin picking up the scattered apples on the flagstone floor.
Sinjun said, “Mrs. Flood, would you please ask Elspeth and Ina to come and assist Mrs. Keith?”
She turned on her husband. “Why ever is she thanking you? You did nothing except stand there and look lordly and in charge.” She said to Grayson, “It is too bad—she has always treated him like a god. And now this—Jane talked to you, didn’t she? Not me, to you, Grayson.”
Colin took his wife’s arm and led her out of the kitchen. He said over his shoulder, “So she wants you, does she, Grayson?”
“Yes,” Grayson said, “in the apple orchard, now.”
CHAPTER NINE
As Grayson made his way through the wildly colorful gardens, he clearly remembered one summer playing here with his cousins, James and Jason, climbing the trees, swinging from the thicker branches, throwing apples at each other, taking archery lessons from Aunt Sinjun, getting yelled at by their parents when Jason accidently shot an arrow that narrowly missed Hobbs the butler, come to give them sweet buns from Mrs. Keith.
So many years had passed. Now his cousins were married and there was a new batch of cousins playing here. He prayed it would continue far into the future. He smiled. No cousins to throw apples at today. Now he was an adult, thirty-one years old, and he was meeting with a ghost. Fancy that. He wondered if Jane liked being called a hurricane.
Life, he’d thought many times, was strange and infinitely interesting. He thought of the last time he and Pip had visited. Pip had loved the apple orchard as well, had spoken endlessly about the adventures he’d shared with his cousins here the year before.
Without pause, Grayson walked directly to the oldest apple tree, King Fergus he and his cousins had always called it. The tree stood in isolated splendor, baby apples thick on its leaved branches. He stood beside the tree and waited.
Silence, then the air around him began to churn and quiver. “Calm down, Jane, no more drama. I had a hard night with strange dreams Belzaria sent me.”
Everything stilled, quieted. It was as if all the animals, all the birds and insects, knew there was something here that didn’t belong in their world, and they wanted no part of it.
They were smart. Grayson said, “Jane, all you had to do was come talk to me or to Sinjun. You didn’t have to destroy Mrs. Keith’s kitchen. Why did you do that?”
The air heaved and twisted around him.
“I know you’re frightened of Belzaria. You need to calm yourself and tell me about her.”
I lost one of my pearls!
“No, no, it’s beside my bed. Colin saw it lying on the rug in my bedchamber.” He thought a minute. “Why didn’t you know where the pearl was, Jane? You seem to know about everything else.”
He’d swear her thoughts to him sounded defensive. I did ken, I did. Canna ye see I’m all pit aboot, my brains jibblin’ outta my heid? Did ye see what she did to my painting? An’ then she pulled down the bastart’s pitur an’ made it cover mine. She kens she has to kill me afore she can take Colin—she kens I’d protect him with my dyin’ breath.
You’re already dead, Jane, but it’s a nice thought. He said aloud, “Why on earth would she want to take Colin? Where would she take him?”
She wants him, powerful bad. Colin has counted many human years, but to a demon it only makes him more desirable. She would change him.
“And he would be doweless?”
Aye, that’s it, he wouldna be his own man. He’d be helpless—he’d be her slave.
Grayson remembered Sinjun telling him a
bout the new Lady Blackthorn eyeing Colin. He’d believed she was jealous, nothing more. Was it possible Lady Blackthorn was Belzaria, or was his imagination running amok? Something he had to admit occasionally happened. Then it came right out of his mouth. “Is Lady Blackthorn the demon Belzaria, Jane?”
The air shimmered, and the temperature plummeted.
“Why aren’t you showing yourself to me?”
I dinna have all my pearls! How can I be aboot without all my pearls?
“It’s only one pearl you don’t have, Jane. No one would notice. I see, you’re afraid to show yourself, aren’t you? You’re afraid Belzaria will see you? But what could she do even if she did see you? Run you through with a sword? Be reasonable, Jane. You have no corporeal body to be run through. So what could she do to you?”
She could curse me an’ make me explode! She could throw me into Border, aye, and make me watch what she does to Colin. I ken she wants to sneck all my pearls, kinch ’em around her own scrawny neck.
Explode? Now that would be a sight. “No, she can’t do any of those things. I wouldn’t let her. She did slash your portrait, but Colin told you he is bringing an artist from Edinburgh to paint a new one, an exact copy. Jane, is Belzaria a demon? Is she from Border? Is she Lady Blackthorn?”
Och, aye, I think she is. My world shudders with tales aboot her and how she’s taken human form, somethin’ not many demons like to do because they believe we’re all misshapen and ugly. I must tell ye, Grayson, I canna see her when she is in demon form—I canna ken what she is aboot. So I canna tell ye what a demon looks like, what it thinks, or what it will do, but I can feel her. She came once here to Vere Castle as a demon. I felt her, brimming with evil and ill will. And that’s when she saw Colin.
“You felt her. How did she feel?”
Silence, then Jane thought to him: Like a blackness sooking out all the air, and when she crept like black smoke into the castle, it was to see me, to find my weaknesses, to terrifee me, to make me flee my home. Behold what she did to my poor portrait. Aye, she is a demon, but what does it matter? There are all sorts of creatures from the pits in hell or other places like Border and Black Friar’s Hole who sometimes break through to wreak havoc on us.
Black Friar’s Hole?
The air whipped up around him, making the bushes rustle, and a scrawny little apple fall from King Fergus’s lower branch. Then it was quiet again.
“Don’t go, Jane. You wanted to speak to me, so that’s what you have to do. Now, tell me what you know about where she comes from—this Border.”
It isna really a land, not like my beautiful Scotland. It is more a creation by forces even I dinna ken. It is beyond, it is other, it was never meant to come here, into our world. I already told ye much of that last night. Did ye not attend me?
“She sent me a strange dream last night, but I’m not sure if she was showing me Border, or if she was weaving a fantasy to terrify me. I remember breathing in the grass—it seemed poisonous to me.”
What did ye see?
CHAPTER TEN
Grayson told Jane about the thick green grass, the blades so tall they waved like arms, the animals that weren’t quite like earth animals, the sky that shone brightly without a sun, and the large city that perhaps was meant to look like modern London, but whoever constructed it was seeing London through fractured glass, and thus its buildings leaned this way and that, the roads and walkways sometimes twisted back on themselves. He told her how he knew he was choking to death, how Sinjun had awakened him. “Jane, do you believe she wanted to show me where she lives?”
He would swear he heard her cursing, very colorful, most words he did not understand, then, She wants to terrifee ye, to make ye leave, like me. She doesna want ye here to protect Colin. A pause, then, I think she’s afeart of ye.
Afraid of him? He said, “Why didn’t you want to speak to Sinjun? Why only me?”
The air quivered a bit, then her voice, soft and somehow regretful. Sinjun is my wee bairn, so young she was when she first came to Vere Castle. She was sent for me, an’ I kent I had to protect her, an’ that meant protectin’ Colin as well, since she loves him beyond reason. He is a braw mon, but withal all men are worthless offal. An’ if Sinjun learns this demon wants Colin, she will fly into a gang gyte—
“You mean fly into a rage?”
Aye, ’tis what I said, isna it? An’ she’d do something daft. She would try to bargain with this demon—her life for Colin’s—which is what the demon wants. But Sinjun wouldn’t understand that. She would ken only that she had to save him from the demon. Of course, the demon would agree because it wants Sinjun deid. Demons have no honor—they lie. They are very good at it from what I have been told.
“Who told you demons have no honor and are good at lying?”
Ye are too inquisitive, lad. Yer brain jumps from hither to yon. A kelpie told me. His name is Barrie, and he lives in Loch Ness. Kelpies are nearly as wicked as demons, but kelpies hate demons—why, I dinna ken. They jeedge them—
“Jeedge? You mean they curse them?”
Aye, and that’s what I said, isna it? Ye must listen to me, lad. An’ demons lie wi’ great relish. We were lazing aboot one afternoon when Barrie told me demons were evil and vicious and liars of the first order.
“You have traveled to Loch Ness?”
Aye, the first time when I was very young, before I met the bastard and married him and he murdered me. The loch was very cold, an’ the water was nearly black, filled with peat I was told. I didna want to stick my toes in that black water, much less my precious self, but I did, and Barrie pulled on me toes and I yalled like a banshee. He told me what’d he done after I died.
Barrie visited me once, told me tales of the frightening monster in Loch Ness, how she lurks beneath the waters, waitin’ for fishermen to tip over their boats, fresh meat for her bairns.
Then he was called back to Loch Ness. I haven’t seen him in a very long time, but that is what he said.
Grayson’s head was swimming. He wondered if Sinjun knew all this, if she and Jane had spent afternoons together speaking about Jane’s afterlife world. He wondered how he would make contact with the demon Belzaria.
And she said to him without hesitation, Go to that absurd celebration pairtie. Look at her eyes, Grayson, and because ye are who ye are, ye’ll see shiny mirrors starin’ back at ye because she has no real self. And the occasional flame—a demon canna keep the flames hidden. An’ ye’ll see and ye’ll ken who she is.
Can ye imagine spending so many groats on Donnan MacKeller’s ruin of a house?
“Where did she get all the money?”
A demon can make money by skelpin’ its hands. Ah, and what an idiot old Donnan MacKeller was—rutted all the time, produced so many sons, and the Sassenach killed all of them except the worst o’ the lot, his firstborn. His poor wife—all her work an’ she had naught left but a wastrel bairn who bargained wi’ the demon for his life, an’ two lassies so silly the demon let them live.
“Jane, if Donnan did make a bargain with Belzaria to keep his children and his lands safe, did his one surviving son, Calum, break the bargain? And that is why both he and his son died? And she killed all the children who ever came to live in that house?”
The air shivered around him. He felt it to his bones—Jane was afraid.
“Jane, do demons exist forever?”
I dinna ken.
So she didn’t know. He started to ask if she would live forever, but instead, he said, “Jane, what is Sinjun’s secret she won’t tell Colin?”
He heard a huff of breath, then, Unlike the demons, I have honor. I willna break faith wi’ my sweet bairn. It is important to her that Colin doesna ken. She’s afeart of what he would do, what he would think of himself. He would be powerful hurt, even now.
“Did you know Colin saved the vicar’s life in the village?”
Och, aye, it is much talked of. I believe the demon wanted to show the world that Colin was a hero. He prov
ed himself, didna he? Now everyone hereabouts believes him to be above other men, so calm an’ fast and so dismissive of praise.
Ye must stop her, Grayson. Ye must save my bairn. And Colin. The demon would take him to Border, and he would be her slave.
“How could she take him to a place that isn’t really a place but rather a construction?”
Dinna mince wirds with me, sirrah! She took ye there in yer mind, didna she? And it was quite real—ye didna know that it wasn’t.
“Yes, she did, my apologies, Jane.”
A mon and his apologies, they flow out of yer mouth like Sinjun’s smooth honey. Listen, Grayson, when Sinjun dies, as all mortals are required to do sooner or later, then I am gone as well. Philip is his father’s heir. Both he an’ his wifie will move into Vere Castle. His wifie is blind to me. I will have no reason to go on—I will cease to exist. I will wait and molder and wait some more. Mayhap forever.
Grayson would swear he heard her crying.
“Jane, buck up. All is not lost. Now, first things first. We must get rid of the demon, and then I will see about Philip’s wife, all right? You will continue. Now, how can I defeat a demon?”
The air shimmered. A whisper. I dinna ken.
“Ask Barrie, and others in your realm. If I am to defeat the demon, I must know its weaknesses.”
He saw her faint outline in front of him, saw her reach out her hand, lightly touch his face, but naturally he didn’t feel anything.
I will try to find out.
He felt a touch of warmth on his cheek, imagined she’d kissed him, and he’d swear he felt her breath against his face.
Yer a good mon, Grayson. Mayhap even Barrie would like ye, not lay into ye wi’ his claymore.
“All will be well, Jane.” He added in thick Scottish, “Haste ye back.”
He heard a nightingale singing, heard the rustling of an animal in the bushes. Jane was gone, and the creatures were coming back again. At least now he knew where to begin.
The Resident Evil at Blackthorn Manor (Kindle Single) (Grayson Sherbrooke's Otherworldly Adventures Book 2) Page 4
