by J. C. Wilder
Even though the sun had yet to set, the entry was dark and still. Maeve licked her dry lips. She really, really hated the dark.
Tension knotted her stomach. No matter the time of day or night, there were always lights on in the main hall, but they were out now. Her grip tightened on the tang of her blade.
The house was as silent as a tomb, and the air held the unmistakable coppery taste of death. Hilton, Sinjin’s ever-present butler, was nowhere to be seen. Alarm bells went off in her mind. Now she knew for sure something was wrong. Hilton would never have left the main entrance open, and he wouldn’t have willingly abandoned his post. He’d served the vampire for hundreds of years, and he took his duties seriously.
Palming the handle of the blade, she advanced, heading for the music room just to her right. An odd scent hung in the air, like that of wet pennies and cotton candy. What the hell was that smell?
The gloomy dregs of fading daylight filtered through the tall windows on the far side of the room. A black grand piano sat squarely in the center of the polished floor, its bench tipped on its side. Just a few feet to the left were the pieces of a shattered vase and a large puddle of water. In the midst of the puddle a sodden blanket lay among the dying stalks of hothouse roses, heather and thistle.
Cautiously, she moved to poke at the anomaly with the tip of her boot-blade. Using the tip of the blade, she snagged a fold of cloth and lifted it. The sickening sweet scent of cotton candy with an underlying hint of copper assaulted her nose. When she dropped the cloth, it hit the floor with a sodden slap. Something small and white rolled out of the mess, and her eyes widened.
It looked like a human bone.
Repulsed, she backed away. She gazed around the room looking for the meaning of this when she saw Quinn less than three feet away. In a practiced stance, he held a samurai sword she recognized as part of a display in the main hall. He’d tucked a second, shorter sword into his belt. His gaze swung from the damp cloth to meet Maeve’s.
“It’s one of hers.”
She didn’t need any other explanation. Mortianna’s foot soldiers had been here, and this one, for whatever reason, would never return to his master. “So it would seem.”
Slipping into the hall, she was careful to keep to the edges of the foyer, out of sight from the open galleries above. Quinn fell into step behind her and in complete silence they investigated each of the rooms on the main floor looking for anyone who’d survived.
Instead, all they found was death.
In the main parlor lay another one of the minions, or its clothing at least as its body was missing. Another one lay in the corner of the main hall, a sodden heap of brown wool and a few bleached bones.
What sort of sorcery was this?
Maeve shot a glance at her silent companion as he inspected their latest find, his expression hard, remote.
A draft touched her skin, bringing with it the scent of fresh air. The library door shifted in the breeze opening a few more inches. She tapped Quinn on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow her. Crouching by the open door, she reached around and pushed it wide open.
The aftermath of her kidnapping was undisturbed. Broken glass from the doors littered the once-priceless Persian carpeting, now ruined with rainwater. Two of the elegant Chippendale chairs were overturned, a porcelain vase shattered on the hearth, its previous inhabitants shriveled on the stones.
On the floor lay the book she’d sought earlier, and she was relieved to see it was undamaged. There would be time for that later. Right now, she had to find Sinjin and fast.
“This is where it happened.”
Quinn’s quiet words startled her as she’d almost forgotten he was with her. That alone was unusual as she was guarded around most people, always remaining aware of where they were and what they were doing.
“Yes.”
His handsome mouth firmed as if something had displeased him. His gaze missed nothing as he scanned the shambles of the room, his expression closed. Tension radiated from his body.
She looked away, her gaze coming to rest on a broken decanter. Its contents had soaked into the cream wool of the carpeting, leaving an ugly caramel-colored blotch.
What a waste of good brandy.
Rising, Maeve stepped into the room. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she’d been abducted when, in reality, it was less than twenty-four hours. Lowering her blade, she prodded at a dead flower with the toe of her boot.
“Whatever happened here had to have occurred shortly after I was taken.” Her voice was husky. “Hilton wouldn’t have left such a mess—”
Maeve.
Sinjin’s voice sounded in her mind. Automatically she lifted her blade and spun around, ready to face whatever threat would present itself.
“What is it?” Quinn appeared beside her, his sword at the ready.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
Quinn looked around the room for any new threat to their safety. “Who’s here?”
“Sinjin.”
Down, Maeve…
The vampire’s voice sounded again, spurring her into action. Slowly, she exited the library and walked into the main hall, her internal senses straining to hear him again. Where the devil—
Down…
The word was faint, weak as if he were far away. She swallowed hard. It didn’t sound like the Sinjin she knew. That man was calm and authoritative. If it wasn’t for the distinctive lilt of his Scottish accent, she’d think it was her imagination.
Down, come down…
Her heart skipped. Built on the remains of a medieval castle, the original cellars were still intact and used only to store vintage wines and old furniture. Below that were the…
No, Sinjin wouldn’t go down there willingly.
Yes, he would, and he did.
Panic exploded through her body, and she began to run. The marble was slick beneath her boots as she darted across the hall, not even bothering to look up into the galleries above for any potential threat. Her heart pounded in her ears as she ran down the hallway to the solarium, Quinn’s footfalls in time with hers.
She ducked around a corner then turned right toward the kitchen and jumped down two steps. She skidded to a halt on the uneven stone floor. There were several entrances to the catacombs beneath the house, but the most direct route was down the old garderobe shaft behind the pantry.
Built with the original manor, the catacombs had served as escape routes to the north cliffs during a siege. Now, Sinjin only used the passages in an emergency. Other entrances from the floors above involved walking through a maze of narrow, musty passages. It was too easy to get lost in the recesses of Aisling Crioch, and she had no doubt others had tried to gain access to the passages never to be seen again.
“This way.”
She led Quinn into the pantry. At the far end was a small wooden door that opened into the unused shaft of a medieval loo. The door was askew, confirming her suspicions. Jerking it open, she looked into the slim opening, wincing at the blackness below.
“We’ll need light.” She pointed to the flashlights contained on a shelf near the door. “Grab some of those.”
“Where are we going?” Quinn chose a flashlight and handed it to her.
She pointed into the consuming darkness. “Down.”
Chapter Five
“Maeve, let me go first.”
Quinn grabbed a second flashlight, half buried beneath a massive bag of sea salt. Checking to see that it worked, he turned just in time to see Maeve vanish down the ancient privy shaft.
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered.
Sliding the sword into his belt opposite the short one, he stuck his head into the shaft. Maeve’s light bounced off the stone walls as she descended a narrow set of rusted steel rungs into the darkness. Tucking the flashlight handle-first into his pocket, he swung his leg through the opening.
“Gracious Goddess, protect us from what we are about to do,” he muttered. “Only fools go where angels fear
to tread.”
His foot connected with a metal rung embedded in the wall of the shaft. Gaining a foothold, he grasped the edge of the opening and lowered himself into the dark, careful not to scrape either sword against the stones. He began his descent and quickly the dregs of daylight were lost to the darkness.
“Just a few more and you’re down.”
Her voice sounded from below, and he glanced down to see her pale face illuminated by her flashlight. When he reached the last few rungs, he skipped them, opting instead to jump. He landed beside her and pulled the flashlight from his pocket. The beam of light revealed a damp stone tunnel. The scent of earth, mildew and stale air invaded his senses.
“What is this place?”
“The catacombs below the cellars.” They walked side by side along the narrow path. “They were built as escape routes during a siege. These open into a large cave at the base of the cliffs and the first Saint-James used it to shelter his fleet of ships.”
“Fascinating. Did the vampire tell you all this?”
“No,” she flashed him a quick smile. “I read a lot.”
Hmm, maybe she had more geek in her than he’d originally thought.
“Why are we down here?”
“Sinjin has a hiding place down here.” A second tunnel dissected the one they followed, and Maeve pointed her flashlight to the left. “I heard his voice in my head and he said, down, and this is as down as it gets.”
“How well do you know these tunnels?”
“Well enough.”
They reached another dissecting passage, and this time she pointed to the right. At the end of the tunnel was an arch then a set of narrow, crumbling stone steps.
“Just down here.”
They descended into a narrow tunnel lined with six doors. Most of them stood open, the ancient oak planks rotting on their hinges. The hallway was strewn with broken bits of wood, scraps of rotting cloth and the carcasses of a more than a few rats. The walls and floor were damp and the scent of seawater mixed with mold and decay was strong here. He heard the distinct sound of water dripping on stone.
Quinn could easily imagine the dank air within the slimy walls was the same breathed by hapless prisoners many centuries before. A feeling of despair and evil intent oozed from every crack and crevice.
Here was not a place the Goddess dwelt.
Maeve vanished through a narrow doorway, and he was quick to follow. He’d barely stepped into the chamber before he knew they’d arrived. The sense of despair was absent and while the walls were damp, no debris littered the floor.
In the center of the room stood a sturdy oak table covered with a heavy embroidered tapestry. The beam of his flashlight caught on the gold and silver threads at the hem. The design was a series of stars and moons in all their phase.
Interesting.
A medieval broadsword lay on the table and, next to it, an elaborate coffin carved from mahogany. The old-fashioned lid was on the floor leaning against the table. Maeve stepped up beside him, her gaze fixed on the inhabitants of the coffin.
A man lay on his back, eyes closed, skin bluish pale. Dark, wavy hair was swept back from his high forehead. A cut marred his dark brow, and blood stained the left side of his face. Even with the damage, he was a handsome creature with high cheekbones and a firm jaw. He was dressed very simply in dark jeans and a tattered white shirt, torn at the shoulder and stained with blood.
This had to be Sinjin.
Curled beside him lay a woman, her head propped on his shoulder. She couldn’t have looked more out of place in this damp spot of hell if she tried. Her short-cropped hair was the color of spun gold. Her features were delicate, waiflike, and she looked so fragile in the arms of this massive vampire. She was tiny, not much over five feet, and dressed in some sort of thin gauzy material patterned with flowers. Dozens of gold bangles covered her slim wrists and lower arms.
He glanced at Maeve. “Sinjin?”
She nodded, her gaze not straying from the duo. “And Sunni.”
“Sunni? Is she a vampire also?”
“Yes.”
He stifled the urge to laugh. Sunni, a female vampire. Who would’ve known?
“I think he’s dead.” Maeve’s voice came out as an anguished whisper.
“All vampires are dead, Maeve.”
Quinn placed his hand over the man’s abdomen, skimming it back and forth, taking great care not to touch his cold flesh. A faint tingling ran up his arm as his palm drifted near the vampire’s throat.
Quinn pulled away. The vampire was still in there, but something was holding him in place. It felt like St. James was in some sort of a trance, unlike the sleep vampires entered willingly. He didn’t know much about the physiology of a vampire, but he knew magic and evil was afoot. He skimmed his hand above the diminutive blonde and detected only the tranquil sleep of a young vampire.
“They’re both alive.”
“Thank goodness.” Maeve exhaled loudly. “I’ve never seen Sinjin sleep, not like this at least. As an elder he rarely sleeps and he uses his power to keep others away from his home.”
“What do you mean?”
“Many vampires use something like a magical lock. Sinjin can control who enters his home and his property by placing a kind of spell over the entrances.” She bit her lower lip. “From what I understand, it’s like magic but not. You have to have permission or know the key to the lock. When we pulled up to the house, the first thing I noticed was the locks were gone.”
“Why is this?”
“I don’t know. Mortianna sent those demons, and now he and Sunni are down here. Neither Sunni nor Sinjin would willingly come down here unless it was an emergency. Sinjin always said he spent too many years sleeping with rats that he avoids this place now.” Her expression turned haunted.
“I don’t know much about vampires, Maeve, but if my mother’s involved this can’t be good.”
“I think they’ll be safe enough down here for now. Most vampires are much safer below the earth than above it. The sun will set shortly, and we’ll see if they wake on their own. And if not…”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.” He said. “Let’s not borrow trouble.”
Her gaze met his. “This isn’t your fight, you know. You can walk away from this mess and no one would be the wiser.”
“Except you and I would know.” Quinn frowned in annoyance. Did she realize how ill prepared she was to deal with Mortianna? “Is that what you want me to do? Walk away?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. The bottom line is this isn’t your problem. You’ve fulfilled your obligation and returned me from whence I came. You’re free to leave.” She moved around him and headed for the door. “I need to get moving as I have a lot of things to do.”
Following her out of the chamber, he settled for scowling at her back as they made the return trip through the maze of tunnels. This time, he took great care to note their direction and each turn. When he caught the scent of fresh air, his step quickened. It felt like they’d been sequestered in the darkness for hours when it had been thirty minutes at the most.
Quinn reached the shaft first, and he stuffed his flashlight into his pocket before beginning the ascent. Maeve followed close behind and by the time they reached the pantry, they were covered in dust and she had a cobweb in her hair.
Maeve moved past him and into the kitchen, heading for a telephone on the wall near the entrance. He leaned against the counter as she picked up the handset and began pushing buttons.
There was a time in his past when he would’ve entertained the idea of walking away from this mess. While he was no longer that irresponsible kid, his misguided sense of chivalry had landed him in hot water a time or two, and he wasn’t about to be suckered again. Maeve and her problems could be disastrous to him. Did he really need the hassle?
She expected him to leave, not that she’d said it to his face. Maeve didn’t need words to express herself. Her body language told him more t
han she knew. He looked at her, only to catch her watching him. She looked away but not before he’d caught a flash of those amazing green eyes.
He’d always been a sucker for green eyes.
The sensation of cold against the back of his neck brought him upright. His hand locked on his sword, and he stepped away from the counter. Turning in a slow circle, he scanned the kitchen looking for anything that could’ve caused the cold chill. Other than Maeve, now speaking on the phone, they were alone.
Or were they?
Something was watching him, them. But what was it? Closing his eyes, he tuned out his mortal senses and focused his power to scan the house for any threat.
Nothing.
His eyes flew open. Moving quickly, he slipped out a back door into the deepening gloom. Closing his eyes again, he repeated the process. He’d barely begun when an electric blue flash laced with red sparked in his mind before turning into a wash of black.
His eyes snapped open. Something was definitely coming, and it wasn’t the latent power of the slumbering vampires that needled him.
Mortianna.
Realization sent him running back in the house then into the pantry. Earlier he’d seen a bag of salt. Jars of canned goods shattered on the stone floor with a crash as he yanked the fifty-pound bag of sea salt from the shelf. Lucky for them, the bag was full and, if he hurried, they just might survive what was coming for them.
Maeve stood frozen, the phone clutched in her hand, as she watched him with wide eyes. Quinn dropped the bag on the butcher-block island then drew the short sword and sliced the cloth. He reached overhead then pulled down a large stockpot and began pouring salt into it until only half remained in the bag.
“What are you doing?” Maeve hovered at his elbow.
“I don’t have time to explain.” He thrust the bag into her arms before grabbing the pot by the handles. “We need to surround the house in a circle of salt.”
She frowned. “Why—”
“Just do it.” Grabbing her arm, he hauled her outside. Already they approached and their time was running out. “Go that way.” He pointed toward the west. “Circle the house, pouring a continuous line of salt until you reach the front walk.”
