by Janni Nell
As I crossed the patio I heard the French doors open. Casper came outside, stretched and took a deep breath. Then, leaving the doors open, he took a little stroll along the patio.
I fell into step beside him. “Casper, are you helping me?”
“Of course not. I was looking at Sir Alastair’s paintings. The room was very stuffy so I came out here for a breath of fresh air.”
I didn’t think the Powers-That-Be would be fooled by his little charade any more than I was, but who knew? Maybe they had more important things to do than checking up on a guardian angel’s little infractions.
To tease Casper I said, “How did the paintings look in the dark?” Then I sprinted inside before he could change his mind about helping me.
When he had joined me inside, I closed the doors—leaving them unlocked for a quick getaway—and went in search of the wine cellar.
“It’s probably near the kitchen,” I whispered. We headed in that direction.
Tucked away in a little hall we found two doors that seemed likely candidates for the entrance to the wine cellar. I tried the first. It opened easily. Shining my flashlight inside, I discovered it was a broom cupboard. I turned to the second door. This one was locked.
“Maybe the key is in the kitchen,” I whispered, thinking of the little key-laden hooks in my apartment at home.
We crept along the hall and into the kitchen. Once again I risked turning on my flashlight. The room was spotless. You could eat off the floor. The pretty canisters were all neatly aligned and the gleaming keys hung from individual hooks. Unfortunately, they weren’t labeled. I guess Francois had them memorized. Grabbing all the keys, I headed back into the hall.
The first key didn’t fit. Neither did the second or third. My heart sank. I tried the fourth. Anxiety made me clumsy. I fumbled and dropped it. Quickly I scooped it up, but my hands were sweating so much I couldn’t put it in the lock. I wiped my hands and tried again. This time the key slid into the lock and turned.
Yes!
Easing the door open, I shone my flashlight down a flight of stairs. At the bottom were racks of gleaming bottles.
“Come on,” I whispered, already moving down the stairs. “Let’s see if she’s here.”
Casper eased the door shut and followed me down the stairs. It was like walking into the depths of hell, if hell had been ice cold, pitch black and stank of old things. I didn’t want to stay here any longer than I had to.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I flashed my light around the subterranean space. Rack after rack of bottles stood within the stone foundations of Maitland House. Some lined the walls but most were freestanding in neat rows down the centre of the cellar. There must have been thousands of bottles, maybe tens of thousands.
Another time I might have snooped at some of the labels but right now I had to focus on the task of finding Justina. Once again I swept my light around the cellar. My heart sank as I realized there were no obvious places to hide her.
“I don’t think she’s here, Casper.” I didn’t look at him. I was still raking my flashlight over the bottles. Had I missed something? Nope. I’d made a mistake. She wasn’t here. “Let’s go.”
Casper didn’t reply. At first I thought he had disappeared but then I realized I could hear him breathing. I could feel the warmth of his body too. Even though he wasn’t touching me.
What happened next was kind of weird. It wasn’t exactly telepathy—at least I don’t think it was—but I had the strongest feeling that Justina was in the cellar. Somewhere out of sight. Had Casper sent me a telepathic message? Surely he wouldn’t do that. The Powers-That-Be wouldn’t like it at all.
I moved deeper into the cellar, training my light on the dusty bottles. Beginning on the left, I made my way slowly along the walls. There were bottles dating back to the 1950s that must have been worth a lot. Sir Alastair would be very unhappy if anything happened to them. I had an impish desire to smash a few, but I resisted the impulse. The noise would give us away.
Behind the racks of bottles was stone—the same kind that formed the external walls of Maitland House. If Justina was down here, she must be hidden in some secret place, like a priest’s hole. So far I hadn’t found anything that resembled one.
Casper kept close to my heels, as though he expected trouble at any moment. I glanced nervously at the door above the stairs. Did Phillips know we were down here? I half expected the door to inch open but it remained firmly closed.
I kept moving around the cellar. So far I had found nothing. A big fat zero. Things weren’t looking good and I was running out of walls to search. That’s when my big toe started to itch. At the same moment something caught my eye. I paused and turned back.
At first this rack appeared much like all the others, but as I moved closer I noticed the age of the bottles. None had been produced before the year 2000, making them the least valuable in the collection. Was that significant? I trained my flashlight on the bottles, moving the beam slowly and carefully along the rows. Something metallic twinkled behind the rack.
That wasn’t unusual. All the racks had been bolted to the wall. So why had this one caught my eye? I bent forward to examine the thing that was twinkling.
A hinge.
It was an oldie but a goodie—a hinged rack doubling as a concealed door. I looked around for the lever that would open it. When I couldn’t see one, I felt along the racks. Maybe it was concealed on one of the rows beneath the bottles.
Casper moved to my side. He watched me for a while and then, as though bored, he stretched like a teenager preparing to put his arm around his girlfriend. I wasn’t as fortunate as that hypothetical girlfriend. Instead of putting his arm around me, Casper leaned against the wall. The stone beneath his hand moved and the rack swung slowly open.
“Oops,” said Casper.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Who me?”
“The Powers-That-Be will be furious,” I said.
“What? Because I leaned on a stone?”
I had no time to answer. Justina flew out of her prison, kicking and punching. I grabbed her.
“Easy,” I said. “It’s me. Allegra.”
She stopped fighting. “Allegra?” She sounded uncertain so I shone my flashlight on my face from above. Not below—I didn’t want to frighten her any more. “Phillips and Francois locked me in here.”
I stared into the small dark space. She must have been in there for at least an hour. I shuddered but I didn’t waste time expressing sympathy. I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.
“Come on,” I said. “We have to get out of here.”
To my utter astonishment, she hesitated. “Wherever I go, Sir Alastair will find me.”
“No he won’t,” I said. “Not now. I know where your skin’s hidden.”
I couldn’t see her expression but I felt her tense.
“Really?” she whispered. “You know where it is?”
This wasn’t the moment to admit that I might be wrong. That I hadn’t actually seen Sir Alastair burying her skin. But I had to keep faith. It was all I had left.
With as much confidence as I could muster, I said, “As soon as we get out of here, I’ll take you to your skin.”
“Let’s go.” She sprinted up the stairs, pulled open the door and bolted into the hall.
Keeping my flashlight steady, I followed her. Casper sprinted up the stairs behind me. We rushed through the door joining her in the hall. Bad move. We should have gone more cautiously.
A fist hit my jaw. I reeled backwards, dropping the flashlight as I crashed to the floor.
I heard Justina shout, “Let me go, Francois!”
A French-accented voice said, “Hold her, Phillips, while I take care of the others.”
I ducked my head, hoping to escape Francois’s notice, and concentrated on finding my flashlight. For a while I scrabbled around on my hands and knees. Then I found it. I flicked on the light and shone it on the commotion above.
Phillips had hold of Justina. She was kicking and trying to twist away, but he was too strong for her. I moved my light and saw Francois facing Casper.
The chef moved very fast. Arms and legs perfectly coordinated. Punching, kicking. I didn’t see how Casper could avoid taking a beating. He might have height and weight on his side but Francois was nimble and quick as lightning. Casper’s only choice was to disappear, but in doing so, he would give himself away as a supernatural being. He chose not to.
Instead, he simply stepped backward out of Francois’s reach. In this case “stepped” was an understatement. I’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as Casper did. Francois seemed surprised, but that didn’t stop him launching another attack. Two punches. One. Two. The second connected. Casper’s head snapped back.
Francois came in for the kill, kicking with all his might. Casper caught hold of his ankle and shoved upward, sending Francois off balance. Francois stumbled, struggling to right himself but he didn’t succeed. He teetered at the top of the cellar steps. Casper watched as though considering his next move. Then he reached out, ever so casually, and gave Francois a little push.
The chef fell, rolling over and over down the stairs. He was still conscious when he reached the bottom, but he didn’t get up. He curled himself into a ball as though he was hurt. I hoped it was bad.
I turned my attention to Phillips, who was struggling to subdue Justina. I kidney-punched him. He yelled and released her. As he whirled to face me, I laid him flat with a punch to the jaw. Like Francois, he remained conscious but he was too groggy to pose much of a threat.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing Justina’s hand.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We sprinted out the back door and sped around the house to the gravel drive. We followed it until we reached the road. Casper was behind us all the way.
I didn’t risk turning on my flashlight again. There was enough moonlight to illuminate the road, and Sir Alastair kept it in such good condition there was no risk of twisting our ankles in any potholes.
My only concern was how fast Justina could go. Although we were traveling downhill rather than up, she was used to swimming, not running. Her breath came in short sharp gasps. I kept a tight hold of her wrist as I urged her on.
For someone who had planned suicide, she was made of sterner stuff than I had imagined. Despite her labored breathing, her pace never faltered. We reached the village in double-quick time and sprinted down Loch Road.
Mac’s was closed so we went in the back way. After bolting upstairs to get my keys I rejoined the others. We hurried outside to the car.
“Get in,” I said.
Just then I heard the unmistakable purr of Sir Alastair’s Rolls.
“Hurry,” I screamed as the lights of the Rolls came into view.
Casper scrambled into the back and Justina took the seat beside me. Her door was still open when I skidded out onto Loch Road.
She screamed and tried to drag the door shut. Impossible.
“Help her, Casper.”
He leaned in from the back, stretching his strong arms over her seat and reaching for the door. I slowed the car a little to help him. He grabbed the handle and grunted as he wrenched it shut. We exhaled a collective sigh of relief.
“Buckle up,” I said. Then I pressed the pedal to the metal.
I had no idea whether my car could outrun a Rolls Royce, but I was about to find out. I took the curves of Loch Road as fast as I dared. At first I outdistanced the Rolls but soon it gained on me. In my rear-view mirror I could see the headlights moving steadily closer.
I’ve been tailgated before, but never like this. Sir Alastair inched closer, nudging my bumper bar, trying to push me off the road. I gripped the steering wheel, fighting for control.
I won. Sir Alastair stopped tailgating me. But he had other more dastardly plans.
He moved into the lane to my right. There was no oncoming traffic—nothing to prevent him bringing his car level with mine. He turned the wheel, veering into my lane. I swerved to avoid a crash and ran onto the grass verge. I slowed. The Rolls shot past. Then I swung out onto the road again.
Ha! Big shot aristocrat. You’ll have to do better than that.
I shot forward. Up ahead I could see him hugging the right lane. He was waiting for me. I drew level. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was planning to run me off the road again. It was time to fight back.
I watched him veer into my lane, lazily, as though he knew he had the upper hand. This time I didn’t try to avoid a collision. I turned my wheel sharply to the right. There was a satisfying sound of metal scraping metal. Shame about your paint job, Sir Alastair.
He veered sharply. Out of my reach. A better driver might have come after me again but he lost control and skidded off the road. The last I saw, he was heading toward the loch.
Yes! Go Allegra!
I drove on as fast as I dared. When we reached Beag Glen, I parked in a side street. There was no time to hide the car properly, but I didn’t think Sir Alastair would be getting out of the loch any time soon.
I turned to Justina. “We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot.” I checked the backseat. Casper was no longer there. I guess my Formula One driving had been too much for him.
As Justina and I got out of the car, he appeared. I started to fill him in on what’d happened, but apparently he’d been flying above us the whole time and had seen everything.
Justina interrupted us. “Let’s get my skin.”
Together we ran, stumbled, and somehow clawed our way to the top of the hill. It was still dark when my flashlight illuminated Leith’s Cairn. We were a bit too close for my liking so I urged Casper and Justina to move back. I gave Justina the spare flashlight.
“We’re looking for freshly turned earth,” I said, “but remember Sir Alastair did the digging, so he couldn’t have gone closer than a hundred yards to the cairn.”
Justina asked how far a hundred yards was. I showed her. Then we spread out and began to circle the cairn. Justina went left. I went right. Casper followed me.
“Couldn’t you help us look?” I snapped at him.
“I think I should stay close to you.”
A shiver washed over me.
“What about Justina?” I asked. “Isn’t she in danger too?”
“I’m not her guardian angel,” he said.
“Does she have one?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Maybe you should concentrate on finding the skin. The sooner we get out of here the better.”
I focused on the job at hand. Careful not to stray too close to the cairn, I made my way along the uneven ground. I figured Sir Alastair would have buried the skin as close to the cairn as possible—i.e. exactly one hundred yards. It would be a foolproof way of guaranteeing no one came close enough to dig it up.
I became so involved with my search I didn’t realize I was veering toward the cairn until Casper grabbed my elbow and gently guided me away. I could see why he had insisted on coming with me instead of Justina. She was a very feminine-looking creature, who was in no danger of being attacked by Leith.
I glanced toward the cairn half expecting to see the Scottish warrior watching us but the entire area seemed deserted.
Once again focusing my eyes on the ground, I searched for freshly turned earth. By this time I had gone almost half way around the cairn. I could see the glow of Justina’s flashlight approaching from the other direction. Had we missed the place where Sir Alastair had been digging? Was it farther away from the cairn than I’d expected?
The sky was growing lighter. Maybe I’d have more success when the sun rose. I stretched, temporarily relieving the muscles of my neck and shoulders, then I turned to the ground again.
Come on. It must be here. My hands were balled into tight fists. I could feel the tension stretching my nerves to breaking point. Then I saw something.
A golfer might have thought they were badly replaced divots, bu
t I knew better. In a second I had shoved the flashlight in my pocket and was on my knees tearing the divots out of the ground. They came easily, which was just as well considering I’d forgotten to bring a spade.
I dug like a dog—scooping out dirt and showering it behind me. Justina saw what I was doing and rushed to help. Casper stood guard.
We dug and dug, deeper and deeper, without finding anything. I was beginning to think we were digging in the wrong spot when I felt something beneath my fingers. At the same moment Justina cried out.
“It’s here.” She began a frenzy of digging until at last she pulled her skin free. She danced around, hugging it to her chest.
“We don’t have time for celebrating,” I said. “We have to get to the loch.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
I whirled around to face the owner of the voice.
Sir Alastair had a shotgun aimed at my head.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hundreds of grouse and pheasants could testify that Sir Alastair knew how to use a gun. I looked into the gaping mouths of the barrels and knew I was going to die.
I knew something else too. He would never kill Justina. He wanted her alive.
I screamed at her. “Get out of here. Go to the loch. Run!”
As she took off down the hill, Sir Alastair said, “Shut up, Allegra,” and pulled the trigger.
I felt something hit me, hard. Then I was falling. I hit the ground. I waited to feel pain. Where had I been hit? Arms? No. Legs? No. Head? No. I couldn’t feel any pain at all. In fact, the only thing I could feel was Casper’s weight.
He had leaped in front of me at the critical moment. Now he was lying on top of me. Very still. I could feel a steady river of warmth flowing from his chest. Oh no.
“Casper, are you ok?”
He didn’t answer. I touched his cheek. He didn’t move. Gently I tried to roll him off me. As I did, he disappeared.
That meant he was badly injured. Not dead. Strictly speaking he was already dead, but he had a humanlike body. It would take a while for the damage to be repaired and the only place he could get that done was on Cloud 9. It might take minutes or hours or days. I didn’t have that long. Sir Alastair was already raising his gun again.
