Threshold of Destiny (The Mysterium Secret Book 1)

by Linn Chapel

  Then the man started the engine and her body was thrown sideways as the car tilted and bumped its way downhill. A sob of frustration escaped her. She tried to repeat the maneuvers and bring her hands back to the door latch, but the bumps and sways of the car kept rolling her away.

  Suddenly the car stopped. The engine was switched off and Tressa heard the driver come around to the rear door and open it.

  If only her feet weren’t bound – if only she could run. But there was no way to save herself.

  Dread filled her as the ropes about her hands and feet were sliced with a knife. Someone reached in, gripped her, and lifted her from the car.

  “Put your arms around me, Tressa,” said a cool English voice. Suddenly, Tressa’s fears were replaced by a shudder of relief. Her arms obeyed the order and the voice spoke again. “That’s better.”

  She held on tightly as Holt carried her to another car where he placed her in the rear seat. Tressa clung to his shoulders, unwilling to let go.

  “Tressa,” he snapped, sounding rushed and irritable, “I must hurry.” He pulled away from her and closed the car door.

  She peered out the window, her vision still blurry from the drug. In the darkness, she could make out draping evergreen branches that pressed up against the windows of the car.

  Her heart began to beat faster when she heard a heavy object being dragged over the ground. Whatever it was, it was being transported closer and closer to the car.

  She shivered and slid away from the sound, ready to open the opposite door and stumble away into the night.

  Seventeen

  The passenger door opened and an interior car light came on. Tressa watched fearfully as Holt levered a body into the passenger seat.

  “Peter!” she managed to choke out, recognizing her brother.

  “He’s only sleeping, Tressa.” Holt disappeared again.

  Nearby in the darkness, Tressa heard the hood of the other car springing open. Soon, Holt returned and slipped into the driver’s seat with a length of black hose in his hand.

  He started the engine at once and steered the car down the bumpy slope, traveling quickly. His speed only increased when he entered the highway. “I used to lead such a tedious existence,” he murmured, whipping around a hairpin turn so fast that Tressa had to stifle a scream. “But at least I knew what to expect. Now, it seems that-”

  Holt spun the car around another hairpin turn. Whatever he had meant to say, he never finished.

  It wasn’t long before Peter woke with a groan and sat up straighter in the passenger seat. He turned to Holt. “What happened? Where are we?”

  “We’re about to leave New Hampshire.”

  “Where’s Tressa?”

  “There’s no need to fret. She’s in the back seat.”

  Peter turned himself around with an effort. “Tressa, are you O.K.?”

  “I was drugged, Peter, but I’m almost over it, now. Margot did it. She was behind it all!”

  “Margot!”

  “She took me by surprise last night.” Tressa went on to give an account of everything she could remember.

  When she was done, Peter said in a hard voice, “I think I know why Margot’s looking for Holt. Luke came up with some ideas about that. I’ll tell you more, when there’s time.”

  “But Peter, how did you and Holt find me?” she asked. “I didn’t think there was any chance I’d be rescued!”

  “They meant for me to find you. There was a map under your door with my name on it. Margot must have known I’d come looking for you at your apartment, but as it turned out, it was Holt who found the map first. He was the one who convinced me that we should work together.”

  Tressa drew in a swift breath of surprise. It seemed that after disappearing from Fountains Park, Holt had eventually gone back to her apartment. And he had enlisted Peter’s aid in rescuing her.

  But when Holt had pulled away from her arms just now, had he truly been in a rush? Maybe he hadn’t wanted her to touch him.

  Peter turned in his seat to question Holt. “How did you manage the rest of it? One minute I’m hitting the ground with a dart in my leg, and then next, we’re on the road.”

  Holt said coolly, “Everything went according to our plan in the beginning. I pried open a window with the screwdriver, but one of the men returned before I could enter. When he came outside carrying Tressa, I waited for him to set her down, and then I disabled him.”

  “That little trick with the neck?”

  “The very same. Then I went to look for you. I found you lying on the ground, next to another man.”

  “I never saw either of those men before. They must have been hired for the job,” Peter muttered. “They’ll be awake soon, if they aren’t already. They could be following us,” he warned, peering into the rearview mirror.

  “I’m afraid they’ll be stranded until someone else arrives. I tied them up with the rope. And I disabled the other car.” He lifted up the length of black hose for Peter to see.

  “Neat work!” Peter said, impressed. “I tried to keep them out of your way, but one of them got to me while I was finishing up with his accomplice.” Sliding a hand down his thigh, Peter found the stiff end of the dart and pulled it out.

  Tressa leaned forward to ask, “Peter, why would Margot want to trap us?”

  Peter turned around in his seat to face her. “She was probably planning to question us about Holt, and then clear us from the field. It’s hard to believe that she’d go that far, but I think our very lives were at stake.”

  Tressa felt her stomach roll over with a terrible, queasy sensation. “Margot questioned me, alright, but I was too groggy from the drug she had given me to hear what she was saying. Later, I read the intentions of the man who was carrying me from the cabin. I could tell that I was about to be killed in a fake car accident.”

  Holt spoke up in an icy tone. “Contact the authorities and have Margot arrested.”

  Tressa shook her head in frustration, knowing it wasn’t as simple as that.

  “Too messy,” Peter explained. “Getting in touch with the local police is out of the question. Any leak about the Operation’s activities with vampires could stir up a panic. No, we’d have to use the same federal channel that provides our secret funding, but that could take days, or even weeks.”

  “Then you’ll need a place to hide for now.”

  All three of them were silent for a few moments, and then Tressa spoke up, “I know just the place. Peter, we should drive to the summer house of Dr. Hayes. He’s gone now, but he won’t mind if we stay there.”

  “That’s the perfect spot,” said Peter with relief. He turned to Holt and explained. “Michael – that’s Dr. Hayes – has a summer home on the Down East coast of Maine. He lets me use it for a getaway whenever I want. It’s very remote.”

  Tressa woke the next morning in a quiet, comfortable bedroom filled with early morning light and a sense of peace. Mist from the sea hovered outside the windows, soft and white.

  She eased back the fluffy coverlet and sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling clear-headed at last. It seemed that the effects of the drug had finally passed.

  Her gaze ran over the pale-yellow walls and the little framed pictures of lighthouses that hung in a cluster above a white dresser. She recognized the bedroom, for she had slept in it once before when she had come to stay on the coast with Peter and a few friends.

  Clinking sounds of glassware came to her ears just then. Making her way down the carpeted stairs, she found Peter moving about in the kitchen.

  “There’s enough food in the pantry to last us for a few days,” he told her. “Cans of fruit, cereal, packets of hot chocolate – Michael won’t mind if we help ourselves.” He lifted a pan from the stove and poured hot water into a mug. “Here, have some hot chocolate.”

  Tressa took a sip of the steaming drink. “Mmmm. It’s delicious. But where’s Holt?” she said uneasily.

  “He’s sleeping in the corner bedroom next
to mine,” answered Peter. He stepped up to Tressa and took her by the shoulders. Giving her a steady look, he said, “Holt came through for us, Tressa. But be careful around him. He’s not feeling well and his moods don’t seem very stable. He’s also carrying a pistol. And a very sharp knife.”

  Tressa shook her head wryly. “But Peter, why would he go to so much trouble to rescue me, only to turn on both of us now?”

  Peter released her shoulders. “It’s just so hard to figure out what Holt’s thinking. That’s the problem.”

  “I know,” Tressa murmured unhappily.

  After she had finished her mug of hot chocolate, she climbed the stairs to wash up. As she reached the top of the stairs, she eyed the door of the corner bedroom with a sense of trepidation. Would Holt speak to her when he woke up? Or would he avoid her?

  She found a comb in the bathroom along with a stack of fresh towels and several bars of lemon-scented guest soap. After freshening up, she rejoined Peter in the kitchen. Together they worked out a plan for taking leave from their respective jobs. In the end, they decided to claim a family emergency, and in a way, that was true, she thought. As for her online courses in Patient Care Management, she knew they were a lost cause. She’d have to withdraw from them.

  It would be yet another failure to add to all of the others, she thought. But not a true one.

  When noon arrived and Holt still hadn’t risen, she became worried about his feverish state. Bringing a glass of water upstairs, she tapped lightly on his door, but there was no answer. Slowly, she cracked the door open.

  Holt was sleeping on top of the covers with one arm flung out to the side. He seemed to be resting easily, to her relief.

  She stepped inside the room. The décor was very feminine, with flower-sprigged wallpaper, white lace curtains, and a pair of Victorian lamps standing on a carved wooden dresser. Holt seemed startlingly masculine as he lay there sleeping on the white coverlet, still dressed in his black clothing, with his dark hair falling across his forehead.

  He didn’t stir at the sound of her footsteps as she entered the room, or at the touch of her hand as she checked his pulse. She found it pattering rapidly, and his skin was still hot with fever.

  He slept on, even when she spoke his name, trying to rouse him. Setting the glass of water on the table next to the bed, she left, closing the door behind her.

  She could hear Peter showering in the bathroom as she made her way downstairs. All alone with her thoughts, she wandered outside until she reached the cliffs overlooking the sea.

  The mist had lifted and sunshine sparkled on the blue waters below. She knew from her earlier visit that a hiking path wound through the forest along the edge of the cliffs and that sailboats could be rented nearby in summer. But in the chilly weather of late April, the coast was deserted.

  As she turned away from the cliffs, her eyes ran over the old New England farmhouse with white wooden siding that had been lovingly restored by Dr. Hayes and his wife. Behind the house, she spotted several wild apple trees at the edge of the forest. Walking up to them, she stopped to touch the pink-and-white buds.

  It was very quiet. She could hear the wind sifting through the tops of the spruce trees, and nothing else.

  We’re safe here. No one will find us.

  Circling around the attached white barn, Tressa came again to the front of the house and made her way up the flagstone path to the front door. On the way, she bent over a tuft of daffodils to pick a handful of blossoms.

  Inside, she placed the flowers in a tall glass of water and set the bouquet on the kitchen table. The sunny yellow flowers made the house feel even safer.

  Peter soon joined her, toweling his hair dry. “We’re going to need a change of clothes,” he told her. “And some laundry detergent. And more food, of course.” He began to make a shopping list with a pen and paper.

  “I’ll do the shopping, Peter,” she said, eager for something to do. Waiting for Holt to wake up had begun to wear on her nerves. “I remember the route to town.”

  Peter seemed undecided, but he finally agreed. Finding a sunhat and a pair of sunglasses near the backdoor, he brought them to Tressa. “Wear these to hide your identity.”

  Tressa piled her hair underneath the sunhat and slipped on the sunglasses. “Do I pass?”

  Peter looked her over and then nodded. “Don’t spend too much time shopping. Just buy a few changes of clothes and some food. Remember to buy some razors, too,” he said, rubbing his chin. He added that to the list.

  “But Peter, you’re starting to look like one of those actors with half-grown beards,” teased Tressa. “Maybe those agents you’re always complaining about will finally take a look at your productions!”

  “Forget it, Tressa. This stubble is driving me crazy. Holt will be glad to have a razor, too. He’s probably figured out by now that he’s going to have to shave more often.”

  Just thinking about Holt made a ripple of fresh worry pass through Tressa. She wondered if he’d be awake when she returned.

  An hour later, Tressa parked in front of the variety store that stood at the edge of a small town. Searching through the clothing racks, she found jeans and a pale green sweater for herself. Then she located the kind of jeans and t-shirts that Peter liked to wear and picked out a similar set for Holt, but in black. She wondered if he’d be willing to wear another color, but she decided not to chance it.

  Groceries came next, and then gas for Peter’s car. Leaving town, she followed the winding route back through the evergreen forest.

  When she pulled up in the driveway, Peter emerged from the house to help her carry her purchases inside. As he lifted them from the trunk, he nodded his head in the direction of the cliffs. “Holt woke up while you were gone. He’s near the shore.”

  “Is his fever worse?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t tell. He wouldn’t talk to me.” Peter sighed and closed the trunk. Then he eyed the contents of the bags with a look of anticipation. “I’ll go make some lunch.”

  As Peter entered the house, Tressa turned and walked the short distance to the cliffs. There was no sign of Holt at the top, but when she came to the edge and looked below, she spotted him. He was standing on the rocks near the waterline, a dark figure gazing out to sea.

  She didn’t have to read Holt’s intentions to know that he wanted to be alone. With a heavy heart, she walked back to the house.

  Later that afternoon, Tressa busied herself in the kitchen making a hearty dinner, for she knew that Peter would appreciate a full meal. She gave a last stir to the soup and lifted the loaf of bread she had made from the oven. Hearing the sound of running water in the second-floor bathroom, she climbed up the stairs to fetch Peter for dinner.

  But as she reached the open door of the bathroom, a little shock coursed through her. It wasn’t Peter in the room, after all. It was Holt, and he was shaving with one of the new razors. His dark eyes met hers in the mirror.

  The look on his face made her back away. It was clear that he didn’t want to see her.

  She fled back downstairs.

  Every time he looks at me, it seems to make him feel worse. But why?

  She avoided Holt after that, which wasn’t hard, for he stayed upstairs. Later that evening, at a loss for some way to occupy herself, she slipped outside again to watch the sunset from the top of the cliffs. Bright bands of gold and orange spread across the western sky as the sun sank below the watery horizon.

  A cold wind soon drove her back into the house. As she stepped inside, she could hear the sound of male voices drifting from the living room. Holt must have come downstairs at last.

  Peter had to be relieved, for he’d been waiting impatiently to make some plans. But how would Holt act when he saw her again?

  Tressa’s footsteps slowed as she approached the living room, but when she heard Peter mention passports, she quickened her pace.

  As she entered the doorway, Peter looked up from the sofa, but Holt remained gazing at the fire
place from his seat in an armchair.

  “Why do we need passports?” she asked.

  Her brother’s eyes were troubled. “We’re going to have to put more distance between us and the Operation. You paid for our supplies with a credit card today, didn’t you?”

  Tressa nodded.

  “You probably remember who handles the government funding for the Operation,” he added meaningfully.

  Tressa swallowed. “Margot.”

  Peter went on in a hard voice. “She could trace us easily by spreading a rumor to our government contacts, telling them we’ve compromised national security, for instance. The feds would rush to track us through our purchases, and she’d be right behind.”

  “I should have used cash,” said Tressa, wincing.

  “Cash withdrawals could be traced, too,” Peter said. “There’s only one thing we can do. We’ll have to leave the country. We’ll take Luke along with us, for his own safety.”

  “But where will we go?” she exclaimed.

  “We’ll go to England,” said Holt, speaking for the first time.

  “To England!” Tressa turned to stare at him, but he was still looking steadily at the fire in the grate. Her eyes darted back to Peter. “But how could we get a flight so soon? Where could we stay for days – or weeks? Peter, we don’t have enough money for that! And what about paying for the tickets? We could be traced so easily.”

  “I’ll pay for the tickets, and we’ll stay at my estate in Somerset.” Holt gazed straight ahead at the fireplace. “The caretaker knows me. He’ll keep our secret.”

  Peter stood up and paced about the room. “But first, we’ll have to get our passports from our apartments,” he told her. “Holt and I have already made plans. We’ll drive down the coast tomorrow morning.”

  “But that could be dangerous,” protested Tressa, shaking her head. “Margot could be waiting for you! And what if Ted’s with her?”

  “There’s no other way. We need our passports to leave the country.” Peter stopped pacing and crossed his arms decisively. “I’ll contact Luke and tell him to drive up the coast and meet us here tomorrow.”