When it remained blessedly silent, she opened her eyes to slowly take in her surroundings. She was in a large ballroom. One entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened onto a massive terrace. Sheer curtains hung in stillness, like ghostly apparitions that had once been alive with merriment and entertainment but had steadily grown cold throughout the years. The rest of the walls were adorned with paintings of various dancing scenes from days gone by, outlined in ornate, gilt-edged borders.
On the opposite end of the room stood a dais that held several stringed instruments—three violins and a cello—lying in wait until they were picked up once more. A decorated, wooden harpsicord with a painted top stood to one side of the dais, while a golden harp stood on the other. It was obvious that this used to be a well visited area.
Marlene ran her finger along a pristine mahogany violin, surprised when her finger came back without a speck of dust. Considering this room looked long deserted, she had to commend the servants for their tireless work in keeping it clean and ready at a moment’s notice. She had to wonder where they all went during the day, because other than the housekeeper, and her maid, Amy, she never saw anyone else walking about. With an estate this size, one would think it should be a hive of activity.
Marlene…
She quickly spun around at the sound of her name, but no one was there. She put a hand to her thumping heart, because she knew it was the phantom voice she’d heard in the portrait gallery calling out to her again. A cold breeze slid over her skin, and she froze in horror. “What do you want?” she asked in a trembling voice.
You hold the key…
“The key from the orangery?”
Another cold blast of wind struck her, but this time, a haze that formed into the shape of a hand. It reached out to her.
Frightened, she backed away and shook her head. “No. This isn’t happening.” But even as she told herself that she was seeing things that weren’t there, she watched as the haze went toward a wall on the opposite end of the room and disappeared.
She exhaled heavily, as if she’d been holding it the entire time. The chill in the air didn’t fade completely. It was as if this apparition was trying to tell her something. Or perhaps show her…
She frowned as she walked toward the wall where the haze had disappeared. Although it was painted like all the rest, when she looked closer, she saw that this scene was slightly altered. A line ran down the center, as if it was separated from the rest of the painting.
Marlene’s hand shook as she reached out and pushed on the edge of the frame. There was a click and then it opened to reveal a hidden doorway. Her lungs froze in her chest. Although the passage was dark, she had no need of light, because the haze was illuminated enough to guide her way.
Chapter 6
Marlene walked slowly behind the apparition, because there was nothing else she could call it. But who, or whatever it was—that was another matter entirely. She hadn’t yet decided if this form was trying to help her, or if it was a foe, perhaps a sign of impending danger.
Regardless, she couldn’t resist following the ghostly summons. The farther down the hallway it traversed, the more she yearned to seek it out. She was entranced, spellbound, as if something was binding her to it.
For several minutes she trailed along in silence, along various twists and turns. She could easily get lost in this dim labyrinth. Eventually, she came to the end. The haze swept out and vanished, leaving her in complete darkness. She couldn’t see the hand in front of her face. Her heart lodged in her throat, making it impossible to cry out.
She would have started to panic, except she spied a light glow in the inky black. There were two holes cut into the side of the wall, just large enough for a set of eyes to peer into the room beyond.
Marlene slowly lifted herself on her tiptoes and dared to peer through. When she spied the interior, the first thought that crossed her mind was…melancholy. She didn’t know why she thought that, but perhaps it had something to do with the massive mahogany wood bedframe, with the matching wardrobe and dresser. It gave the room a heavy sort of atmosphere. As she glanced around, she noted that the décor was rich and masculine, with colors of dark greens and browns. There was a washstand in one corner and various shaving implements beside it…
With a gasp, she realized that this wasn’t just any chamber. The apparition must have led her to the north wing—the wing that was solely reserved for the master of the manor.
The door to the chamber abruptly opened, and she covered her mouth, lest she alert Sir Gothry of her presence. She was helpless to look away as he walked over to a nearby side table and poured himself a tumbler of some sort of liquor. She assumed it was brandy by the color, but she couldn’t say for sure. However, as he tipped the glass up and drank it in one large gulp, she took particular note of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down the strong column of his throat.
She bit her lip as he started to unbutton his waistcoat with one hand, while he poured another dram with the other. With his back to her, he shrugged out of the offending item and tossed it haphazardly over a nearby chair. She bit her lip as she watched him disrobe. He took the back of his shirt and drew it forward over his head. The muscles in his arms and back flexed with his movements, but it was the large tattoo of a daisy, the same design she’d noticed on Lady Erica’s cane, that had her eyes widening with something akin to fear. There had to be some sort of connection.
Perhaps some sort of cult? Her blood ran cold in her veins. She’d heard of people who summoned evil spirits, who catered to the devil, but she never imagined that they were real. Like vampires and fairies and dragons, she put them into the category of folklore. But the truth, staring directly at her, was difficult to deny.
She must have made some sort of noise, because all of a sudden Sir Gothry spun around and locked eyes directly with her. She backed away, running into the wall behind her. Once her legs obeyed the command to run, she took flight.
In the dark, she stumbled around, the only avenue of escape she had at her disposal was her hands as they guided her way. The hard walls scratched her delicate skin with its rough exterior, but she didn’t stop moving. She didn’t dare. She knew now that she had to leave this place as soon as possible. Tears began to fall unchecked down her face.
When she saw a speck of light, she cried out in relief, desperate to be free of this prison around her. She didn’t know where she would end up, but neither did she care. She just had to get out—to breathe.
Marlene pushed with everything she had, praying that the door would open. She closed her eyes as her momentum propelled her forward and through the opening. The door slammed shut behind her—and disappeared.
It hadn’t taken long for Alaric to realize he wasn’t alone. He’d always had a particular talent in that regard. The fine hairs on the back of his neck had prickled with awareness, and he’d spun around to confront the intruder. He could tell it was as much of a shock to her to be caught as it was for him to find her there. One question rushed through his mind. How could she have possibly known about that passage?
Warning bells began to go off in his head. He knew that his aunt didn’t want him to scare her companion off, but he was confident that they were past that point. Something wasn’t right about Miss St. Clair, and he had to determine what.
Alaric closed his eyes as he sent out a locating spell. She could have fallen through any number of passages in the estate, and he wouldn’t have known where she was without a thorough search. He had neither the time, nor the inclination to do either. He generally reserved his powers only for when they were absolutely needed. If he didn’t, it could be relatively easy to be found by another wicca. Although it might be easy for Hector to decide Alaric had returned to his family’s estate, he didn’t wish to confirm the man’s suspicions until he was himself ready to fight the dark battle that would ensue.
If Hector was behind Miss St. Clair’s episodes at the manor, then he would soon know it. Alaric had heard that Hector’s power had strengthened over the years, that he was practicing in the art of black magic. If that were true, and Hector managed to get his hands on the Book of Magical Charms, needless to say, it would be devastating to everyone in their inner circle—and beyond.
