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We pad lightly down the stairs, Misty’s nails ticking against the metal of the steps, echoing as we descend. What other secrets lay below the mansion? How do I reconcile what I found? Am I strong enough for this? Misty leads the way out of the caves, and back onto the shore. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Of being…followed. But I keep going without glancing behind.
Upon returning to the solarium, I pick up where I left off, fingers trembling as the recordings replay in my head.
Marisa, I have you now.
Sara Wren.
Blood offerings.
A chamber below the lake.
The screams.
To what end? Or maybe I should ask myself what beginnings are Kieran and company creating? I can hear Christian’s warning in my head, do not walk the labyrinth alone.
THIRTY-TWO
October 6, 2010
“In Devil’s Bay, even mercy has teeth.”
— DEVIL’S BAY MOTTO
Mid-morning arrives with chirping birds and streaming sunlight. At the sound, I burst out of bed, dizzy with the need for a glimpse at a scene other than snow and misery. Misty startles, her head whipping around at my clumsy efforts. Bypassing the dog and mass of crumpled sheets, I plaster my face to the glass only to be met with icicles decorating the underside of my window’s eaves and craggy naked trees clumped with icy snow. Just a dream. Releasing a breath, I amble back into bed. My bones ache in places they shouldn’t be. Knobs of my vertebrae sting now and then and my fingers quiver at random moments. Why don’t I feel angrier at my circumstances?
Anger doesn’t always get you anywhere.
Stretching my hands toward the ceiling, I allow the words to settle. Maybe I should be angry. I mean why not?
What if the truth you need is in the tiny details?
Maybe the voice in my head was right. So far, I’d learned: there’s a dead wife, likely a suspicious death; Kieran is conducting experiments with the aid of occult rituals; Christian has a secret; Daisy wants to help me, but refrains, and there are deadly creatures resembling women. All these details together paint a larger landscape. One with strokes of beauty nestled in ruins, and one that is thunderstorms and a shattered soul that whispers in my ear, someone I now know may have tried to kill me.
“Being a double agent doesn’t suit you.” My chest heaves a startled cough at the voice that surely didn’t belong in the room. The sheets bundle around my waist as I twist to meet Christian’s steely gaze.
“Careful, you’re going to hurt yourself.” His remark is aimed at my poor effort to release the grip of the sheets.
“How the hell did you get in my room?” I grumble.
From an alcove veiled in the library’s passageway shadows, his deep chuckle reverberates.
The alcove is easy to miss. And I had missed it entirely.
Over the last week, Christian Valen and his lurking habits—physical stalking—had rendered me vulnerable to him prowling around my thoughts and dreams.
Misty happily trots over to him and rests her head against his thigh. He rubs behind her ears affectionately. “Thought you’d be happy to see me,” he remarks.
“I’m not even going to ask how you got in. What is it?”
Be ready the next time you see me.
A clandestine visit in my room is not what I had in mind upon waking up. The thought makes me uncurl the sheets and pace to the hearth whose flames writhe and crackle. The logs are fresh, no lingering embers. How long had he been watching me sleep?
When Christian steps into the light, a strong, irresistible force pulls me to him. Like invisible hands, the gods are playing matchmaker as they see fit.
His sleek wool coat wraps his broad torso, midnight black slacks adorned long lean legs, down to the black boots that wrap his feet exemplifies a man of dangerous credence. He is night itself, darkness embodied. All that is missing is a cigarette dangling between those tempestuous lips. If many gods existed, they were right to eventually bind us together.
“Good morning, little bird. We haven’t checked in with each other,” he says, facetiously.
