Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 4 Page 5

  "Were you willing?" His voice was hoarse.

  "Does it matter? What's done is done." She climbed in the passenger side and slammed the door, unwilling to watch the condemnation on his face. Let him think what he wanted. Most people did anyway.

  Several minutes passed before he got in and started the engine. Staring straight ahead, she willed him to put the Rover into gear and not say another word to her.

  "Look at me."

  His voice was low, commanding. Unable to resist his summons, yet steeling herself for his censure, she turned to him.

  "It does matter," he said.

  She turned to stare out the window as he put the vehicle in drive.

  Yeah, right.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as they rounded the last mountainous curve and Sinjin's home came into view. Set on a cliff overlooking the sea, Aisling Crioch, Dream's End, was a massive stone structure built over four hundred years before on the remains of a medieval stronghold.

  Pale cream-colored stone walls and empty glass windows stared as they approached. A plethora of gargoyles and dragons perched on the ramparts as if awaiting their turn to leap upon unsuspecting visitors.

  Not that Dream's End had very many visitors. The locals in the nearest town believed the house was a gateway to the netherworld and Sinjin in league with the devil. Few dared set foot on damned ground.

  As Quinn turned the Rover and drove through the wrought iron gates, Maeve tensed, expecting the power of the vampire to speak to her. She frowned as he maneuvered the twisting drive. She felt nothing.

  Vampires had a variety of methods to keep the unwanted at bay. One way was to retain a Gatekeeper, a human or revenant to keep the living away. Another was to use a guard-a form of magical lock that needed a key or password.

  In order to protect his privacy, Sinjin used the latter. In the past, as she'd approached the house, she'd been aware of his power. Reminiscent of a low- voltage current, she didn't realize until now how she'd grown used to the mystical energy. Now, she felt nothing but the cool air of the approaching Highland winter.

  Something was wrong.

  She flung open the door and leapt from the Rover as it came to a halt at the foot of the front walk. Her heart pounding wildly, she ran for the front door, only dimly aware of Quinn shouting for her to stop. The aged oak door was open a few inches and it swung wide as she put her hand on it and pushed.

  The entry was dark. She hated the dark.

  A sense of unease skittered down her spine. There were always lights on in the main hall. She reached for her boot-knife. The house was as silent as a tomb. Hilton, Sinjin's ever-present butler, was nowhere to be seen. Something was very definitely wrong. Hilton would have never left the front door open, nor would he have willingly abandoned his post.

  Palming the handle of the blade, she advanced, heading for the music room to her right. As she approached, she noted an unfamiliar scent in the air, like that of wet pennies and cotton candy.

  The gloomy dregs of fading daylight filtered through the tall windows as she stepped into the room. A grand piano sat squarely in the center of the polished floor, its bench tipped on its side. Just a few feet from the bench lay a shattered vase and what looked like a large puddle of water with a sodden blanket in the center. Dying stalks of hothouse roses, heather and thistle were scattered on the floor where they'd fallen.

  Cautiously, she moved to poke at the anomaly with the tip of her boot-knife. Catching the blade on a fold, she lifted. The sickening sweet scent of cotton candy, with an underlying hint of something metallic, assaulted her nose. She dropped the cloth to the floor with a slap, jerking back as something small and white rolled out of the cloth.

  It looked like a human bone.

  Repulsed, she backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a movement. Bracing herself, she spun around, startled to see Quinn, who stood less than three feet away. He held before him, in a practiced stance, a samurai sword from the display in the main hall. He'd tucked another short 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.

  She nodded before moving around him to the door. Where was Sinjin?

  Walking into the hall, she was careful to keep to the edges of the foyer, out of sight from the open galleries above. Without a word, they investigated the rooms on the main floor. Moving from one to the next with stealth and caution as they looked for anyone living.

  All they found was death.

  In the main parlor lay another one of the minions, or its clothing at least, its body missing. Another one like it 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 impassive.

  The gentle breeze touched her skin, bringing with it the scent of fresh air. The library door moved a few inches in the draft. She tapped Quinn on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. The breeze grew stronger as she approached the library, then pushed open the door.

  The aftermath of her kidnapping was evident. Broken glass from the window 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-it's previous inhabitants shriveled on the stones.

  On the floor lay the book she'd sought earlier and she was relieved to see it remained untouched. There would be time for that later. Right now, she had to find Sinjin.

  "This is where it happened."

  Quinn's quiet words startled her. She'd almost forgotten about him. That alone was unusual as she was guarded around most people. "Yes."

  His handsome mouth firmed as if something displeased him. His dark eyes missed nothing as he scanned the shambles of the room, his expression closed. Tension radiated from his body.

  She looked away, her gaze fixing 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.

  She waved her hand to indicate the disarray. "Whatever happened occurred shortly after I was taken. Hilton wouldn't have left such a mess-"

  Maeve.

  Sinjin's voice sounded in her mind. Jerking to face the door, she held her knife at the ready.

  "What is it?" Quinn moved beside her, his sword held firmly before him.

  "He's here," she whispered.

  Quinn looked around the room for any new threat to their safety. "Who's here?"

  Down...

  Sinjin's voice sounded again, spurring her into action. Slowly, she walked out of the library and into the main hall, her internal senses straining to hear him again. Where the devil-

  Down...

  The word was faint, weak, and it didn't sound like Sinjin at all. He was in trouble, was he hurt?

  Down...

  Her heart skipped. In this house, there was very little below the main floor. The original cellars were intact and used only to store vintage wine and old furniture. Sinjin wouldn't go down there. What about-

  She turned, in that instant knowing exactly where he was.

  The marble was slick beneath her feet as she darted across the hall, not even bothering to glance at the galleries above. She ran down the hallway to the solarium, Quinn's footfalls in time with hers.

  She ducked around the corner, then turned right toward the kitchens. She jumped down the two steps before skidding to a halt on the uneven stone floor.

  There were several entrances to the catacombs beneath the house, but the most direct 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 involve
d 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, never be seen again.

  "This way."

  She led Quinn into the pantry. At the far end stood 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.

  "Where are we going?" Quinn grabbed a flashlight and handed it to her.

  She pointed into the consuming darkness. "Down."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  "Wait for me." Quinn grabbed a second flashlight, half-buried beneath a large bag of salt. He turned in time to see Maeve vanish down the ancient privy shaft.

  Muttering an oath, he pulled the short blade from his belt, set it aside, then inserted the longer Samurai sword, lashing it to his side. He stuck his head into the shaft to see her light bouncing off the stone walls as she descended into the darkness. Turning on his flashlight, he tucked it handle first into his pocket, sending the beam overhead.

  "Gracious Goddess, protect us from what we are about to do." He muttered under his breath as he swung a leg through the opening.

  His foot hit 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 the sword against the stones. He lost sight of daylight within seconds.

  "Just a few more and you're down."

  Her voice echoed from below and he glanced down to see her pale face illuminated by her flashlight as she watched his descent. 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 original manor. They were used for storage and escape routes during raids."

  He frowned as she slipped around him, little more than a shadow, leading the way into the tunnel. He fell in behind her. "Where are we going?"

  "To Sinjin's hiding place."

  "How do you know he's down here?"

  "He told me."

  "How could he have told you?"

  She didn't answer, though, so he followed in silence. Under her breath, she'd mutter something when they reached various branches of the tunnels. Before long, he was completely confused as to where they were and what direction they were heading, but she seemed to know where to go.

  He hoped.

  She led him through an archway and down treacherous, crumbling stone steps, which ended in a narrow, curved chamber lined with several doors. Most of the doors stood open, the ancient oak planks rotting on their hinges. The hallway was strewn with broken cases and rotting cloth. Rusting metal cuffs of various sizes dangled from hooks on the walls, the tools of medieval torturers no doubt. The scent of mold and decay was overpowering. In one of the chambers, he heard the monotonous sound of dripping water.

  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 followed. One step into the chamber and he knew they'd arrived. The sense of despair was absent in this room. He arced his torch about the antechamber. The walls were still damp, but no debris littered the floor.

  His light caught a flash of color and he stepped closer to investigate. A sturdy oak table stood in the center of the room, topped with some sort of embroidered cloth. The light flashed over gold and silver threads and he caught the ornate design of stars and moons along the hem before he noticed what sat on top. A medieval broadsword lay on the table and, next to it, an elaborate coffin carved from mahogany. The old-fashioned lid stood upright, leaving the inhabitants uncovered.

  Curious, he moved for a closer look.

  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. Her short-cropped hair was the color of spun gold. Her features were delicate, waiflike, and she looked fragile next to the massive vampire. She probably wasn't much over five feet. Though dressed in some sort of gauzy material, he doubted she felt the chill of the ancient air while in her dark slumber.

  He glanced at Maeve. "Sinjin?"

  She nodded, her gaze not straying from the duo. "And Sunni."

  "Sunni? Is she a vampire also?"

  He stifled the urge to laugh when she nodded. Sunni the vampire. Who would've known?

  "I think he's dead." Her voice came out as an anguished whisper.

  "All vampires are dead, Maeve." But he skimmed his hand back and forth, an inch or so, over the abdomen of the man, taking great care not to touch him. A faint tingling ran up his arm as his palm drifted near the vampire's throat.

  He 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's alive."

  Maeve exhaled loudly. "Thank goodness. I've never seen Sinjin sleep, not like this. He's an elder with complete control of his surroundings. He rarely sleeps and can shut himself off from the world, but he's not using that power."

  "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. 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."

  "Do you think he's in danger?"

  "I don't know. Your mother sent those little demons, and now he and Sunni are down here. Sunni would never come down here willingly, and Sinjin has never brought anyone else here that I know of." Her expression turned haunted.

  "I don't know much about vampires, Maeve, but if my mother's involved, we'll need to do something fast."

  She nodded. "I think they'll be safe enough for now." 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."

  Quinn frowned in annoyance. Did she realize how ill prepared she was to deal with his mother? "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 so-called 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 go. I have things to do."

  He followed her out and settled for scowling at her back as they made the return trip though the maze. This time, he took great care to note their direction and each turn. He breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived back at the entrance, the fresh air enticing him to move faster. It seemed a lifetime since they'd entered the tunnels.

  Maeve scrambled up the shaft with Quinn close behind her. As he climbed, he noted the clean air was the sweetest perfume he'd ever smelled. He followed her into the kitchen, blinking at the glare of the fading light. He leaned against the counter as she picked up the phone and dialed.

  In the past, he would have walked away. His misguided sense of chivalry had landed him in hot water a time or two, and he wasn't about to be suck
ered again. This woman and her problems could be disastrous. Did he need the hassle? Wouldn't it be easier just to walk away?

  She glanced at him and looked away, but not before he'd caught a flash of those amazing green eyes. He dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd always been a sucker for green eyes.

  His head came up as the back of his neck prickled. He stepped away from the counter. Turning, he scanned the kitchen. Other than Maeve, now speaking on the phone, no one else was evident.

  But something was there and he felt it. Either watching him or coming for him. Which was it? Closing his eyes, he shut off his mortal senses and focused his power to scan the house for anything unusual.

  Nothing.

  He ventured outside the confines of the house. He scanned only a few yards when an electric blue flash laced with red sparked in his vision before turning into a wash of black. His eyes snapped open. Something was definitely coming and it wasn't the power of the slumbering vampires that needled him.

  It was his mother.

  Realization had him diving into the pantry, looking for the bag of salt he'd moved earlier. Jars of canned goods hit the stone floor with a crash as he wrestled the fifty-pound bag of sea salt from the shelf. Lucky for them, the bag was full and, if he hurried, they might survive what was coming.

  Maeve stood frozen, the phone clutched in her hand, as he dumped the bag on the butcher-block island. He pulled a knife from a magnetic strip filled with various sizes of sharp implements and slit open the neck of the bag. Reaching overhead, he pulled down a large cooking pot and began pouring until only half remained in the bag.

  "What are you doing?" She'd replaced the phone on the hook and now watched him with big eyes.

  "I don't have time to explain." He thrust the bag into her arms before hefting the pot from the table. "We need to surround the house in a circle of salt."

  She frowned. "What-"

  "Just do it." He grabbed her arm and shoved her out the back door into the twilight. Already, they approached and their time was running out. "Go that way," he pointed her west. "Circle the house, pouring a line of salt until you reach the front."