A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Then I suggest you go home to Ellen and discuss your options. Now, please leave. I think this conversation is at an end.” Raven tried to muster her most commanding tone.

  For a minute his mind seemed to waver, and he almost obeyed. But as he took a step, his smile spread. He reached out to lift a strand of her long hair away from her shoulder. “No, first I think I shall leave Trevelyn Mershan something to remember me by.”

  Oily revulsion spread through her stomach and she felt sick. She didn’t hesitate. Using her might to shove past him, she went for the poker, only steps away. It seemed miles. She got her hand around the brass rod, but as she lifted it in defense, he caught the end. Giving it a jerk, he pulled her forward.

  “Some warrior woman,” he derided. He jerked on the pointed end of the brass poker, nearly yanking her off her feet. “Give me it, Raven, or I shall make you sorry for your dismal defiance.”

  “I’ve been sorry since the day I met you. Sorry I once cared what you thought of me. You’re a bully, a whiner, and your whole life has been spent blaming everyone else for your sad failings. And that is what you are, Alec, despite all your pretenses. You’re nothing but a bloody pathetic failure. Go look in the mirror and see your thinning hair, your receding chin and bemoan the fact that life is passing you by. Bemoan that you don’t have a portrait tucked up in the attic to bear your sins like Dorian Grey.”

  This time when he tugged on the poker, instead of fighting him she put her force to slamming forward. The metaltipped rod rammed into his chest, hitting him hard. But not hard enough.

  She released her grip and turned to run. Alec caught her before she took her second step. He whipped her around and slapped her with the back of his hand, catching her across the side of her face and ear. In stunned agony, she stumbled backward. But instead of trying to break her fall, she struggled to curl her arms protectively over her stomach. Her head crashed into the side of the curio cabinet, pain lancing through her brain.

  The last thing she thought was, Please let my baby be safe.

  The next thing she knew, she slowly became aware of looking at Alec from the wrong end of a telescope. Odd. She vaguely recalled hitting her head and passing out. He seemed too distant to evoke any fear. With a detached curiosity she watched things coming into focus, feeling so far away from everything.

  Raven felt her wrist being grabbed more than saw it. Almost floating, removed from all her senses, she just wanted to rest. Why wouldn’t he go away and just let her rest?

  “Oh, damn! Oh, shit! Oh, damn, Raven! I wasn’t really going to hurt you. I wanted to scare you, shake up Mershan when he found you hysterical.” He lifted her arm and felt for a pulse at her wrist.

  Raven knew he’d never find it. She even tried to tell him that. Doctors and nurses had always remarked they could barely get a pulse from her wrist. Only, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

  She was so tired. Her mind drifted again and she rested in dreamless blackness.

  Finding peace.

  Trevelyn drove with a lead foot, hurrying back to Raven. Traffic had been heavy coming and going to London, making the trip take longer than he’d anticipated. He’d promised Raven he’d fix supper, but now considered stopping and picking up something from the café near Brishen’s studio. As he drove past, he had an odd feeling he shouldn’t delay his return any longer. Instead of stopping at the restaurant, he sped on by.

  Jago had talked about what had been going on in Kentucky. Someone had broken into Jago’s bungalow and stolen a letter concerning Mershan International and Trident Ventures. Later it was left for Asha to find. That he wasn’t there with Asha saw Jago uneasy, worried. Trev understood. He sure as hell didn’t like knowing Raven was alone.

  The card he’d pulled from the Gypsy this morning flashed into his mind. He didn’t need the divination book to interpret it, either. As the first flashes of lightning streaked across the night sky he recalled the tower with bolts of lightning crashing about and fire curling out its windows.

  A hundred times over he told himself that Raven was safe, that the card had no real meaning. Yet, from the start, the Gypsy had given them card after card with specific guides to help their choices. No Mystic Seer-vague replies. No Magic 8 Ball’s It’s a possibility. The answers hit so close—too close to dismiss.

  Lights of Colford Hall came into view as he rounded the bend. In response, he expected his muscles to tense and his heart rate jump, as decades-old resentment rose within him. There was nothing. He was letting go of the past. Instead of slowing, Trev wheeled past the towering, ornate gates of the winding drive, heading home to the cottage and Raven, to his future.

  “I have a sexy woman with ruffled feathers that needs soothing, two cats, a one-legged seagull, a midget pony and a baby waiting for my return,” he told the reflection staring back at him from the rearview mirror. “I finally have a home, roots. How lucky can one man get?”

  Then he noticed the sky behind Colford seemed odd. Lighter. At first he thought it was some strange cloud formation, but then cold dread poured through him. It was getting brighter. And it was definitely coming from the direction of the cottage.

  He downshifted the Rover and took the S-turns as fast as he could. By the time he reached the turnoff, he knew a big fire was coming from the direction of the cottage. The image of The Tower flashed to mind, lightning and belching fire shooting out the windows. He’d cursed not having the Lamborghini’s speed and handling on the drive home, but was suddenly glad of the Rover’s high clearance and four-wheel drive. The roadster always had to crawl down Raven’s little lane. The off-road traction of this utility vehicle permitted him to push the car to its limit.

  As he neared the cottage, there was no question in his mind. It wasn’t the barn; the gardener’s cottage was on fire! He’d gone away leaving his family, his life, his beautiful Red Riding Hood in there. Instantly, his mind cast recriminations: he had asked her to go with him! He should have made her go; then she’d be away from this madness. Instead…

  He couldn’t face instead right now.

  People were running across Colford’s back property, rushing past his car as he pulled up and jumped out. He grabbed the cell from his pocket and punched 999, barely hearing the “Ambulance, fire and police—which do you prefer?” on the other end. He didn’t care. He just wanted them here. Now.

  “I don’t see why we cannot have all three. My fiancée is trapped in a burning cottage on the backside of Colford Hall estate, out on Old Post Road.” Seeing Luca and several other Gyspies rushing from the woods, he tossed the phone to Brishen’s kinsman. “Give them the information they need.”

  The whole damn thatch roof seemed to be burning, and the front wall was engulfed. But there were other exits. The back door and both greenhouses—Then he recalled he’d blocked the door to the big one with a pile of lumber.

  His knees nearly buckled. He had stupidly barred the door with a stack of boards that was chest-high. She would never be able to get that door open. Much in the manner he’d done yesterday, he went from the front of the house to the small greenhouse. His heart dropped when he reached it. While the glasshouse was untouched by the flames, the door opening into it was.

  Lightning sounded, splintering across the inky night, and Trev almost felt as if it struck his heart. The back door was safe from the flames at the moment. Jerking open that screen door, he reached the back door only to see the fire was already in the hallway and the nursery. Raven couldn’t get to the kitchen to use it. Which left the big greenhouse door, which was blocked.

  Trev was beyond panic. His thoughtless act might have doomed Raven to death.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Acrid smoke curled around her nose, choking her, and Raven tried to turn over to hide her face. Damn, she’d forgotten to have the chimney sweep in this year! Not smart. Creosote built up on the inside of chimneys and caused all sorts of problems—such as poor drawing, which could lead to smoke building up and getting back into a house. I
n the worst cases, the damn black stuff could actually catch fire.

  Fire?

  That single world sent Raven spiraling through the darkness that had claimed her, fighting to claw her way back to consciousness. Back to Trevelyn.

  She tried to sit up. Couldn’t. Reaching out, she stirred with the grace of Boris Karloff in the movie Frankenstein. Her inner voice screamed a warning, but her head hurt too much to heed what her survival instincts tried to relay to her fuzzy brain. She opened her eyes and looked about.

  “My vision is screwy,” she muttered to Chester. Only, Chester wasn’t on the couch with her.

  Attempting to draw a breath, she looked around for the cat. As her senses began functioning, she grew aware heat assailed her. High heat. She squinted, recognizing she was experiencing double vision, which made the fireplace seem double its size. But then she turned her head and saw fire all around her. Even behind.

  “Oh, God!” Taking hold of the couch’s back, she used it as a crutch to stand. She turned in every direction, but no matter which way she looked, flames danced along the walls, even spreading across the ceiling and the exposed beams. “Out. Must get out…”

  The oily black smoke roiled through the room, the house. Raven strangled, gasping for air. Finally, her brain began functioning, enough to recall that smoke rises. She needed to drop to the floor and maybe there’d still be breathable air.

  Falling to her hands and knees, she gulped hungrily for oxygen. After several mouthfuls, she gathered enough logic to know she had to find an exit. Then, it was just a matter of crawling to a door and safety.

  She tried to crawl, but her skirt sent her tumbling forward. She reached down and grabbed the back of the hem and then pulled it up like a diaper, tugging the material in at the waist. The front of the house was engulfed in flames. Searching to her left she saw the flames crawling across that wall, the door already aflame. Her mind screamed, My paintings, but knew they were not worth risking her life.

  A howl suddenly sounded from upstairs.

  “Oh—Chester!” Raven recalled how he’d run back upstairs when he’d seen it was Alec and not Trevelyn. “Bloody hell.” Pye was probably up there, too!

  Not hesitating, she navigated over to the stairs and then stood. Holding her nose, she dashed up the steps, keeping to the right side of the railing because it hadn’t caught fire yet. In the bedroom, she heard Chester crying mournfully. The smoke was heavier up there, so she went to her knees again and followed the cat’s voice to the bed. Lifting the dust ruffle she found him underneath, crying and hissing.

  “Poor baby.” When she reached out to him, he came to her. Thankfully, she clutched the kitty to her chest and then looked for Pyewacket. He’d been asleep on the bed. “Pyewacket!”

  A faint terrified mewl sounded from the closet.

  There was no way she could crawl with two hysterical cats; they would be impossible to handle. She reached for the pillows, dragging two off with one hand. She squeezed Chester between her thighs as she stripped the pillowcases. “Sorry, Chester.” Then she shoved the terrified kitty into the pillowcase. The cat would hate her for days for what she was about to do, but it would mean they’d both be around.

  Half scooting, she held Chester tight in the case so he had no room to move. Pushing open the closet door, she found Pye at the very back. The gray kitty backed up when she reached for him. Poor thing was so scared.

  “So am I, Pye. Sorry, love.” She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and struggled to get the case about him.

  In the tussle, her head brushed a yellow Macintosh hanging on the rack. She tugged until the raincoat fell off the hanger. In the pocket was a silk scarf. She used that to tie both pillowcases together. The cats were fussing, but with them snugged down, they couldn’t do much but poke claws through the linen.

  Seeing a pair of dirty jeans on the floor, Raven snatched them up and pulled them on as she skimmied out of the skirt. The jeans would provide better protection for her legs. Taking her belt from the loops, she ran it around her shoulder and then under the opposite arm, crossways over her chest, and then buckled that over the tied pillow cases. It would help her hold on to the cats when she needed to crawl. Dragging the Mac over her like a tent, she clutched the cats against her and started the arduous journey back down the stairs.

  The damn place was going up like a tinderbox! The ancient wooden beams and thatched roof saw the flames spreading in every direction. It was a matter of minutes before the whole roof would collapse inward. Escape would be hopeless. Taking a deep breath, she headed back down the stairs, dodging the flames that were growing worse with each passing minute.

  By the time she descended, there was simply no route out through the back of the house. The whole hallway to the kitchen was solid flame. Even the door to the large greenhouse had fire crawling all over the door frame.

  She looked in there, seeing the pile of lumber still blocking the door. The greenhouses wouldn’t catch fire like the wooden part of the house was doing. However, they were far from safe, presenting dire threat in a different manner. Glass melted—at what point varied by its composition, some older types doing so at very low temperatures. Some shattered. Some actually softened and bowed as it shifted back to a liquid state. Within minutes the whole place would see the huge panes of glass distorting and falling inward, much like guillotines falling from the sky.

  Cracking and popping, pieces of the ceiling started dropping overhead, sprinkling cinders. The whole front wall was engulfed, reaching up to the thatched roof. It would be seconds before the fire closed this final avenue of escape.

  “Atticus.” She spoke the reminder to herself. The bird slept in his nesting box on the far side of the glasshouse. Bending down, she took a deep gulp of good air and prayed. Gathering the frantic cats in the pillowcases to her breast, she faced the only avenue left, tugged the coat closed over her and the cats, and walked through the midst of the hungry flames.

  She fell to her knees in the greenhouse, thankful to have broken through the wall of fire unscathed. Choking, she sucked at the air. Even when she didn’t drag in a lungful of smoke, the air was fouled by plastics and burning chemicals. Plus, it was hot. It dried her lungs.

  Inside the greenhouse, she struggled past many of her treasures, including Brishen’s beautiful rocking horse, her collection of Victorian planters and the fortuneteller’s booth. The stone slab floor was hard on her knees, harder because of her bearing the extra weight of the wiggling cats. Even so, she finally reached the far rack of plants where her strawberries grew, along with the baby lavender rose she’d pollinated herself. The delicate petals had just started opening. Everything in her safe little world was being destroyed.

  “Atticus!” she cried. Oh, please be here, you silly bird! She was crying, but the tears dried instantly on her face. Then his orange beak popped out of the large round hole. As soon as he saw she was under the coat, he came hopping out. The smart bird huddled in the Mac with her, as she tried to think what do. Surely the fire would’ve drawn people by now, as it would be visible for miles. Trev might even be back.

  “Oh, Trevelyn.” The damn door was blocked, as if Fate had spoken that her time had come.

  She hugged the cats and the bird to her, shaking and nearly mindless with fear. Overhead, pings sounded, the metal framework of the greenhouse responding to the intense heat. Once the glass was breached, either by falling, shattering or exploding, the air would rush in and fuel the firestorm. She had to break out before that happened.

  Glancing over to the corner, she saw the beautiful clockwork Gypsy. Heartbreakingly, the booth was catching fire. Even if there was a way out, it was too heavy for her to drag.

  Then her eyes saw the tarot card on the floor before her. It was impractical, but she reached out and snatched it up. It wasn’t a Major Arcana card, but the Two of Swords. It pictured a woman balancing blades, crossed and held upright. A blindfold covered her eyes. Raven didn’t miss the meaning: life in a precarious b
alance, requiring blind courage to face adversity. But bloody hell, she wasn’t one of the Montgomerie warrior women. She was just a quiet lass who loved her pets and her home. She was shaking and sick, terrified to the point she couldn’t think. There was no saving her beautiful cottage she had worked so hard to create…but damn if she was going to lose anything else! Blinking away the tears, she struggled against double vision to read the words on the back.

  The path of the future lies before you.

  Her eyes looked straight ahead at the pane of sheet glass. Not hesitating, she crawled to the table where one of the huge Victorian planters sat. “Atticus! Stay.” She unslung the pillowcases from her neck and placed the cats next to the bird, then draped the Mac over them. “Stay. Please stay,” she sobbed.

  Pulling up on the table, she lifted the planter in her arms. Damn thing was nearly more than she could hold, and there was no way she could toss it to any effect. But she spun around in the manner of a Scottish shot-putter, and let the planter fly.

  Likely already softened from the heat, the eight-foot-tall wall of glass shattered into jagged shards. Several were hanging from the top of the frame, dangerous.

  The instant in-rush of air saw the fire triple, almost exploding in a whoosh. Then the shrubbery moved, and suddenly Trevelyn was there. He forced his body through the boxwoods and reached out for her. Instead of taking his hand, Raven spun back for the animals.

  Just as she reached them, Trevelyn grabbed her and dragged her away. She nearly leapt from his arms, grabbing at the yellow Macintosh.