The church dominates me, its tower throwing a threat over my future. My sister swaggers ahead of me. I follow her, my walk stiff.
We enter St. Giles, and my eyes find Peter’s on the other side of the altar. The urge to flee is so strong that I nearly faint under the impulse. I hold back a scream.
I will never love this man. Guilt makes me close my eyes. I am entering into this union under false pretenses.
But I have no choice.
Chapter 35
HER STOMACH RUMBLED and reminded Madison she had skipped breakfast. The burglary hadn’t destroyed her appetite. That was a good sign.
To rest her eyes, she looked away from her laptop screen. That morning she had downloaded a database and sacrificed big bucks—by her standards—to research the birth, marriage licenses, and parish records for a Sarah Perkins.
The cash had been wasted for now. The spectrum was too broad, and she would need more than a name and surname to find out about Sarah and Peter. At least, she needed a place to start, a location.
And Archie Black’s skills. The thought of the genealogist led her to Rupert. Talk about a way to kick off a relationship: her door smashed, the police coming around after his call, answering their questions. Rupert must have thought she was a disaster magnet.
She didn’t want to stand out in front of the college authorities either, at least not for the wrong reasons. From now on, she would have to keep a low profile, even lower than in the past. This would mean a subterranean lifestyle, but Yale had taught her how to become invisible.
Of course, her desire for discretion would mean pulling out a certain thorn from the sole of her foot pronto, a thorn named Peter, and whoever his accomplice was.
To divert her mind from more “Peter” thoughts, she played at moving the Bible in the air, off her desk, downward, upward. She was getting good at it.
A muffled noise dragged Madison out of her plans for annihilation and a ghost-free future, and the bible crashed back on the desk.
The creak came from behind her door. A chill ran down her spine and back up to her heart, where it settled with a squeeze.
Peter’s partner-in-crime was back to get her in broad daylight.
A knock at the door.
Fear froze her movement. She didn’t react.
The doorknob twisted, once, twice. Her knees locked, but she fought her panic and grabbed a picture frame in her right hand. With a jerking movement, she pulled the door wide open.
Jackson stood in front of her. The sight of him brought tears into her eyes. Until that moment, she hadn’t fully realized how bad the burglary had hit her.
She wanted to freak out, reach out for comfort and sag against him. He was the only one who knew, the only one she could confide in. But Madison remembered the scene at Freud’s, when he had shared his own heartbreak, and his defiance against Rupert.
She was now dating Rupert. So maybe a little restrain was in order.
“I’ve just heard about the burglary,” he started. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it happened right inside Christ Church.” His wrinkled brow and strained smile betrayed his concern.
“It was Peter.” Madison had sputtered out the words.
His body tensed.
“Burglaries happen in the real world too. Why would Peter need to steal something from you?”
“That’s the point. Nothing was stolen. On the contrary, he left me a little present.” She waved toward her desk where the Bible lay.
His eyes narrowed on the book, and he walked toward the desk. He grabbed the leather-bound volume and started turning the pages, showing extra care for the ancient object.
“‘He will never love you the way I do.’ These are strange words to write on the Holy Scriptures.” He now rested on the edge of the desk, as he often did during classes.
“Peter said those exact words when …” Madison stopped, her mouth dry. She hadn’t mentioned the Louisiana episode to Jackson. It would have meant revealing Tarquin’s attack, and Ollie was the only one she had talked to about the attempted rape. “Peter said those exact words in a dream.”
Jackson put the Bible back on the desk and started tapping his fingers on the tabletop, clearly not convinced.
“It was Peter,” Madison hammered like a mantra.
“Has anyone had access to your room recently?”
She shook her head, trying to recall anyone she wouldn’t know having lurked on their floor. But nothing sprang to her mind. “No, Ollie always comes and goes. Rupert got inside at the same time as I did.”
“Vance was with you last night?” He scowled and stood at the same time.
She crossed her arms, took a deep breath and held it in. Once she released it, her voice was controlled. “That is beside the point. We were coming back from dinner. That’s when we saw the door had been smashed.”
Jackson started pacing the narrow width of her study. “Have you told him anything about the painting? About your powers?”
His question awoke the guilt she already felt for keeping her secret after Rupert’s confession. She covered her embarrassment by rolling her eyes and flicking her gaze upward. Her tone had sharpened when she replied, “I haven’t told anything to anybody.”
“Good. Then how? How did Peter manage to trash your door?” His answer and questions were clipped.
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Madison headed toward the wardrobe in her bedroom. On the way, she put the photo frame back where she had taken it to defend herself.
She opened the wardrobe, and a lingering scent reached her nostrils and unsettled her once again. Tobacco? Mixed with … lemongrass? Weird. The scent was not hers, but still familiar. Ill at ease, she pushed the sensation away and grabbed Mamie’s diary from beneath layers of clothes.
She turned back toward Jackson. “Remember what my grandmother said about possession. I thought that maybe Sarah’s soul had possessed me. But she explained to me that only spirits full of hatred, or with vengeance in them, were involved in such acts. I believe Peter has taken possession of someone. Here in Oxford. Someone human, who can do all these physical acts a mere spirit like Peter can’t.”
A line formed between Jackson’s eyebrows. She handed him the diary, struggling to part from the reassuring contact of the leather against her palm. “I have marked the pages where she writes about the mechanism of possession, and exorcism.”
“Exorcism?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, opened the book and wandered a short distance while reading.
“Come on, Jackson. You descend from Salem witches. You should believe in exorcism.”
He turned toward her, still reading through the pages Madison had marked with torn pieces of paper. “I’m open to the concept of exorcism. But how do you intend to use it against Peter?”
Her breathing quickened, and her voice became buoyant. “Mamie wrote a prayer voodoo priestesses have used to take demons or evil spirits away from the victims they inhabit, and destroy the demons in the process. Have a look at it, it’s on the last page I marked.”
His eyes fixed on the diary, he read the selection. “Yeah, I can see that. But there seems to be a few caveats for the whole operation to be successful.”
Madison refused to be deterred. “If the host has refused to give himself to the vengeful spirit, then he will survive the exorcism. His own soul will get back into his body.”
“What if the host has accepted the possession? If his interests are aligned with those of the spirit, for example.”
“In that case, the balance of powers is more equal between the evil spirit and the host. That means the demon can stay inside the host much longer. In a way, it works like an organ transplant. If the host rejects him right from the start, then at some point the demon might be kicked out earlier than he would like to.”
“On the other hand, if the possession is consensual, Peter would have to give some leeway to his accomplice,” Jackson completed.
“Exactly.” Relief swam over her body. He unders
tood.
“So what is our plan of attack?”
“Find out who Peter has possessed, isolate him, and inflict the prayer on him.”
Jackson handed her back the diary. “It sounds very straightforward.”
Skepticism had seeped into his voice. She raised her chin in defiance. He always was so supportive of her powers. Why not today when she needed his experience more than ever? Surely his resentment against Rupert wasn’t enough.
Jackson headed to the door, opened it, and turned toward Madison. “Of course, you realize that someone close to you might hate you enough to agree with Peter’s vengeance.” He nodded to her. “Keep the prayer with you at all times. Learn it by heart. We never know when that bastard might strike again. In the meantime, I’ll do some more research.”
Slowly, he closed the door behind him.
The reality of his words settled inside of her. She went back to her desk and slumped into her chair. Losing track of time, paranoid thoughts swirled in her mind.
A knock at the door startled her and she screamed. Ashamed with her overreaction, she composed herself, then opened the door.
Miss Lindsey took a shuffling step back, surprise etched across her face.
“You’re here,” she acknowledged in a whisper.
Well, this was Madison’s room.
“I came to check if the builder had repaired the door, like he said he would.”
“He has. This morning.” Madison’s voice was terse, but unease had her pull at her sweatshirt. More than ever, the woman summoned images of Rebecca’s Mrs. Danvers.
“I see,” Miss Lindsey commented, her lips pressed in a fine line. Her narrowing eyes couldn’t hide her glassy gaze. “You don’t seem to take this incident very seriously. You didn’t even want to call the police. Your friend, Mr. Vance, had to convince you to do so.” She hardly veiled her criticism.
“I’ve no idea why they chose my room. I don’t own anything valuable. It’s bad luck that—”
“Why would someone break into your room and steal nothing? He must have been looking for something.” Her eyes were probing, but Madison couldn’t meet her gaze. She felt guilty, although she had no reason to.
“I don’t know.”
Miss Lindsey stepped into the room, and Madison’s stomach dropped. The woman paced around the compact square of her study, examining every one of its angles.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for.” Madison’s voice had taken on a shrill tone. Her hands gripped the doorknob, turning her knuckles white.
“Drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“Anything illegal, you would have refrained from declaring to be stolen to the police. You or Rupert Vance. His reputation is scandalous enough.”
Madison wanted to punch that haughty face of hers. But she couldn’t piss off Christ Church’s authorities.
Low profile, low profile.
“I don’t do drugs, and neither does Rupert. He rows for Oxford, remember? He has to piss in a cup every month to prove it.”
“No need to be so graphic.” Miss Lindsey stood next to the desk, her hands caressing the weathered cover of the antique Bible. “Now, this is an unexpected item, a valuable-looking one too.”
“That’s for my research. A friend lent it to me.” Madison’s mind dug for a plausible explanation. “Doctor McCain.”
“I see. He’s been a good friend to you.”
“We discussed my relationship with Doctor McCain before Christmas.” Madison wanted to swallow her words, but it was too late. The woman could complicate her college life big time.
The censor took her cue and exited the room. When she crossed the threshold to the corridor, she warned, “I’m keeping an eye on you, Miss LeBon. I’m keeping a very close eye on you.”
With deliberate care and without a word, Madison closed the door. She leaned against it, her ears trying to follow the retreating steps of Miss Lindsey.
When she was sure the threat had receded, she released a deep breath.
Miss Lindsey hated her.
Chapter 36
RUPERT HUNKERED down over his plate, and ignored the burning sensation of the French fries against his tongue. The low ceiling of the Turf intensified his foul mood. From a freshly washed table nearby, the scent of grilled meat blended with the smell of citrus cleaner.
Choosing the most popular pub in Oxford for their second date had been a massive mistake. And why had Madison’s friends turned up at almost the same time he’d arrived with her? Then, for some bizarre reason, she’d invited Ginger Girl and Glasses Boy to join them for dinner.
The mismatched couple now sat opposite him, seeming as delighted with his company as he was with theirs. But Rupert was ready to make an effort. He wanted to be part of Madison’s life. Those guys were her best friends.
The last bite of his burger savored and swallowed, he slouched against the wooden bench. His fingers were now clasped together on his lap. He stared at Madison, studied her profile, listened to her voice. He had no desire to be anywhere else.
She filled the silence with her bubbling laughter. Sparks danced in her eyes and warmed up the frigid atmosphere. Wednesday’s upsetting burglary had been relegated to the memory shelf.
She was happy, therefore Rupert was too.
But as soon as she left the table for the bathroom, the tension ratcheted up.
“Do you think you’ll make the final cut for the Varsity Race this year?” Pippa asked, her eyes probing. Next to her, Ollie yawned.
“I hope so. I’ve worked very hard for it.”
“Well, it must help that the coach is your dad’s best mate, for sure.” She lifted her chin.
Rupert opened his mouth but managed to stop himself from telling Madison’s friend to bugger off. Instead, he took a deep breath. Faking interest, he asked, “So, you like rowing?”
Pippa leaned in over the table, cocking her head up, and ignored his question. “You’re playing with Madison’s feelings. She’s a good person, and you’re going to hurt her.”
Thanks for the vote of confidence.
The girl had to be jealous because he had slept with her, centuries ago. And dumped her the next day. Another one of his grand gestures. What a prick I was…
He tapped his foot on the wooden floor and refused to lose his temper. Instead, he kept his hands busy by nursing a soft drink between his palms. He tucked his head deep between his shoulders and ignored Pippa for the time he needed to cool his temper.
To his relief, Madison returned, sat back and launched the conversation on the brand new topic of the bookstore on High Street. Rupert’s mind escaped, while his eyes fixed on the salt and sugar granules spread across the table.
The respite was shortlived.
Making a grand entrance, Harriet stepped into the Turf, looking more like a diva than she usually did. Claus, Rupert’s fiercest competition on the team, followed in her wake.
Next to Rupert, Madison tensed up. He laid his hand around her shoulders to make sure everyone in the pub knew she was his.
Harriet, and that disgusting fur coat of hers, charged straight toward their table. It wasn’t going to be pretty. Rupert braced himself for a slap of bitchiness. Pippa had now become the least of his problems.
“You haven’t lost any time.” She gazed around the room and added, “Has your father already cut you off? You used to take me to more glamorous places.”
“Good evening, Harriet.” Nodding toward the Dane who hung a bit to the side, Rupert continued, his hand now intertwined with Madison’s, “Claus. I’m glad to see the two of you enjoy each other’s company.”
“I’m surprised you don’t mind Rupert’s shabby past. But hey, a girl like you can’t be too picky.” His ex wasn’t up for sweet talk. She was up for a fight, and Madison was her target.
Rupert launched himself from the bench. “Shut up, you bitch.”
Harriet retreated behind Claus, or maybe he propelled himself in front of her.
“Cla
us, take Harriet out of here before I forget she’s a girl.”
“We’re staying. Have fun with that slut of yours somewhere else instead,” Claus smirked, his breath charged with beer.
Raging anger exploded inside Rupert. His fist curled, swung, and hit Claus’ sorry face. Once, Twice. The Dane’s face jerked backwards each time and blood splattered out of his nose. But that wasn’t enough for Rupert. He grabbed Claus’s shoulders, pulled him forward, and threw his knee under the guy’s chin. Claus collapsed.
“Stop.” Ollie positioned himself in front of Rupert. It was a brave move. Madison’s friend weighed less than a quarter of their two combined bodies. Ollie ordered Rupert, “It’s time for you to go. We’ll try and cover your sorry arse.”
Madison had already grabbed their jackets. With a strong clasp on his hand, she led him outside.
RUPERT MARCHED ahead of her, but Madison caught up with him, glanced at his closed features, then looked away. His flared nostrils told her he wasn’t in the mood for smalltalk.
“I need some fresh air. Let’s go to the Cherwell.” It was more an order than a suggestion.
Madison nodded and shoved her hands in the pockets of her duffel coat.
They passed the town gate, and, at the corner of the botanic garden, the well-manicured sports ground of Christ Church Meadow appeared across the Cherwell. The crescent moon bathed the scene in a silvery glitter.
“Oxford’s very own bayou,” Rupert joked, pointing at the Cherwell’s channeled path. “There’s a bench further down.”
The vein on the side of his forehead had stopped its pulsing, an encouraging sign. Madison cleared her throat. “Getting into fights isn’t the best idea. But, for what it’s worth, thank you for knocking him down. It was very chivalrous of you.”
He halted in front of her. The gap between their heights forced her to tilt her head at an awkward angle.
He laughed, but his laughter had an edge. “Pippa doesn’t think I’m serious about you. Apparently, I’m not good enough for you, and you’re going to get hurt.”
Madison took a few steps past him. She didn’t comment on his outburst, but instead chewed on a fingernail. The traffic on the High Street had become a distant murmur.
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