Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  On the one-week anniversary of her meeting with Josephine, as Grace approached the stairwell, intent on making it to breakfast early enough to catch Maribeth and Brother Anselm, Victor greeted her.

  “Good morning,” he said, falling into step beside her. He adjusted his longer strides to her shorter ones, taking her hand onto his arm. “You appear rather tired still. Did you not sleep well?”

  “Not well at all, I’m afraid.” She patted his arm. “But I can rest later in the afternoon if need be.”

  “Please don’t make yourself sick over your decision,” he murmured. “Devlin won’t send you to Waverly Hills. You must know by now you appeal to his softer side.”

  Grace halted on the stairs and tilted her head. “You would not have me help him, then?”

  “That isn’t what I said.” His voice was cautious but determined. “Although it may not be clear to you, Devlin has valid reasons for delivering retribution on his mother. He has endured atrocities far worse than your innocent imagination can conjure. Do not believe he does this lightly. Could I negotiate with Josephine on his behalf, I would do it in a heartbeat. But, alas, I cannot. Only you possess that power. I beseech you to help Devlin, because I assure you that his mother’s life isn’t worth your concern.”

  With that, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and Victor left her to make her way to the dining room alone as he sought the stables. His advice left her with a heavy heart. In assisting Devlin to condemn his mother to Hell, Grace would condemn him as well. And that she could not do. Would not do. Ever.

  Pausing in front of the kitchen door, she took a calming breath. So many things were converging at once, leaving her a bit dizzy. Brother Anselm had agreed to attempt communications with Marcus Deveraux in the library, a calm and inviting atmosphere where he would have relaxed during his lifetime. She needed to know what happened all those years ago in the ballroom, though after much reflection, she had an idea of what might have inspired Josephine’s rage. But Marcus was her only hope for confirming the truth. Only then could Grace devise a plan to thwart Josephine.

  A twinge of guilt pinched her heart for keeping her plans secret from Devlin, but she couldn’t predict what would be revealed through her line of questioning, and she didn’t wish to worry him unnecessarily. Though it was possible to communicate through her mind alone, she still felt most comfortable speaking aloud.

  Grace pushed through the doorway and grimaced at the utter chaos that assaulted her. People chattering, pots and pans clanking, bacon sizzling. Maribeth and Brother Anselm preferred to take their meal in the heart of the kitchen, where second helpings were an arm’s length away and conversation flowed. While she enjoyed spending the occasional morning in their company, the noise overwhelmed her senses at times, and this morning was no exception. Her head ached from lack of sleep, and her heart was sick with fear of the evening to come.

  “Come sit, Grace!” Maribeth shouted. “We’ve boiled eggs, fried a few strips of bacon, and made toast with strawberry jam for you. Let me fetch you some tea.”

  “Thank you, Poppet,” she said, shuffling to the table, lest she trip over a dog or run into a bucket, another reason she avoided the kitchen. She settled onto a chair. “Good morning, Brother Anselm.”

  He mumbled a greeting through his stuffed mouth and then slurped his tea. “Good morning to you. You’re looking a bit peaked. Are you sure you’ve enough energy for this morning’s activities?”

  “I’ll be fine after a hearty breakfast,” Grace said, though she doubted she could muster more than verbal communication. Although she wished to see her father dearly, the energy required to conjure his image was beyond her today.

  They ate in silence, and within the half hour, Grace was running her hands along the bookshelves of the library in search of a deep connection to the former lord of the manor while Brother Anselm offered prayers to cleanse the room and emit the holy light. Maribeth sat quietly on an armchair as she was instructed; while she wouldn’t be allowed to stay once the real business started, Grace had taken pity on the child and allowed her to observe the preparations.

  “Nothing, there’s nothing here to connect with,” Grace said with a deep-rooted frustration. “I thought for sure there must be a book Lord Deveraux was particularly fond of.”

  “He’s quite fond of his pipe,” Maribeth said. “Shall I fetch it for you from the parlor?”

  Grace grinned. “I daresay you’ve a knack for this sort of thing, Poppet. Why didn’t I think of it? Let’s go to the parlor, instead. It’s best to keep the positive energy in the room where it originates. Brother?”

  “Yes, excellent. A man’s pipe gives him pleasure and a few moments of peace and quiet. That’ll do very nicely.”

  They rushed down the hallway, and Grace’s breast filled with excitement. As they entered the parlor, a few piano notes drifted over her, and she froze, her heartbeat suddenly erratic. She stumbled to the piano and touched the keys. A pleasurable wave of emotion cascaded over her—a mixture of pure love and adoration.

  Mother, are you here?

  “Sorry,” Maribeth said. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Grace. Piano is my favorite instrument, and I can’t seem to resist touching it whenever I’m in here.”

  Grace released her breath in a steady stream. How silly of her. But, for a moment there, she’d realized how bereft her life was without her mother. What she wouldn’t give for five minutes in her company.

  “It’s okay, Poppet. Come sit in a chair like a good girl and watch as Brother Anselm prays for us. Remember what I told you?”

  “Yes, I must clear my mind and look for the light,” Maribeth said, her voice serious. “Imagine the light filling my whole body until it pours out of my fingertips.”

  Grace smiled and strode to the mantel where the pipe resided. “Excellent. You’re a wonderful student. Don’t forget to thank God for the opportunity to communicate with spirits.”

  “And what do I do if a ghost speaks to me?”

  “You say hello,” Grace offered.

  Maribeth giggled. “Oh, that’s easy. May I speak in my head, or do I have to speak out loud?”

  Grace sat on the settee with the pipe. Perhaps she shouldn’t indulge Maribeth, but there was no harm in letting the child pretend. She received great joy from following Brother Anselm around the house, blessing the various rooms and connecting with her spirituality.

  “Either is acceptable. It’s a personal choice. I, for one, prefer to speak aloud.”

  “I will speak with my mind,” Maribeth declared, “lest someone else listen in on my conversation.”

  Grace laughed and settled back on the settee in preparation of her own ritual. “Yes, that’s a wise observation. Which is why you must leave now, for I do not wish you to eavesdrop on my conversation.”

  “Very well.” Maribeth sighed. “Thank you for letting me observe.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Brother Anselm suddenly cleared his throat. “Do you remember what you promised, my child?”

  “I’m not to attempt speaking to the spirits on my own,” Maribeth said.

  “That’s correct. Grace has trained many years as a medium, and I’m always by her side to assist her. Now off with you.”

  From Maribeth’s giggles and squirming, Grace imagined Brother Anselm was mussing her hair or tickling her neck as he had so often with her as a child. He truly was a godsend, so patient and giving.

  Brother Anselm gripped Grace’s shoulder from behind, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You may begin now.”

  The ritual she followed was as natural to her as breathing, and she completed it within a minute, luxuriating in the sense of peace and well-being that always accompanied the holy light. She opened her heart and mind to the impossible, rending everything possible.

  “Lord Marcus Deveraux,” she said. “I’m sorry if I have angered you. It was not my intent. Please, if you ever loved my mother; do me the honor of speaking with me for a few minutes. I�
�m afraid you’re the only one who can answer my questions. Please, I beg you.”

  Eveline, my child.

  A lump grew in Grace’s throat, making it impossible for her to speak. She hadn’t heard her given name in many, many years, and never from her father’s lips, spoken so gently and filled with emotion.

  You have not angered me. Frightened and frustrated me, yes. But angered, never. I’d hoped my antics would have sent you running from here by now, but you have far too much of the Deveraux courage and obstinacy in your veins.

  His words sank in, and she bit her lip. He wasn’t trying to hurt her but rather scare her away? Her heartbeat turned erratic as a sense of foreboding crawled over her skin, causing her to shiver. A question hovered on her tongue, though she didn’t want to ask it, because in her heart she already knew the answer.

  “Why would you have me leave?” she whispered.

  You’re in grave danger. You must go far, far away. Promise me you’ll leave.

  Oh, goodness. It was true, then. Everything she and Brother Anselm had pieced together was true. She wetted her lips, but still they felt impossibly dry. Bracing her hands on the edge of the sofa, she gathered her courage and asked the one question burning a hole in her gut ever since she’d thought of it: “Did you kill Josephine’s soul mate?”

  A long period of silence followed, and Grace feared he’d abandoned her.

  Not intentionally. Your mother warned me, begged me not to excavate the lake for the ballroom. But the forest is immense, and my dream would not be quelled. How could I have known I chose the very location of Josephine’s lair—that I’d catch her soul mate unaware? You must flee, Eveline. Josephine has waited years for you to reach adulthood to enact her final revenge on me. She promised as much with my last breath. Do not underestimate her. She may already know your true identity.

  Nausea roiled in Grace’s belly. It was one thing to speculate about the truth, quite another to have it confirmed. Josephine was vengeful and evil to the core. What was this game the demon played, claiming to be Grace’s soul mate? It was nothing but a ruse meant to lure Grace to her peacefully so that she could mutilate her as she had her father.

  Grace slouched against the sofa, overcome by the weight of the truth. Having experienced her father’s death, she knew what treacherous fate awaited her. But even worse was the knowledge that Josephine wouldn’t assist Devlin without asking him to pay a heavy price. He was playing a high-risk game, indeed. Grace could not leave until she convinced him to give up his plan.

  I’m afraid she already knows your identity, my love.

  Her mother’s soft lilt resonated in Grace’s ears, and a ferocious ache bloomed in her chest at the beloved sound. She had dreamed of the chance to speak with her mother countless times throughout her youth. Was it truly her, or had she imagined her presence?

  “Mother?”

  Yes, my precious little girl. Though you’re not little anymore, are you?

  Grace pressed her hand to her mouth, choking back a sob as the wings of joy fluttered in her breast. “That was you playing our favorite song on the piano.”

  My serenade to you. It took a long time for you to come. Do you not wish to speak with me, Eveline? Have I completely lost your love and trust?

  “Never. I love you, Mama.” She cried, allowing her tears free rein. “I miss you every single day. It’s just … I didn’t dare to hope, only to be crushed if I couldn’t reach you.”

  You’re so sweet and innocent, still, after everything you have endured. I’m proud of you, Eveline.

  Oh, how she wished that were true. But she knew she’d lost her innocence, felt her soul succumbing to the darkness each night in her dreams. She was powerless to resist the pull of Josephine’s loving embrace, and it sickened her. Guilt, anger, fear, disgust … it boiled over, and she couldn’t contain the toxic feelings anymore, needed to purge herself of the lies.

  “You’re wrong,” she said, tempering the venomous anger burgeoning in her chest, fighting back her desire to rant and rail about the injustice of her life. “There is a wicked part of me. I’m tainted, and as dark inside as Satan. I dream of Josephine night after night and long to be by her side with a passion that vibrates through every cell in my body, only to wake repulsed by my desire for her. In my heart I know I should love a mortal like Devlin, yet I betray that instinct every night in my dreams. What kind of a monster does that make me?”

  She sobbed then, finally letting go of all the tension that had been building in her muscles for days. Every ounce of fight left her in that moment. She was raw and exposed, the wounds of her tortured soul bared to her dear mama. If only she could feel her loving embrace once more, lay beside her in bed while cradled in her arms.

  You’re not a monster, Eveline. You’re a pawn in a perilous game that began years ago. Josephine does not wish to kill you. No, her plans for you are much, much worse. She would make you her soul mate. Bind you to her for eternity and, in doing so, reap the ultimate revenge on your father.

  A breath lodged in Grace’s throat, and she sat up, her back ramrod straight. Though she wished to deny her mother’s claim, she couldn’t. Josephine had declared as much herself upon their first meeting. Was that why she invaded Grace’s dreams night after night, to give her a glimpse of the depth of love she would forever receive in Josephine’s care? Her dreams had become so intense and vivid over the course of the past week that she struggled to discern reality from fiction in her mind anymore.

  However, in the midst of all the confusion, one thing had become crystal clear: Josephine’s love for her soul mate was as deep and pure as the pool of life. To have such love ripped from her grasp must’ve been unbearable, driving her in a relentless need for revenge. And while Josephine’s actions were reprehensible, she’d been propelled into action out of insurmountable grief.

  And now Josephine wanted to make Grace her soul mate for eternity. The walls of her chest ached from the thudding of her heartbeat, and she bent her head down between her knees, gulping breaths lest she faint. She longed for it to happen, longed to be forever with someone who loved her with an unyielding and fiery passion. Her body trembled from the exquisite notion. And yet the idea of being forever bound to the gatekeeper to Hell was grotesque. Sanity returned to her senses, and Grace sat up.

  “But Josephine cannot succeed unless I allow it,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Why do I allow her to penetrate my dreams each night? I wish to stop, Mama, but I cannot. I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t explain and cannot resist, no matter how hard I try.”

  No longer able to contain her frustration, she growled and punched her fists against the sofa, loathing herself and her weakness. She did not possess the Deveraux courage.

  Listen to me, Eveline! Even in death the sight burns strong within me. Josephine preserved the soul of her mate with ancient dark magic, and on the night of your arrival in the mansion, Emma unwittingly laced your tea with that essence. Don’t you see? It is Josephine’s soul mate who longs to be with her again. You’re not attracted to Josephine!

  Grace gasped as all of the fragmented pieces fell into place, bringing clarity to the dual life she had been living at the mansion. And with it came a sweeping sense of relief. She was not deranged. Tears stung in her eyes. The euphoric moment was short-lived, however, as a new realization gripped her.

  “How long until Josephine’s soul mate overtakes my body completely?” she asked in her mind, hoping to protect Brother Anselm from the devastating news while fighting back the panic seeping into her veins.

  I cannot say. However, dark magic always requires a high price for it to become binding, and until that price is paid, you are safe.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered aloud by accident. It took her full concentration to project her questions through her mind, but she must try for her mentor’s sake. “What kind of price? How will I know when it’s been paid?”

  The most despicable price of all. Betrayal. Josephine must
find someone willing to betray their loved one in exchange for her help.

  Grace pressed her fingers to her temple and massaged the dull ache throbbing beneath the surface. Betrayal of a loved one. Such as a son casting his mother into the hands of Satan? Josephine knew of Devlin’s desire to meet with her. Grace began to wheeze, feeling somewhat faint.

  You must flee, Marcus cried. Foil her plans. Go!

  Abandon Devlin and leave his soul to the mercy of the dark side? She drew in shallow breaths, feeling as though the room had closed in on her, trapping her in a tiny box with no space to move, no air to breathe, until her mother’s desperate plea crashed through her wall of panic.

  Eveline, no. Your connection to Josephine’s soul mate is too potent. You’re woven together like an intricate tapestry. Only a powerful medium such as yourself can withstand the long-term effects of the ancient black magic, but leaving may rip your soul into two distinct parts, rendering you truly insane. You cannot leave until the magic has run its course. Please forgive me, my dear child. I never meant for your life to turn out this way.

  Grace wanted to reply, to free her mother’s soul of the guilt that so obviously weighed on her and kept her suspended between Earth and Heaven, but every ounce of air evaporated in the confined space of her mind, and she faded into sweet oblivion.

  • • •

  “Come back to me, sweet Grace.”

  The whispered words tickled her ears as ammonia burned a path in her nose and down her throat. She drew in a hasty breath of fresh air and moaned. A cool cloth pressed against her forehead, bringing some relief. Spreading her fingers, she felt a velvety substance. The settee in the parlor. She must’ve passed out.

  “Say something, sweetheart,” Devlin said.

  The concern etched in his voice tugged at her heart, yet he would be cross with her for reaching out to Marcus without him by her side, so she chose her words carefully. “My head aches terribly.”

  “Drink this.” Devlin supported her head, lifting it until her lips touched the rim of a cup. She sipped the bitter liquid, familiar with the headache remedy Brother Anselm concocted for her.