“Do you want to keep hiding in the shadows while your lover rides into battle for you? I thought you seemed more progressive than that.”
“I don’t,” Kate said. “If you’re so sure of what I am, just tell me.”
“That isn’t the way this goes,” Sanheim said, and he smiled. It was an extremely unpleasant grin. “This is a trial by fire—always.”
“Then at least help me understand instead of just sneering at me.”
“I am trying to help you,” he said. “You’re the one holding yourself back.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she replied.
“You have all the answers you’re going to get,” Sanheim said. “What have you learned?”
“Great. Now I get a test?”
Sanheim threw up his hands.
“Don’t you understand? It’s always a test,” he said. “There was a test for Quinn and there’s one for you. Just tell me what you learned.”
Kate thought for a moment and her mind was a total blank. She saw herself in graveyard after graveyard, searching futilely for ghosts or some other connection.
“If that’s all you have, you two are doomed,” Sanheim said. “And nothing I say or do can help you.”
Kate thought of digging up the grave for the woman in mourning. The memory flashed through her.
“I belong with the dead,” Kate said.
“Yes,” Sanheim said, and this time his voice was not mocking. “What else? What did the wraiths teach you?”
Kate relived the experience in her mind. She looked at Sanheim.
“Emotion is the key,” she said.
Sanheim took three steps toward her and was now in her face.
“Yes!” he said.
“It’s the key to them, to spirits,” Kate said.
“Not just them,” Sanheim said. He looked almost anxious now as he stared into her face. “For those who have passed on, emotions are all they have left. But even for the living, it’s what defines us.”
“Our fears define us,” Quinn said.
Sanheim turned from Kate and nodded at Quinn.
“For us—you and me—that’s true,” Sanheim said, and Quinn had the sense he had just been given a very large clue to a dark secret.
Sanheim turned back to face Kate.
“But not for everyone,” he continued. “Fear is wrapped up with other things. What is the emotion that defines you, Katrina?”
Kate stared back at him.
“I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Oh,” Sanheim said and he smiled his ghoulish grin again, “I think you do. In the case of the man, the cennad is a literal figure—his worst fear. But the woman’s form is determined by other factors. Like everything about women, it’s more subtle. What drives you, Kate?”
“Love,” she said. “Love for Quinn.”
At that, Sanheim burst out laughing. It was a true laugh and it echoed throughout the castle ruin. It gave the impression that there wasn’t just one person laughing, but many.
“Nice try,” he said.
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Kate said.
“The truth,” Sanheim replied.
“I know the answer,” Quinn said.
Sanheim held up his hand to stop Quinn from talking.
“Let her figure it out on her own,” he said. “This is important. Everything hinges on it.”
Kate felt lost. She knew the answer—must know it—but she couldn’t think of it. She thought of the ways she traditionally defined herself—as a writer, a woman, a reporter, a daughter, and now, a fiancée. She hadn’t said yes, of course, but it was only a matter of time. But none of those were the answer she was looking for.
Sanheim’s voice dropped then as he stepped again toward her. It was almost a whisper.
“What event defines your life, Trina?”
That answer she knew. Instantly. She saw her mother lying on the bed, her hand falling off it. The blood. The note. “See you soon, Trina,” it had said.
“The murder of my mother,” Kate replied.
“And what did you feel about it?”
She searched all the tangled emotions of that day: the sadness, loss, despair and fear. But the emotion she most remembered, the one that kept her warm at night, was not any of those.
“Angry,” she said. Her eyes locked with Sanheim.
He cocked his head to one side and smiled at her.
“What drives you, Kate?” he asked again.
This time she knew the answer.
“Anger,” she said.
A flood of memories washed over her. The years spent dreaming of avenging her mother. Why had she come back to Loudoun County last year? What had she wanted when she searched for Lord Halloween?
“Then why are you holding yourself back?”
“I’m not,” she said.
“You are,” Sanheim said. “Why haven’t you embraced your anger?”
“What are you, Darth Vader?” Quinn asked.
Sanheim turned to him and gave him an annoyed look.
“I don’t know who that is,” he said.
“Let’s just say he thought the key to life was embracing anger as well. It didn’t turn out that well for him,” Quinn said.
“You had better hope it works for you,” Sanheim said.
“This is ridiculous,” Quinn said. “Yes, she’s angry. The death of her mother affected her in lots of ways. But she killed Lord Halloween, remember? We both did. That part’s over.”
“No, it’s not. She’s stopping herself from embracing who she is. Conquering your fears set you free. Her fears are holding her back.”
Sanheim turned back to her.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked.
Kate’s mind was swirling. The image came to her of that night after they had killed Lord Halloween. She had woken up early the next morning, gone to the desk, and started writing a letter.
“You know now, don’t you?” he asked.
“I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ll become him,” Kate said.
“Being the Prince of Sanheim means facing your fears—and defeating them,” Sanheim said. “What is your worst fear?”
“Becoming Lord Halloween,” Kate said. “When I wrote the letter… I didn’t…”
“It just came to you, didn’t it?” he replied. “Quinn faced his cennad and defeated him—and then became him. You faced yours, Kate, defeated him… and…”
“No,” she said. “No. That’s not possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible. This is your worry—that Lord Halloween is your cennad. When you killed him… you became him too.”
“No,” she said, but in her heart, she knew he was right. “No.”
“Then why did you write the letter?” the man asked.
“I wanted to set the record straight,” she said.
“Liar,” he responded. “You were acting on instinct. You were acting out of anger. Why were you mad?”
“The police had failed me, had failed all of us,” she said. “I wanted them to know…”
“That something else lurked in the dark,” Sanheim said.
“Yes,” she said.
“I can put your fears to rest, Kate,” Sanheim said. “I can tell you what you want to hear.”
Kate looked away from him, across the wide ocean. She knew what he was going to say—and it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“You’re not Lord Halloween, Kate,” he said. “You’re something much worse. You have no idea how powerful you are. Quinn alone can’t win this fight, but you can. But only if you accept what you have become.”
“Enough!” Quinn said. “She’s not like him. She doesn’t kill innocent people for pleasure. She hasn’t killed anyone, remember? I was the one who killed Lord Halloween, not her.”
The man turned back to Quinn.
“You may have struck the blow, but it was Kate who found him, Kate who hunted him in the dark house, and Kate who wanted him dead,” the man said,
and smiled with malice on his face. “It’s even possible the Headless Horseman might have just wounded poor Lord Halloween that night. But that was never Kate’s agenda, was it? ‘I want to be there when you kill him.’ Isn’t that what she said?”
“So what?” Quinn said. “He deserved to die. That doesn’t make her a killer. It doesn’t make her a monster.”
“Listen to you,” Sanheim replied. “‘He deserved to die.’ How sure you sound. But that isn’t what you told Elyssa, was it? ‘Whoever killed Lord Halloween should be brought to justice.’”
Quinn opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t think of a response.
Sanheim smiled at him.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, sounding smug. “The only way she can save you is to use her most powerful emotion. She needs to embrace it, not fight it.”
Sanheim turned back to Kate.
“You are what you fear?” he said. “Not in your case. Our past dictates what we are. For you, you are what you hate.”
Chapter 23
October 17, 2007
Kieran sat on his balcony looking out at the landscape beyond. If he didn’t think very hard about it, he could almost imagine he was back home at some country estate in England. Almost, but not quite. Virginia was pretty in its own way, but it had a distinctive look. There was no confusing its rolling hills and thick forests with English moors and countryside. Still, it never hurt to pretend. Kieran didn’t fancy himself the homesick type, but the longer he stayed here, the more he had come to reevaluate that. He missed home.
“Why in the world are you holed up here?” Elyssa said behind him, and Kieran jumped in his chair.
He turned around and glared at her. She smiled innocently.
“Sorry,” she said. “Thought you heard me come up.”
She was dressed, as she often was, to the nines. This time it was a short, colorful skirt with ruffled edges paired with a pale blue top. As usual, the flirty outfit showed off all her attributes.
So she’s trying to seduce me… again, Kieran thought. He wondered why she bothered. The two of them were long past the point where it would mean anything.
“What do you want?” he asked evenly.
“What do you call him?” she asked. “‘Our fearless leader’ wants to talk.”
“Have they made a decision?” Kieran asked, and he tried to sound nonchalant about it. He had been assured that Kate and Quinn would reject the deal, but what did his source really know? It was all guesswork and deceit with him. And it would be Kieran who paid the price if he was wrong, of course.
“No, they haven’t,” Elyssa said. “And Sawyer thinks they won’t go our way.”
“I don’t know about that,” Kieran said. “Quinn seemed to be openly considering it. Sawyer should let it ride, see what happens.”
Elyssa walked up to him—sidled up to him was more like it—and stood in such a way that Kieran could either look up at her breasts or down at her legs. He doubted it was a coincidence. She reached a long finger down and caressed his cheek.
“Since when does Sawyer let anything ride?” she asked. “He wants results. He wants to ‘raise the stakes,’ as he put it.”
Kieran tried to ignore her touch and remain calm, but his insides were seizing up. He had been playing the game for so long, he thought he was long past nervousness. His worst-case scenario was that he would die, probably painfully, and he was surprisingly accepting of that. What he feared was allowing himself to hope that he might actually succeed. Surrendering to failure… that he could do. But actually pulling off his plan? He dared not hope for it. He tried to assume it would all go wrong, so that way he wouldn’t be disappointed when the fatal blow finally came. And yet hope kept arising.
“I thought you already did that,” Kieran said, trying to focus his eyes on anything but Elyssa. “You talked with that reporter, right? She was going to put the screws on them.”
“Didn’t work,” Elyssa said, and her voice was smooth, silky.
She’s definitely trying to seduce me, he thought again, as if it weren’t obvious by now.
“So what’s the new plan?” Kieran asked.
He was having trouble concentrating. He had forgotten how persuasive Elyssa could be. Just what she was doing—or why she was doing it—was beyond him. It was probably just to piss off Sawyer.
“We’re going to talk to the reporter again,” Elyssa said, and as she said it, she slowly lowered herself onto his lap.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Elyssa kissed him, slowly. He surprised himself by kissing her back. He hadn’t meant to—didn’t think he wanted to—but he did anyway.
It’s been so long, he thought.
Elyssa’s tongue darted into his mouth and he responded. Kieran hated her, had despised her for years, decades. And yet he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. He wanted to push her away, but instead he pulled her forward so she straddled him. She felt so good and it was surprisingly easy to let the bad blood between them fall away. And was that all they had? Didn’t Elyssa and he share something else? Both caught in Sawyer’s web for years—his mad plans—without being able to break free? Kieran usually saw Elyssa as one of his jailors, but in that moment she felt like a fellow prisoner.
Kieran broke off from the kiss and stared at Elyssa. He thought she would be angry and might even protest. Instead, she looked almost vulnerable.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked him.
Kieran stared at her in shock. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect her to know how he felt—it was that she cared enough to ask.
“We weren’t always enemies,” she said.
“I don’t,” he started. But he did. He really did.
“You do,” she said. “I’ve just never known why.”
“You know why,” he said quietly. “You were there.”
“I didn’t…” she said. “You know that wasn’t my idea. He never told me what he was going to do. He blocks me out most of the time, even back then.”
“But you guessed,” he said, feeling the old anger stir in him again.
“No,” she said firmly. “I didn’t want her to die. You have to believe me. She was… like a sister to me. I never wanted it to happen.”
Did he believe her? They had never talked about it, had purposely avoided the subject. So why now? Why bring this up when the end was so near, when it would be so easy to go on hating her? Maybe it was genuine and she was as nervous as he was. Or maybe… maybe this was part of Sawyer’s plan, trying to ensure he had no vulnerabilities before he went into battle.
“And yet you’re still his,” Kieran said, and it came out bitter. Not that he wanted her. No, he wanted what he had already lost.
“Because I don’t have a choice,” she said.
Elyssa leaned in and kissed him again and this time it was surprisingly gentle. Kieran kissed her back.
Elyssa stood up and backed away from him. She slowly pulled off her shirt. She put her hands behind her, and unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor.
“I thought you said our fearless leader wanted to see us immediately,” Kieran said.
“I did,” she responded, and a genuine smile played on her lips. “But it wouldn’t hurt him to wait a while.”
Kieran stared at her. Choices and consequences. Everything used to be so simple. But now he stood on the edge of a knife, uncertain which way to go.
“If we do this, don’t go into my mind,” Kieran said.
Elyssa smiled again.
“I don’t think I could with you, anyway,” she said. “Not anymore.”
He nodded at that. He stood up then and walked over to her.
She slowly undid the buttons on his shirt and slid it off him. Still looking at him, she unbuckled his belt and pulled off his pants.
Kieran was surprised how much he wanted her.
“Why now?” he asked. “How did you know I would say yes?”
The two of them stood naked on the ba
lcony.
“Because,” she said. “The only person you enjoy pissing off more than me is him. And just think of how mad he is going to be waiting for us while we… entertain ourselves up here?”
She had a point.
Fuck it, he thought and laughed out loud.
Elyssa looked at him with a strange expression and then he kissed her. Hard. She broke away from him, stepped inside his room and pulled him onto the bed with her.
*****
October 18, 2007
Summer Mandaville was shivering. She tried to tell herself she was just chilly, but she knew better. She was nervous.
Summer hated being here. It wasn’t just that it was isolated and creepy. No, the house in front of her felt like a monument to her greatest failure. It was still intact, but barely. She wondered why the county hadn’t torn it down already. Its last occupant, Lord Halloween, had died near the front steps, his head found 17 feet from his body.
It should have been her story. For four years, she had worked for The Washington Post’s Loudoun Extra, the small tabloid-sized foldout tucked inside for every subscriber in the county. While she technically worked for the Post, it didn’t exactly feel that way. She spent most of her time in a small, crummy office in Leesburg next to a dry cleaner, McDonald’s and the local Department of Motor Vehicles.
But the Extra was supposed to be a stepping stone to the full paper. She had her career all mapped out. Like every other self-respecting journalist in the Washington area, she had visions of being the next Bob Woodward. Of course, she had to actually work at the paper proper for that to happen. As it was, they pulled a few of her stories a year for the back of the Metro section, but nothing substantial. And when there was a vacancy, the Post seldom hired from its outlying offices, instead picking new blood or reporters from other papers.
She had hoped Lord Halloween would change all that. His return last year was the first—and only—time that Summer had found her byline on The Washington Post’s front page. Her mom had called that day to congratulate her and had sounded so proud that Summer felt she might have finally won the age-old argument between them about whether her choice of career was a waste of time. After that, she had several other stories that weren’t featured quite as prominently, but still made the full Post. Even her old friends from high school and college were reading her now. She was on her way.
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