Of Shadow and Stone

by Michelle Muto

  A smaller rectangular table, obviously meant to accommodate the more honored guests, sat in front of the fireplace. Unlike the others, which were set with place cloths, this table had been covered with white linen. Lantern candles flickered beside a lead crystal vase filled with white lilies. Von Hiller offered Ian the seat to the right of the table’s head. Von Hiller took his own place opposite Ian.

  The table was large enough for a dozen people, but was set only for five. Ian glanced at the empty chair at the head of the table. “Declan’s spot, no doubt?”

  “Yes,” Von Hiller answered. “And sitting next to you will be Sara Black, another American guest.” He paused, wrinkled his nose, and added, “But I’m afraid Roland will be dining with us tonight as well. He’ll be sitting next to me.”

  Ian laughed. The caretaker had a sense of humor after all. He glanced at the empty spot next to Von Hiller. “No chance of seating him at the children’s table, eh?”

  Von Hiller leaned closer to Ian. “No. They wouldn’t have him, either. Not even with a good béarnaise sauce, I’m afraid,” he whispered.

  Ian laughed again, and Von Hiller offered a small shrug. Humor had always been Ian’s way of making tense and unfamiliar situations less stressful. Besides, he could never trust anyone who didn’t have a sense of humor, and he liked Von Hiller’s newly revealed playful wit. Even better, it was at Roland’s expense. Roland seemed the type to go out of his way to be a total dick.

  A server approached their table, looking rather staunch and proper in his black tuxedo, his drawn face void of expression. Ian curtailed his smirk and quietly cleared his throat.

  “Your usual, sir?” the server asked Von Hiller.

  Von Hiller nodded.

  “And for you, sir?” the server addressed Ian. “May I offer you a cocktail or other beverage?”

  “Water will be just fine for now,” Ian told him. His earlier drink had taken off the edge. Now he wanted a clear head when Declan told him who was supposed to be what around here.

  “Nonsense!” Von Hiller scoffed. “Bring us a bottle of the reserve,” he said to the server, who nodded and hurried off.

  “The wine here at Shadow Wood is some of the best. You must at least try it,” he told Ian.

  “Of course,” Ian replied. So much for not drinking. But after their bonding over Roland, he didn’t want to refuse. Besides, the last thing Ian wanted to do was piss off a bunch of supernatural beings. Even pretend supernatural beings.

  As the dining hall filled with guests, the buzz of conversation and clinking of glasses grew louder. The first group of people they’d passed in the study were seating themselves nearby. Ian couldn’t help but notice how intimate they were with one another—constantly touching as they sat together, hugging as they welcomed others. Some of them had an odd way of greeting—it almost seemed as if they were sniffing each other’s ears. The younger of the two women he’d seen on the steps caught his eye, and she gave him a tentative wave before sitting down.

  Ian’s imagination was working hard, coming up with lots of ideas for what these guests might be. Problem was, without anything else to go on, say capes or wands, they could be anything. Literally. The words sanctuary and Lord kept running through his mind.

  What if I said that you are not imagining things? What if I said that all this time, all the creatures I told you about for your novels were real?

  What if Declan wasn’t role-playing?

  Don’t be a dork, Ian, he thought.

  The chatter faded when Declan walked into the room. On his arm was the young woman’s earlier companion—the one with the fascinating golden-brown eyes.

  Pretty, Ian thought, then reconsidered. She was actually quite stunning with her rosy cheeks and dark hair. As Declan and the woman passed, some of the guests lowered their heads in respect. Declan guided the woman toward the table, and Ian and Von Hiller rose to greet her.

  “I would like to introduce you to Ms. Sara Black.” Declan motioned to the woman. “Sara, this is Mr. Ian McGuire.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you—again,” Sara said, smiling. Her hair glistened in the firelight. He looked into her eyes, confused. They were brown. Just plain, light brown, no longer containing the gold specks they had previously. She must have taken out her contacts.

  Please don’t let her end up being something hideous, Ian thought. Or whatever species Roland was playing.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Ian replied, realizing that he was staring. Sara simply smiled and looked away.

  Polite but aloof, Ian noted. Or shy. What could possibly be shy and reserved in the world of the supernatural?

  After seating the woman next to Ian, Declan took his place at the head of the table.

  “I trust you find your room suitable?” Declan asked.

  “Yes, I do. It’s incredible, actually,” Ian replied. “The view is just as you said.”

  Roland joined them, taking his place next to Von Hiller without acknowledging anyone. He didn’t look any happier than he had earlier. Ian noticed that only Declan gave Roland more than a passing glance. In fact, his host’s gaze fell upon Roland for a long moment; his gray-blue eyes seemed to send a clear warning. About what, Ian had no idea, but he felt a thin smile spread across his face as he realized Declan didn’t appear too fond of Roland either. And unless Declan was up for an Oscar, it wasn’t an act.

  The server returned with a tray of glasses and a bottle of merlot. He poured Von Hiller a glass first and then, upon his approval, poured wine for each of them.

  “A toast to our newest guest,” Declan said, raising his glass. “May Ian’s stay be an enchanting one. One he will never forget.”

  “To Ian!” Von Hiller chimed in.

  They had that right. He’d never forget his stay here.

  Von Hiller talked about the wine and the food. Apparently he was quite the connoisseur of wines. No wonder he had refused the drink that Ian offered him at the tavern. And while Ian had no doubt the chefs were as incredible as Von Hiller claimed, the way he talked about sauces and ingredients made it obvious the guy knew his way around the kitchen as well.

  More servers converged on their table, placing plates filled with roast beef, sautéed green beans with almond slices, and baked new potatoes topped with butter and sprigs of something green and leafy.

  Von Hiller had said the roast was rare, but Ian considered that an understatement. He wondered if the chefs’ idea of cooking meat meant running the cow past the ovens. Good thing he liked rare beef. It smelled wonderful; the aroma of the Madeira wine and wild mushroom sauce wafted past him.

  Declan stood and raised his glass toward the other tables, which fell silent once more. All eyes focused on him. “May the evening hunt go well. Enjoy the feast!”

  Everyone raised a glass in unison. There were murmurs of agreement among the guests and a clicking of glasses before everyone settled down to eat.

  “There’s a hunt tonight?” Ian asked. “When?”

  “I believe around ten,” Declan replied. “I would offer you an invitation, but it is a closed hunt. The season is in the fall only—guests arrive from all over the world for it. Many of them come every year to perfect their skills.”

  Ian thought about the tables full of eager guests and swallowed hard. “Do either of you hunt?” he asked Von Hiller and Declan.

  Von Hiller frowned. “No, no. They are a bit too gruesome for my tastes.”

  Ian eyed the rare roast on his own plate suspiciously.

  “I have seen the hunts, but I do not partake in them,” Declan said. “Sara, on the other hand, is an excellent huntress.”

  Ian winced. He couldn’t imagine someone as lovely as Sara partaking in a brutal hunt. He’d rather picture her taking part in this . . . whatever it was Declan was doing to help him write.

  “Most of us here tonight are hunters,” Sara said. She smiled warmly at Declan. “Declan is gracious enough to host us.”

  Ian regarded his dinner again. Had he been anywh
ere else—a high-end gourmet restaurant back home in Chicago—he would never question where his meal came from. Or what type of animal he was eating.

  Sara must have guessed his thoughts. “It’s beef,” she assured him.

  “Would you like to know more?” Von Hiller asked. “Earlier, you inquired about Sara and the others.”

  Ian glanced at Sara. “Sure.”

  Roland abruptly said, “I think your mortal guest would be much more interested in what they recently hunted rather than what they are.”

  Ian looked up in surprise. Until now, he’d been convinced Mr. Grumpy was incapable of even minimal conversation, and now he was a regular chatterbox. Mortal guest? What was he talking about? And what they hunted? Yeah, Ian had been thinking about that. Quite a bit, actually.

  Unfortunately, Roland’s outburst hit a nerve, or else he’d yelled out a line not in Declan’s script.

  Von Hiller nervously glanced at Declan. Declan sighed slightly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his steely gaze was leveled at Roland.

  Roland gasped and frantically clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging. He stood, flinging his chair backward. His pale face was now bloodred. This wasn’t an act. Roland was actually choking.

  Ian jumped from his chair, but Von Hiller was already at Roland’s side, patting him on the back. Then Von Hiller snapped his fingers, and with a great whooping cough, Roland caught his breath, and his face turned from scarlet to red to pink and finally to its normal pallor.

  The entire dining hall had grown quiet, and all eyes shifted between Declan and Roland.

  Ian blinked, and the moment was gone. Everyone at the surrounding tables resumed their conversations and their meals.

  “Heavens, Roland. Something must have gone down the wrong pipe,” Declan said evenly. “Maybe Von Hiller should take you to your room—I am quite certain that he will see to it that you feel better.” The last word rang out with an eerie finality. Act or not, Ian would hate to be on Declan’s bad side.

  Roland tensed when Von Hiller took his arm. He looked at Declan, but he allowed Von Hiller to guide him from the table. Ian noticed he clenched his jaws angrily as they turned to leave.

  “You will have to forgive Roland,” Declan said, buttering a piece of bread. “He is unhappy to be here. At times he can be rather troublesome. His family has asked that he stay for a while—they hope I can help with his attitude.”

  Ian wasn’t sure what to say. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what he’d seen. Had Declan caused Roland to choke in order to shut him up, and had Von Hiller then reversed it? Had they used some sort of magic?

  Impossible. He’d known Declan for years. While he could come across as rather intimidating, Ian had never had reason to be uneasy around him. Until now. Ian took a big drink of his wine, glad that Von Hiller had ordered it.

  Sara patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Ian. We may be supernatural beings, but almost all of us are highly civilized.”

  Ian stared blankly, unsure of how to respond. Maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe his look of total befuddlement was the proper response.

  Declan finished attending to his slice of bread. “Roland’s family has considerable money and influence. Sad to say that Roland, even in his twenties, is something of a problem child with an insatiable need for attention.”

  Ian wasn’t unhappy now that Roland was gone. Maybe the attitude adjustment Roland’s family had hoped for would eventually work. If not? Well, it wasn’t his problem.

  Declan looked up at Ian and Sara. “Now, where were we?”

  “Perhaps Ian needs to hear a little more about my normal life first,” Sara offered.

  Declan smiled. “Of course! Forgive me, Ian. It is not our intention to push all this on you at once.”

  Ian nodded. “Yeah, I’d . . . um . . . I’d like that.” He took another sip of his wine. He’d convinced himself that it was a game and nothing more. So why had it started to feel different? Ian swallowed the wine, telling himself that he was letting his imagination run wild.

  “I’m from North Carolina. From a small town just outside Asheville,” Sara said.

  “Asheville’s nice,” Ian replied, his throat still feeling a bit dry. “Your friends at the other tables, are they from Asheville, too?” Ian glanced around the room. Everyone looked perfectly human. Not anything like mythical creatures that partook in what Von Hiller had said were gruesome hunts.

  “Just eight of us,” Sara said. “But we’re all very close.”

  Ian listened as Sara talked about growing up as part of a large, tightly knit family in western North Carolina. Other than the fact that she had such a large family and that most of her relatives also lived in the area, Sara had led a perfectly normal life: friends, high school valedictorian, various normal hobbies like archery and photography.

  The two talked about their pasts for much of the dinner until a tall, muscular guy approached the table. “We’re ready, Sara.”

  Sara nodded, and the man stepped back. He nodded to Ian and then to Declan. “My apologies for the interruption, sir.”

  Was it already time for Sara and the others to prepare for their hunt? This guy and some of the others seemed anxious to get started, or they just didn’t like dessert.

  Sara rested a hand on Ian’s arm. “I have to go, but let’s talk more tomorrow. It’s been fun. Maybe after breakfast?”

  Ian nodded. “See you then.”

  “Good! Don’t worry, Ian. We’re all friends here. You’re completely safe.”

  Safe? He didn’t feel unsafe. Yet. But Ian found himself going along with whatever anyone said.

  “Enjoy yourself, my dear.” Declan stood, then walked around and slid out her chair. “I can keep our guest entertained.”

  Declan didn’t need to worry about that. Ian felt quite entertained. Sara left the dining hall with a small group, including the man who’d come to the table.

  After she left, a server removed Sara’s plate. She’d eaten the roast, picked at some of the vegetables, but that was all. Declan returned to his seat.

  “As you might have guessed, they prefer not to hunt on a full stomach,” Declan said as another server placed dessert in front of them. “Crème brûlée?”

  Yeah, Ian could understand that hunting God knows what out there in the dark required a less-than-full stomach. He raised a hand. “I’m good, thank you. I thought the hunt wasn’t until ten?”

  “They gather before each hunt. Each one is a celebration of sorts.”

  Ian stifled a yawn.

  “You have had a long day. Perhaps you would rather return to your room?” Declan said. “Unless you have questions about the residents and the other guests?”

  Ian considered this. “Let’s start again tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” Declan said.

  “Thank you. For everything, really.”

  “You are quite welcome, Ian. Sleep well.”

  Ian passed several of the other guests on the third floor and was happy to see they weren’t in costume. By now he was expecting capes or zombie getups. Maybe they weren’t part of the script and were merely guests, like him. They smiled pleasantly as they continued on their way.

  Once inside his room, Ian threw a couple more logs onto the fire in hopes of easing the draft and undressed for bed.

  He lay there staring into the flames and listening to the occasional pop of firewood, thinking about Declan’s ghost and feeling somewhat disappointed that it wasn’t real. Exhausted, he barely heard the howls coming from the woods and had fallen asleep long before the flutter of wings began outside his window.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kate

  Kate had chosen the Ducati Monster 696 Dark Stealth instead of her four-door sedan. She had needed the rush and the power of the bike to clear her head. That, and a late lunch with a friend. No good decisions could come from lack of sleep and panic. After a shower, a few cups of coffee, and an Internet search, Kate had convinced herself that she’d been
experiencing what were called lucid dreams—a dream in which she was aware she was dreaming. According to a few articles, some people even learned to partially control lucid dreams.

  She was still thinking about how she’d learned to do this when she first spotted the black Mercury Marauder. It was definitely following her. She hadn’t paid much attention to the car with the limo-style tinted windows until she’d paused at a particularly long traffic light.

  Charged up on caffeine, adrenaline coursing through her veins, she contemplated what she needed to do. She checked the rearview mirror again. Could the car stay with her? How had the driver known it was her under the helmet?

  Freaking paparazzi.

  The side mirror didn’t tell her much about the driver. The tinted windows and windshield glare, coupled with the hat and sunglasses, made it impossible to get a half-decent look at the driver’s face. Marauders weren’t your everyday four-doors. For one, they resembled cop cars. Secondly, they were older cars. This one appeared to be in pristine condition.

  Kate wasn’t the paranoid type. But the car had followed her for a few blocks now, changing lanes when she did. Whoever he was, he wanted her to know he was behind her. Maybe it wasn’t paparazzi.

  Crap. What if this was the weirdo who sent her love letters and taped those photos of her to the front gate?

  Kate chastised herself for not reporting the incidents, but the last thing she had needed after her public breakup was more publicity. It probably would have only brought out more fans like the guy behind her now. Kate scanned the street, looking for cops, pedestrians, and heavy traffic.

  Traffic was light, pedestrians were few. Best of all, there weren’t any cops in sight. Smiling, she goosed the bike, but the Marauder hung with her, right on her tail. Not too surprising.