But then she realized she wasn't alone, that someone was there with her—not one of them, but two now—two of them, one on either side of her, holding her down on her back as she struggled, holding her there as she cried—
"Today you join your ancestors," Skyler said above her. "Today you become part of the legacy."
"Let me go!" Olivia sobbed, and she could see the glitter of excitement in his eyes as they narrowed on her.
"Fm not a Devereaux!" she screamed, and she could see Jesse there, too, his face tensing as he pinned her more tightly between them. "Fm not a true Devereaux, don't you understand! Mama had lots of men—I never knew my real father—"
"You're the one who doesn't understand." Skyler laughed softly, as if he found the whole situation intensely amusing. "Catherine was already pregnant with you when she left here. She never told you about your real father—"
"Skyler," Jesse warned, but his breathing quickened. He put his hand to Olivia's forehead and
smoothed her hair back from her face as she tried to twist away from him. "Hush now/' he soothed. "It has to be this way . . ."
"She never told you about your real father," Skyler went on. "She never told you about us."
Olivia stared at him. She saw him exchange looks with his brother, and she heard his laugh echo off the slimy walls.
'We're your father, Olivia. Jesse and me. And we're Catherine's father . . . and Miss Rose's father ... the father of all the Devereauxs. The father of the daughter you'll bring into our world—"
Olivia sobbed in terror. A trickle of blood ran from her throat between her breasts. Skyler leaned down and gently sucked it away. Her head tilted back, and a long deep shiver went through her.
"That's right, Olivia, don't be afraid." Skyler licked his lips and smiled. "I'm very good at what I do. In fact. . . both of us are. We've been doing it for years."
"Nor
In a frenzy of panic, Olivia twisted and tried to kick, but her body was clamped tightly between both of theirs, her arms pinned helplessly beneath them. With one quick jerk, her blouse was torn open, breasts spilling out, hands fondling them . . . squeezing .. . caressing . . . Soft, knowing laughter floated above her in the dark, shadowy faces leaning down, kissing her breasts, sucking her nipples, tongues teasing lightly, and her breasts heaving, straining beneath soft, warm lips. And the shame, the helplessness as she felt herself arch into their kisses, trying in vain to free herself, only feeling hands burning, burning until she thought she'd go mad.
"No!"
BLOOD ROOTS
"You've wanted this," a voice said thickly. "You've wanted this for a long, long time . . ."
And tongues blazing trails of cold fire between her breasts, down over her ribs, and hands sliding up beneath her skirt, tugging . . . wrenching it away. From some remote corner of her frantic brain, she knew that a knee was wedged hard between her thighs, that swift, skillful fingers were working her panties slowly down over her ankles . ..
"Stop! Oh, stop—"
Heavy dampness rushing over her, trying to hide herself from eyes that could see in the dark, but no use, no use—hands gliding slowly over her stomach, over her thighs, between her legs, lightly, taking their time . ..
And lips on hers, bruising, demanding, hands memorizing her with slow, purposeful curiosity, fingers on the downy swell between her legs . . . stroking . . . lower . . . and lower . . .
Dying — I'm dying —shame and desire—terror and desire—worst nightmares, waking nightmare, pressing, gentle, moaning, body arching again with a throbbing will of its own . . . melting against the strong curves of erect and supple bodies . . .
"Yes, Olivia . . . that's right. . ." Murmuring, kisses, sighs. "That's right. . ."
Head lowering . . . down . . . down . .. tongue between thighs, screaming for mercy, yet straining against it, horrified at the helpless yearning, the desperate, aching need . . . licking . . . tasting . . . hot liquid waves of desire—unbearable . . .
Don't touch me — don't — touch me — touch me touch me touch me —
Gasping, can't breathe, my breath his breath his
breath our breath, writhing beneath hard, warm softness, wet warm tongue . . . crying, hands sliding beneath hips, urging higher, tighter against hungry mouth . . . don't don't. . . oh God . . . Skyler . . . Jesse —sucking . . . coaxing . . . exploring every crevice, every curve, with slow, practiced perfection . . .
And quickly then—smoothly—bodies lean and hot, stretched on top, above, below, bare skin, damp hair and salty sweat and sultry, steamy sighs— moving— yes, yes —locked together, legs opening, thrusting deep inside—impatient—demanding— hearts racing, bodies on fire, out of control—deep, deep—throbbing together to a fevered pitch, thrusting again and again—exploding—hot, shuddering waves, weakening—drowning—
"You're ours now." Whispers sucking the blood away, kisses licking the tears away, devouring her, body and soul. "Ours now. Right where you belong."
And "Yes," she murmured, "Yes ... yes . . ."
Around them, beneath them, lay the dust of the Devereauxs, bones crumbling softly amid years and years of honor and sacrifice.
Olivia reached up to touch the faces in the dark. She could feel their smiles. Their love. She thought she heard music and the long-ago laughter of children.
She smelled roses and river breezes, warm and rich . . . and the sweet, heavy flowing of time.
Epilogue
Sometimes Olivia sat outside on the gallery and tried to recall how it was before.
It was getting harder and harder to remember.
It seemed there had never been another place but this one, where the gardens bloomed all year round and the ivy clambered over the stately walls and the soft, sweet sunshine crept reverently along the quiet, airy hallways.
And it came to her one morning, as she stood upon the gallery and gazed out through clouds of soft gray moss, that she had never known any place but this, had never known any faces but these.
She so loved being here.
In the slow, peaceful passing of days ... in the graceful company of those she loved so much.
"Miss Olivia?"
Olivia turned with a start to see Yoly standing behind her, hands on broad hips, expression annoyed.
"What is it, Yoly?"
"That new girl's here. The new help."
Olivia nodded slowly. "Well ..."
Her eyes swept over the serene landscape below . . . over the flowering shrubs and magnolias and the lush, twisted maze of the beautiful gardens. She could hear shouting and giggling, and voices floated up from beneath the trees.
"You can't catch me, Skyler! You can't!"
"Just watch me!"
And as Olivia stared, a little girl ran right across the yard, squealing delightedly, even as Skyler caught her and swung her high into the air.
"How do you do that, Skyler?" The little girl giggled again. "How do you run so fast?"
And Olivia could see his smile, the sly narrowing of his green eyes.
And he looks just like he did the first time I saw him, she thought with a curious ache in her heart. . . just like the very first time . . .
"Miss Sarah sure looks like you, Miss Olivia," Yoly chuckled. "That wild little thing—she sure does."
But Olivia was still watching the game down below and didn't hear.
She saw Jesse mending a brick wall and Sarah running up behind him, one chubby hand over her mouth as she gleefully motioned Skyler to join her surprise.
She saw Jesse's quick intake of breath as he pretended to be frightened, and the way Sarah jumped on him, pulling Skyler down with her, the laughing, tumbling tangle of them down below on the cool green grass.
"Miss Olivia?" Yoly said gently.
And Olivia looked back at her, frowning slightly, as
some thin wisp of memory beckoned to her, then disappeared.
"Yes, Yoly." She leaned forward onto the sturdy white railing and breathed deeply of the perfum
ed air, and then she turned to Yoly with a gracious nod.
"Show her her room—you know which one."
"Yes'm."
"And make sure she meets . . . Jesse and Skyler."
She lifted one hand to brush back her hair, catching several strands gently between her fingers. Surely that wasn't a touch of gray so soon . . . surely it was only faded from long, happy walks in the sun . . .
"Oh ... and Yoly—"
"Yes, Miss Olivia?"
"Make sure Mathilde makes something . . . special ... for dinner."
"Yes'm."
Olivia leaned into the balmy breeze.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember a life without Devereaux House.
But there was nothing inside her mind.
Nothing at all.
RICHIE TANKERSLEY CUSICK
Author of LIFEGUARD and
BLOODROOTS
in
FEAR THE DAY. '
BEWARE THE NIGHT.
EXPECT NO MERCY...
The victim of a car accident in the Ozark hills, Pamela
Westbrook awoke to find herself in the care of the
Whittakers, a quaint, hard-working family whose farm was
miles from the nearest neighbor. Temporarily stranded,
haunted still by a tragic loss, she found a measure of peace in
the quiet golden hills and the Whittakers' gentle customs.
Soon she will be trapped in a nightmare of mysterious
deaths, an all-consuming horror from which there is no
escape...not even in madness....
POCKET
BOOKS
Available from Pocket Books A.nd Look For Her Next Horror Novel
NIGHT STAIR
COMING IN 1994
Richie Tankersley Cusick was born in New Orleans and grew up with a ghost in her house. The author of eleven books, both adult and young adult, she does all her work at an antique rolltop desk which belonged to a funeral director in the 1800s and which she claims is haunted. She now lives outside Kansas City with her husband Rick and their cocker spaniel Hannah, where she is currently at work on her new novel. Ms. Cusick is a bestselling young adult author whose
titles included Vampire, Fatal Secrets, The Mall, and the
novelization of Buffy the Vampire Slayer She has written one
previous adult horror novel, Scarecrow, which is also
available from Pocket Books.
This book made available by the Internet Archive.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Pages
Back Cover
Bloodroots Page 26