Between the pictures were row upon row of weapons. Swords. Axes. Bows and arrows. Spears. Things she couldn’t even recognize. All of them were wicked-looking, yet gorgeous, and must have been serious works of art.
In the middle was a statue, twice life-sized, of an ancient warrior atop a heap of bodies. Arranged around the walls on tables were various objects that…part of her thought they couldn’t be made of gold and silver, but with everything else in front of her, what else could they be? Cups and vases, boxes and chests, necklaces that must have weighed pounds…
“And there, is the paterfamilias,” said Sean, gesturing to the lone portrait at the end of the room. “The Blackthorne of Blackthorne himself, Bradan Blackthorne, my father.”
It was a life-sized portrait of a man who looked startlingly like Sean himself, and incongruously, he was the only person portrayed in a modern suit. His eyes and cheekbones were more severe than Sean’s, and he definitely had a colder look to him. “You will note that there is no portrait of my grandfather,” Sean continued, though that hadn’t even occurred to her. “He and Bradan didn’t get along.”
“But your father inherited everything—” Staci ventured.
Sean chuckled. “To the victor go the spoils,” he replied. “Fortunately, Bradan and I get along reasonably well, considering the combative nature of our family. But enough of that. Shall we continue the tour?”
The tour took them to the dining room—another room big enough to hold four houses and a place that would have made any self-respecting Goth weep with desire, what with the ornately carved dark wood banquet table, matching chairs, matching mantelpiece, matching sideboards, and red velvet wallpaper. From there they crossed the entrance hall, all dark marble threaded with white and gold, with a spiral staircase leading to the second floor, and entered the drawing room, which, if the dining room had made a Goth weep, would have made her insane because she couldn’t have it—red velvet upholstery, a thick carpet so soft you couldn’t even hear their footfalls, red velvet drapes, dark brown wood-paneled walls, black marble fireplace literally big enough to roast a whole cow in, and red crystal and silver trinkets and lamps everywhere. From the drawing room, Sean led her to the card room, which had card tables, a billiard table and a pool table and, incongruously, videogame machines and a huge LCD TV. To the left was a room he called “the study,” which had dark leather chairs, a desk, and a load of books. Then they crossed the drawing room again to the library, which had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, plus freestanding shelves and dark leather couches and chairs.
“And that concludes the tour of anything interesting,” he said, as she looked out of the library windows at the garden, and saw that the cousins were swimming or lounging. “Kitchens and other uninteresting but useful things are downstairs in the half-basement. Servants all have their own hallways and staircases; father is extremely old-school that way, he prefers not to see them. Bedrooms are all upstairs. Speaking of which, would you like to stay the weekend? We’ve got tons of room, the cousins either don’t stay or have their own wing, or use the cabana with me.” Before she could object, he smiled. “I’m sure we’ve got weekend wardrobe for you. We keep things on hand. Plenty of father’s guests don’t even bother to pack when they visit. I’ll make it right with your mother.”
“Are—” she began.
“I’ll do it right now.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, and all she could think was, Oh, of course the damn things work up here. Even if this house is in the dead zone he probably has a satellite phone. “Ah, Ms. Kerry? Yes, this is Sean Blackthorne.” He laughed. “Yes, the Sean Blackthorne. I’m having a house party and I wondered if you would permit your charming daughter Staci to stay the weekend for it.” He paused, listening. Staci felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It felt like there was something off with the way that Sean was talking to her mother. He was being his usual charming self, and his voice flowed like milk over chocolate. But…she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making her mother agree with him. She shook her head, feeling her face blush again. Of course he’s persuasive. He’s the complete package, girl: rich, smart, and smooth. He’s probably been practicing how to talk anyone into anything since he could speak. Especially if he’s going to inherit the family business, whatever the “firm” is.
He handed the phone to her. “Go ahead, Staci. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to pull something over on you.”
She took the phone. The first thing she heard was her mother’s voice, and it sounded breathless. “Staci, don’t mess this up. The Blackthornes own the whole damn town. Of course you can stay, just don’t do anything stupid, all right?”
She almost rolled her eyes in disgust. Of course, that would be the very first thing her mom would think of: the Blackthornes owned the town so don’t mess things up—for her. No “Be careful,” not even a “Have fun.” You’re a great mother, Mom.
“It’ll be great, thanks, Mom,” was all she said, and handed the phone back to Sean.
Chapter Seven
After the tour, Sean brought her back to the pool and his cousins. Finn and Meaghan had disappeared, and the others didn’t say much. They weren’t mean or even unpleasant—the opposite, in fact. She spent the afternoon sunbathing and swimming in their company; the afternoon seemed to pass really quickly, in fact, and before she knew it, the sun was setting. A uniformed maid just appeared at her elbow, and suggested she “might want to go to her room and change before dinner.”
Intrigued, and full of a dreamy lassitude, she followed the maid up to the second floor, where she found herself in possession of…well the only time she had ever seen a setup like this, it was in a TV program about “high-roller” suites in Las Vegas. It was a drop-dead gorgeous room, all black and gold, with its own bathroom that had its very own Jacuzzi and a fancy shower with more heads and attachments than she had ever seen before. The maid opened a closet, to display a small, but fantastic wardrobe of clothes, more than enough to see her through the weekend even if she changed three times a day.
There was even a little beaded dress even cuter than the one that Brenda had appropriated. On a whim, Staci chose that to wear.
When she went back downstairs to the dining room, she was glad she had. Everyone else was wearing “dinner” outfits. Even the guys were in suits, though they weren’t wearing ties, and had their shirts open at the neck. Finn and Meaghan were back, but they were seated at the far end of the table from her, too far away for her to hear anything they said.
It all felt like a dream. When dinner was done, they all went to the card room for movies and drinks. She stuck to soft drinks…or at least, she thought she had. Maybe all the swimming had tired her out, because after about one movie, she felt a little…vague…and excused herself. She barely remembered getting a quick shower and falling into bed, because the next thing she knew, it was morning, and another maid was bringing in breakfast on a tray.
Sean spent most of the morning with her after she came downstairs; she didn’t say much, but she didn’t have to. He knew an amazing amount about all kinds of things, and she liked listening to his voice. Whenever he spoke, everyone was enthralled; it was like he was holding court. In the afternoon, he excused himself. “I need to take care of some…family business,” he said, with a wry smile. “Just have to make sure Finn hasn’t eroded my position.” But there was the pool, and the sun, and she didn’t feel at all deprived.
So this is how they live, every day…it’s like a permanent vacation at a resort. Things could not be more different from the way she lived down the hill in Silence.
The afternoon just…passed, so quickly that once again, she hardly noticed. There was a brand new little dinner dress in the closet, a red one this time, and Finn was noticeably absent from dinner, though Sean seemed to have a satisfied little smirk the entire time. Instead of movies, they all watched Sean and three of the other guys play some sort of fantasy video game. It was…both amazing and incredibly bloody. She won
dered how anyone had ever gotten it into stores.
Then again…maybe this was the sort of thing only rich people ever saw.
The third day was Saturday, and by afternoon, there was a party going around the pool. She recognized some of the people from the last one, but there were a couple new kids, who Sean introduced as friends from elsewhere. They almost looked like Blackthornes; they were incredibly well-dressed and good-looking. This time she saw what happened when the party wound down; about half of the kids from Silence were drunk off their asses, and servants helped them to other guest rooms—except for the two who passed out in lounges next to the pool. She vaguely recalled thinking, as she went to bed, that at least Sean was a lot more careful to keep his guests from getting into trouble than even her father was. Dad had let some of his party guests drive home drunk, more than once.
It was all like some sort of amazing dream. But, like all dreams, she discovered she had to wake up. And wake up, she did, on the fourth day when the maid brought breakfast and a note from Sean.
Well, that “family business” is going to take me a few more days, Staci, and I did tell your mother this was only a weekend party. We can’t have her worrying. Enjoy your breakfast, and the limo will take you back home when you are ready. We’ll hook up again in a couple days. Cheers, Sean.
At first she was disappointed that Sean hadn’t been able to see her off himself, but she realized that whatever business he was attending to had to be urgent. The entire weekend had been so thoroughly wonderful, she was having trouble imagining going back to her normal routine in Silence. How could you stand walking in the mud after you’ve played in the clouds?
But there was no chance she’d be able to call her mom and get an extension. She hadn’t seen a single phone except Sean’s cell in this house, and hers was still getting no reception. With a heavy sigh, she ate that delicious breakfast, changed into the --now cleaned and hung up in the closet-- outfit she had worn here, packed her little bag with her cleaned bathing suit and cover-up, and plodded down the circular staircase to the front door.
Like magic, the limo, and the chauffeur, were waiting for her.
The entire trip back sank her deeper and deeper into the gloom that was normal in Silence. She saw all of the same, used-up and dead-eyed people, all of the shabbiness. It felt horrible, knowing that this was where she really belonged. It was almost like a physical blow, being torn from Sean and all of the beauty of the mansion. She almost wanted to curl up on the limo seat and cry instead of getting out when they reached her house, but instead gathered up her belongings and trudged to the front door as the limo sped off.
Once Staci was inside, she saw that her mother wasn’t home; the usual suspects still occupied the fridge—zombie-pizza and whatever she had bought—and the tip money jar was empty. She couldn’t stand the idea of being in the house alone, waiting and thinking about Sean. She knew she wasn’t going to get a call of deliverance from him any time today or tomorrow, but at least she had the hope of his promise in the note to “hook up with her again in a couple days.”
She checked her phone; no bars but a mostly full charge. Might as well go up the Hill. At least she could make some Facebook posts about the weekend party. Discreetly, of course, since she didn’t want to make the Blackthornes think she was a blabbermouth. Rich people didn’t like that. But it would be nice to throw something back in the faces of her not-so-friendly friends.
* * *
The creepy lawn gnome was gone. It had to be some kind of local, lame joke. Then again, depending how into hassling the local kids the cops were, it was probably safer and easier to tote garden statues around than it was to tag things with paint. She still wanted to find whoever was leaving those awful things around and give them the kick to the shin that they deserved.
She settled down, sitting on one of the flat parts near the top of the Hill. After the agonizingly slow connection was finally made, she started going through her tweets and statuses. There weren’t nearly as many as before. Strangely, she was beginning to be fine with that; it just showed her who really gave a damn about her, if anything. She noticed that there were several texts from Riley, Seth, and even Wanda; they were all concerned and wondering where she was, especially Wanda. Staci texted them back, saying that she was fine, and that she’d see them at the bookstore to update them. She would probably run into them there before they received the texts, anyways, but it didn’t hurt to be safe.
Staci looked up at the sky; it looked like it was going to be another completely overcast day. Funny, how everything had seemed so sunny and bright at the mansion. There were even what looked like a few big thunderhead clouds forming in the distance, out over the sea.
When she looked down again, she saw the gnome, just on the edge of some trees maybe sixty feet away. It was facing her, and seemed to actually be looking at her. It had not been there just a moment ago. Someone had to be up here with her, trying to freak her out.
“Who’s out there? I’m serious, I’m going to call the cops unless you come out right now and cut it out!” She glanced over her shoulder…when she heard what sounded like something heavy rustling against grass. Right next to her. She slowly turned her head, keeping her eyes on the ground. There were boots, standing right in front of her. They were thick, pitted leather, with some sort of metal on the toes; something more like what Frankenstein’s monster would wear than a person. Pure terror clutched her. Her breathing changed; short and stuttered. She started to raise her eyes, going from the boots up. Heavy trousers, ripped and spattered with mud and other…substances. A wide leather belt, kind of like what bodybuilders would wear, with an empty sheath as long as her forearm hanging off it. Poking underneath the belt was a tunic, the same disgusting fabric as the trousers. Finally, she saw the face, towering a full head over her. It looked like an old man, with mottled, out-of-proportion features. A full beard, soiled with bits of food and other fluids. What made her finally gasp were his eyes; they were like two chunks of coal stuck into his eyesockets, but she knew that they were staring right back at her. On top of the…thing’s head was a red hat, and the end of it was dripping sticky, dark-red, clotted fluid down the side of the thing’s face.
Staci couldn’t even scream. Her mind was completely blank with terror. She watched with sick detachment as it raised an apelike, ropey and muscular arm above its head; a jagged and heavily nicked blade was nested in its meaty fist.
She was going to die. Her last thought as the knife came down was that she wouldn’t have a chance to see Sean again.
A brilliant explosion right in the center of the creature’s face caused Staci to fall backwards. Her lungs found air again, and she screamed this time. She landed right on her rear, fell back and hit her head, and saw stars. She blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision as she crawled backwards. The creature wasn’t looking at her anymore; it didn’t have the knife, either, but a long staff with a blade attached at the end. It swung the staff around wildly, as if it was confused and looking for where whatever hit it had come from.
There was movement on Staci’s left; what looked like a shaft made of light sprang from out of nowhere, streaking towards the creature. It hit, and another mini-explosion blinded her; this time it was centered on the creature’s chest, causing it to stagger. Two more shafts of light, seconds apart and from different directions, flew from thin air. The creature was driven to its knees this time, still swinging its head side to side to look for its attacker. Staci heard someone running from behind her; she curled up into a little ball, hoping that whoever it was, was a rescuer, and not someone else there to kill her.
In a shower of loose grass over her head, someone leapt over her. The person—and it was a person, not another monster—landed in front of her. He was holding a sword in one hand; it occurred to Staci that it was too shiny, with how overcast the sky was. In the other…was a sort of disc, made out of light. The person held it in front of himself like a shield. The creature was back on its feet again
, but it was clearly hurting; its breathing was labored, and it was holding its spear-thing unsteadily.
The person and the creature stood still, watching each other. Then the person charged forward, sword above his head and shield out. The creature swung its spear in a vicious diagonal swipe. The person—Staci could tell it was a man by the way he moved—ducked under the attack, slashing his sword at the creature’s midsection as he ran past it, leaving a streak of red on the creature’s tunic. They traded several more blows; the man taking the hits on his shield, while replying with more cuts to the torso and extremities of the creature. In a final, desperate gambit, the creature charged the man, the spear held out in front of it. They crashed together, and Staci yelped in fright; it looked like the creature had run the man through with the spear. A tense moment later, the man took a step backwards. The creature’s arms were locked under his shield arm, the spear’s shaft against his side. With a backhanded stroke, he lopped the head off of the creature, releasing its arms a moment later.
The dead creature’s body collapsed to the ground. Almost immediately it—along with the clothing and its weapons—started to dissolve into a foul-smelling muck. Staci struggled to stand up. She felt like she was going to pass out, and the world was spinning faster than she could handle.
“Who are you?” She managed to whisper, still dizzy.
The man turned around to face her, the shield dissipating into strands of light that absorbed through the man’s arm. He wore a leather jacket and jeans, and motorcycle boots.
It was Dylan.
* * *
The first thing that Staci did was drop down to her knees and puke her guts out. She was afraid that she was going to black out and land face-first in her own sick, but eventually she was able to gulp enough air down to steady herself. When she looked up, Dylan was still standing there; instead of a sword, he was holding out a handkerchief.
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