He stepped off into the physical world with his burden, more shaken than his brother’s essence. Gideon immediately relinquished Muse to help him reposition his clammy twin in the bed.
“What the devil happened? His pallor is worse than before.”
“I stayed a few moments longer than intended. He’s pale, but at least his eyes are closed.”
Dominic pulled the covers over him as far as Muse’s renewed position on his chest would allow. “Gideon, is there something you’re not telling me.”
Sharp slate eyes napped to his face. “Explain yourself.”
He didn’t quite know how. No logical explanation existed. Souls simply did not change, beyond intensity of color and sharpened edges during heightened emotion or distress. In the case of women, a pregnancy yielded an overflow of essence easily identifiable as fusion and eventual fission of two souls.
“His essence is different. Or rather was different yesterday when I first located the two of you. Today, just now when I shimmered, his essence was normal and yours held an identical anomaly. Souls do not change Gideon. For yours and Gabriel’s to be transferring the same aberration back and forth is…peculiar. I need to know if you’ve left out something. Anything.”
His gaze, anguished apparent, lingered on his twin. “No. I told you everything.”
“Did anything happen just now when I shimmered?”
“No.” He looked up then. “I stood here and didn’t move until you reappeared.”
“What about yesterday when I shimmered in, had anything unusual happened just then?”
Slate-grey eyes glassed over momentarily, in thought. “No.”
“And you have no idea what he could be dreaming about?” He pressed, desperate for even a scrap of a clue.
“Outside of the theory I already shared, no. Since he began having this particular dream, he hasn’t been lucid enough to speak about it.”
“This is strange.” Dom frowned. “I’ve never seen it before. How do you feel?”
“Fine. I assume my death will result from either an accident or a murder since I am not ill nor do I plan to commit suicide.”
Too bemused by the paradox to be alarmed by his casual talk of death, Dominic only nodded and continued to shift through the short list of possibilities. Looking down at Gabriel, a radical thought flashed in his mind.
“Gideon, wait here. Don’t move or do anything. Just stand there.”
“Where are you going?”
“Astraling. Something’s occurred to me and I dare not air it until I’m sure.” He did not give his brother the chance to argue or question him further, but shimmered out. The anomaly was again attached to Gabriel’s essence. In the mere minutes since his last shimmer, Gabriel’s essence had relaxed some, appeared less distressed. Dominic exited to an anxious Gideon waiting in the exact same spot as when he’d left.
“Well?”
“The anomaly is not an anomaly…at least not one that belongs to either of you.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
Dominic found his brother observing him with frayed patience. “Muse. How did Gabriel acquire her?”
“Dom if you don’t tell me what the hell is wrong with—”
“It isn’t him or you, it’s Muse. When I arrived yesterday and noticed the change in Gabriel’s essence, Muse lay against his side. When I shimmered and noticed the change in your essence, you held Muse in your arms. Just now when I shimmered and again saw the change, Muse lay on Gabriel’s chest.”
“So what you’re telling me is Muse has an essence?”
“Yes and no. I’ve shimmered in her presence a dozen times and never seen her on the astral so she couldn’t have a separate essence of her own. She only pops up as an appendage of you or Gabriel. That, in itself, is strange. Animals cannot inhabit the astral for the simple reason that they do not possess a soul. Unless I were shielding it, any normal cat I tried to shimmer with would not survive the trip.”
“And Muse?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m loath to try. If I’m wrong…”
The taller man shook his head. “The last thing we need is to kill Gabriel’s cat. He’d never forgive me…and certainly not if I have to tell him that we experimented with her.”
“Is she unusual in any other way?”
“She’s polydactyl, but it does not appear to impede her agility.”
* * *
Stephan stood facing her, halfway across the drawing room, one arm held out in front of him. But he wasn’t looking at her. He’d divested himself of the coat and rolled up the sleeve of his outstretched arm. He twisted and rotated his elbow so that his fisted palm faced down and then up, all the while eyeing his arm as if it were a snake about to bite him. Eden waited by the window, a pail of water sat close at hand as he’d instructed. She watched poised on the edge of her chair, afraid to blink not because of his warning but because she did not want to miss even the tiniest glimpse.
She saw it then. A crawling plume of scarlet gold poof-ed into being and darted along his forearm towards the fisted palm. When it reached his wrist he unfurled his hand and let the hypnotic flame collect in his palm, a cauldron of sorts. She sat, riveted, as the caged inferno writhed and spit behind the restraining bars of his fingers.
“Is it safe to come closer now?”
At his nod, Eden abandoned the shawl and crossed the room. She shuffled around to stand beside him so she wouldn’t be in-the-line-of-fire, so to speak. Warmth emanated from not just his hand but his entire body. But no charred smell or smoke rose from the bristled sprigs of hair dotting his arm.
Tentative, not wishing to break his obvious concentration on keeping the blaze contained, she reached to skim her fingertips along the taunt sinewy length where the flame had traveled. His tan-gold skin threatened to singe the pads of her fingers but was itself neither scorched nor burned. She snatched her hand back and blew cool air on it.
Stephan tracked the movement with his sphinx eyes, and did the oddest thing. He smiled down at her. It was the crooked smile of a naughty two-year old.
“Sorry.”
Fascinated, she asked, “What would happen if I were not here?”
The smile died and he returned his gaze to the ball of fire licking upward his palm. “The whole room would be ablaze. Bring the pail, please.”
She returned just in time to see him slowly close his fingers around the flame to snuff it out. Then he pivoted and dove his fisted arm into the proffered bucket. The water sizzled and hissed against his skin, tossing up billows of steam.
“What a remarkable gift. I wish I were blessed with some noteworthy talent.”
“No, you don’t.” He pulled free of the bucket, and loosed the snowy cotton down over his arm.
Eden noticed that no moisture dampened his shirt’s sleeve. Also noting the negligible weight of the bucket, she peered over the rim to find it as dry as a desert.
“Stephan—” She tracked him back to the window.
“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”
“Yes of course.” She conceded and took up her previous seat.
“The bruises at your throat the other night, how did you come by them?”
Eden’s shoulders slumped. He would have to ask her that. Obviously, he’d noticed them at some point during their ‘reading’ or the sight of her smooth unblemished neck wouldn’t have drawn such interest earlier. Did she dare tell him that an unseen entity had attacked her in the bath? The explanation sounded ludicrous enough in her head, heaven knew what his reaction would be if she aired it.
“An accident.” She heard herself saying.
He was immediately stiff and alert. Her half-truth only begged more questions. “When? Under what circumstances?”
“In the bath, and I don’t think we should discuss it.”
Suspicion darkened his brow. “After what I have shared, you owe me the truth Eden.”
She inhaled a fortifying breath. “Alright.”
To her amazement, he cracked neither a smile nor a frown, merely listened with his usual silent intensity. Speaking only when she’d finished.
“Have there been similar incidents before?”
She found herself unleashing all her horrors upon him, the incident at the Hen party, and her peculiar visions, even her ‘dip’ in the pond. His mien showed no revulsion, pity or disbelief. Instead he seemed absorbed, soaking up the information in an almost scholarly manner.
“Nothing you’ve told me suggests that you are a madwoman.”
“I am not sure Dominic would agree.” She scoffed.
“He is not an impartial party, Eden.” He informed her in a cautionary tone. “Our mother was a raving lunatic who died in an insane asylum. The stigma affects Dom much more so than the rest of us. Remember that.”
Before she could ask him another question, he stood and bowed. “Forgive me, but I must excuse myself.
“We’ll speak again?” She wished it very much. Confiding in the Sphinx had quite lightened her worries.
“Of course.” Enigmatic amber sparkled, and Eden could have sworn she saw flames flicker in their depths. Then, he turned and exited the room.
Chapter 29
Stephan did not appear at the dinner table that evening. Disappointment mingled with worry. But, since neither doctor seemed concerned by his absence Eden soon relaxed and slipped into easy conversation with them and Kathleen. Afterward, she retired to the library hoping to come across the prodigal brother. No such luck.
Not willing to give up, she shuffled along the third floor hallway. Perhaps he’d closeted himself off in the portrait gallery. When she passed under a familiar stretch of hallway, she began trolling along patterned wainscoting in search of the knob. It did not take long to find.
The gallery was more looming than she remembered. A multitude of unsmiling faces, and flat lifeless eyes followed her. Silence as loud as death put haste in her steps as she made a quick sweep of the L-shaped room. Finding it empty, she pivoted with every intention of escaping, but a glimpse of one portrait in particular stilled her. It drew her until she stood enthralled before the last two of Dominic’s brothers she’d yet to meet.
She wondered how the one called Gabriel fared. When would his condition, whatever it was, improve enough so that Dominic could return to her? How many endless days and nights would she be forced to endure without him? Five? Ten? Twenty? Perhaps his brother’s suffering had worsened and that was why he hadn’t come to visit her as he’d promised.
Bored and restless without Stephan or Kathleen to distract her, Eden quit the gallery and went in pursuit of a new pastime. The nasty weather had slackened some, but did not permit her to take the must-needed stroll on the outdoors. So she took it indoors instead. Her aimless wandering led her to the sub-floor below the first, housing the kitchens and servant’s work areas. She passed the pressing room, butler’s pantry, and food preparation room, startling two scullery maids, and a very harassed-looking footman. It was as many servants as she’d seen the whole of her stay on the estate.
She came to a massive door, re-enforced with sheets of dull bronze nailed over hardwood. Curious what the sentry door could be protecting, she slid back the bar holding the locking mechanism in place. It took all her weight thrown backward to budge the three-inch thick metal monstrosity.
A damp musty odor assailed her nostrils. Stone and mortar steps led down into hazy darkness, where large mounds were distinguishable beyond the bottom tier. Something reckless flared in her and she strode forward, into the bowls of the mouth-like threshold. A voice from the hidden alcove of her mind compelled her. Come to me.
The second she was beyond the safety of the hallway, a familiar chill seized her…the sudden awareness that she was no longer alone. For an instant she panicked, froze. That second of indecision and fear doomed her. A sharp shove at her back plummeted her down the stone steps. Her body sprawled in a painful heap, chin-first on the packed dirt floor. The cackle of malevolent laughter echoed off the walls of her mind. Through slit lids she watched the curious wedge of light projected from the threshold grow thinner, too dazed to realize the significance.
Horror dawned as total darkness engulfed her. The fatal boom of the locking mechanism sliding back into place from outside jarred her to life. Her breathing went erratic in the aftermath. She screamed. Her eyes darted back and forth, seeing nothing. Anxiety beat at her chest, buzzed in her ears. Her mind screamed. The high-pitched fear more a product of the entity’s possible return than her entrapment. She went absolutely still, combing the darkness for any sign of movement or presence. Precious moments ticked by, nothing. She relaxed in degrees, grateful, despite her predicament, to be alone.
Common sense told her that she was in no real danger. The brothers or Kathleen would miss her. They would search the house and, not finding her in any of her usual havens, would eventually question the servants. She had caused too big a stir on the lower levels to be forgotten. They’d find her. She just had to be patient until then.
Soon, curiosity encroached. The entity had locked her inside…but inside what? She flexed all her muscles, stiff from maintaining the rigid stillness too long, and pushed up into a kneeling seat on the dirt floor. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. She noticed after a more composed inspection of her surroundings that she could make out a repeating row of fat barrel-like objects lining either side of the floor. But if the room lay in pitch-blackness how was she able to distinguish even these murky forms? There must be a faint source of illumination somewhere.
Cautious, she moved down what seemed to be an aisle, hugged close on either side by successive rows of barrels. She paused to run her hand along one of the massive shapes, tapping the ground around it with her foot. Wooden, rough-hewed, definitely a barrel…supported by a low-lying frame of some sort. Continuing down the aisle, the barrels became distinct. Even before she reached the skull-grey wall, she’d identified her prison as the wine vault Atherton had joked her about.
Tiny morsels of light streamed in from two age-dulled windows. They were cut into the stone at ground level and looked up to a half cloudy sky, which had begun to wane into night. Lined up against the rear wall she found a smaller racking system, housing wine bottles instead of wine barrels. She rested a hand on the cool glass neck of one of the top-shelf wines and after only a moment’s hesitation pulled it out. The label read: Ambrosia, 1801.
* * *
Eden had no idea how long she’d been trapped in the vault when she heard the locking mechanism slide out from its sheath. She stumbled up from the floor, one hand clawing at the cedar wine rack to steady herself. The empty bottle that had rested in her lap plunked against her thigh. She looked down at the forgotten weight still clutched in her free hand.
“Eden.”
Her head snapped up at the sound of her name.
“Wee one?”
“Miss Prescott. Are you there?”
“Yes…” The word sounded strange, drug out too long. Her head swam when she stepped away from her support and toward the approaching voices. They overtook her wobbling form midways the aisle.
“Stee-fen. I found you. Hell-o Dr…Dr.” Her mind wandered in the middle of her thought and she shook her head to clear it. “Oh, eh, which one are you again?”
“Why she’s—” Ethan left off.
“Drunk.” Cael finished succinctly.
“Aye, cocked out of her head, she is.”
“Foxed, I believe is the more appropriate term.” Ethan corrected his wife.
“What’s dat streaked in ya hair, lass?”
“Dust and grime most like. Take a look around.”
“Oh.” Eden swayed. Their prattle made her head swim.
Stephan uttered not a sound, merely swung her up into his arms and strode out. Eden allowed her head to lull against his shoulder. Arms curled around his neck with the wine bottle dangling from her fingers.
“Hmmm…tired.” She closed her eyes agai
nst the whirling faces and bright seeming lights, content to be carried up to bed.
Only when the movement stopped and she felt herself being lowered onto a soft surface did she stir. “No….Dom said his chamber. Stee-fen.” Lazy eyes pled with him.
“Why dat blimey rascal—”
“Ahem.” Cael cleared his throat stopping his sister-in-law mid-rant.
A cough penetrated Eden’s fogged mind. There they went prattling again.
“She’ll have quite a headache in the morning.” Ethan declared.
“Serves her right.” Kathleen humphed. “Did she have ta finish tha entire bottle?”
* * *
Dominic shimmered into his chamber expecting to find her waiting up for him. Instead, she was already abed, a fire blazing in the hearth. He stood, knees flush with the curved edge of the bed, and exhaled a sigh, debating whether or not to wake her. The journey home had been draining. The clandestine nature of his visit to Italy necessitated excessive astraling, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to continue consuming energy at such an exhaustive rate. If he did not see her tonight, most likely he wouldn’t see her again until he returned home for good.
She slept on her stomach, facing away from him. Her hair unbound and cascading over the pillow in a shadowy river of light. Over-warm flames played on the milky skin where the sheets had slipped down to reveal her slender back. She embodied perfection and radiance. Her soft femininity and gentle spirit called to him.
As if she could somehow sense his scrutiny or feel his yearning, she shifted in her sleep…flopping her head over. Eyes slitted and groggy.
He crouched before her, whispering a kiss on her cheek. “Wake for me, cara.”
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