Beyond the Gates of Evermoore

by Krista Wolf

  23

  Melody slept like the dead.

  It was a deep, dreamless, restorative sleep. One made perfect by the nearness of Lucus’s robust body, his strong arms and legs wrapped around her in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

  She stirred only when he began moving, sliding between her legs and nudging her thighs apart in the wee hours before dawn. He took her a second time, thrusting inside her as the sky was barely cracked with a strange yellow glow.

  It was hot, sleepy sex. Melody moaned, welcoming him in. She enjoyed the feeling of being pressed down into the soft straw, of his full lips burying themselves into her neck as he nibbled, bit, and nuzzled against her. Down below, he was achingly deep inside her. She responded only by gyrating her hips. Thrusting up into her lover in order to give him every last inch of her depths.

  When he came it felt like a rocket going off inside her. Melody could feel him throbbing deeply, pumping jet after jet of his warm come against her innermost of places. She rolled over after that, and he held her again from behind. Drifted off to sleep while wrapped in his arms, all swollen and happy and contented.

  She woke sometime later, and the blacksmith was gone.

  There was no sign of where he went, or when he left. There was another dress laid out for her, very similar to the first one. Her underclothes had also been washed, draped over the small table nearby. She picked them up, expecting them to be damp. Already they were dry.

  She made her way down from the loft, and through the main area of the carriage house. The doors were open. The manor itself was already bathed in full sunlight.

  How long did he let me sleep?

  She circled the carriage house and barn, making sure Lucus was gone. Then Melody headed down the path to the house. It was strange to think she’d almost lost her life on this path last night, while trying frantically to get away from the hunting dogs. Silently she thanked all the track coaches she’d ever had. And her parents, for giving her long legs.

  Her mind spun, filled with all the crazy things Lucus had told her last night. The house. The mist. Eric…

  Eric.

  She no longer trusted her would-be companion, and not just because of what Lucus had said. Eric should’ve come looking for her. Should’ve broken into her room to rescue her… gone with her last night, to try and find the egg.

  Instead he’d disappeared again, and she’d been left to fend for herself. Or maybe, like she theorized, Eric was trying to find the egg on his own.

  Maybe it doesn’t matter, she thought. After all, getting the egg back to the Blackstone — and the Order — was the important part.

  Does it really matter who brought it there?

  Yes. Yes it does.

  That was pride talking, and Melody damn well knew it. Still, pride wasn’t an easy thing to ignore. If she had to go back empty handed, only to learn that Eric had recovered the egg? She knew she’d look foolish. And he wouldn’t even be presenting it to Xiomara, either. He’d been sent here by someone else entirely. Someone named… what?

  Aldwyn.

  It was a name that was still only somewhat familiar. Hell, she wasn’t even sure he was at the Blackstone.

  It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not Xiomara.

  Barefoot and re-energized, she picked up speed. It vaguely occurred to her that she was famished. Halfway to the house however, all thoughts of food disappeared as she stopped in disbelief.

  Everything about Evermoore Manor had changed.

  Well, not really changed. Most of the house was the same as it always had been. But the shutters were different, and the porch had been entirely redone. The house was dirtier, more run down. There were patches in the wood, and places where things had been repaired or replaced. The windows were dirty, and the whole thing was in need of a serious coat of paint.

  How could any of this be?

  It was almost like a hurricane had struck the house while she’d been sleeping, and splattered it with dirt, and mud, and…

  Time.

  Yes, time. That was definitely it. Hell, it looked like the house was a hundred years older than before she went to bed.

  It’s exactly like Lucus said…

  A chill realization stole through her. One that made her uncomfortable and frightened. Melody looked down at her bare feet. Back up at the manor house, and the surrounding mist.

  It comes.

  Lucus’s words echoed eerily in her mind. The mist was closer still now, creeping its way inward. Devouring the plantation, inch by inch, yard by yard…

  It always comes. Every time. It’s always the same.

  Some of the stuff the smith told her last night was crazy. It had to be. Sensationalized, in the dead of night. Made all the more real by how scared she was, after her encounter with the dogs and everything.

  Yet at the time…

  Something made her reach up and grip her pendant. The Heart of Isolomara felt warm and comforting in her naked palm.

  Hurry up, Mel.

  She looked again at the mist. Back at the house again.

  You’re wasting time.

  24

  Melody didn’t have to wonder if the glass doors to the side patio were unlocked. They opened as she approached them, and Eric flew out to meet her.

  “Oh my God, what happened?” he cried, holding out his hands. She stopped walking as he gripped her by the shoulders. “Melody, where have you been?”

  “Locked out,” she said grimly. “All night.”

  Eric’s entire face was painted with genuine astonishment. “You spent the night out here?”

  “No, not out here.”

  His gaze went over her shoulder and up the path. When his eyes passed over the carriage house, he frowned.

  “You stayed there?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “With the blacksmith?”

  The word dropped from his lips with accusatory overtones, and a strong underlying hint of disdain. Melody examined his reaction carefully. Thought for a second to even read him…

  “Melody, that man is dangerous.”

  “Funny,” she laughed, although it wasn’t funny at all. “He said the same thing about you.”

  “He did?” Eric wasn’t even trying to hide his scowl now. “Well of course he did. He’s not one of us, Melody. He doesn’t know what we know. Doesn’t realize what we’re after…”

  He looked at her skeptically. One of his eyebrows went much higher than the other.

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “Of course not,” she lied.

  Relief flooded his expression, erasing half the lines on his face. “Good. Good…”

  He turned her away from the carriage house and ushered her into the manor. As the glass doors closed behind her, Melody felt slightly claustrophobic again.

  “What happened to you last night?” she asked. “You were supposed to come find me. We were supposed to—”

  “I did,” he jumped in. “I went to your room but the door was locked. I figured you were sleeping. Still not feeling well, after being out in the gardens.”

  “Eric I was locked in!” she explained. “Someone took my key. They locked the door and I ended up climbing out the window and—”

  “What?”

  “And I fell…”

  His face registered pure shock. As he stood there staring, she seized the opportunity to lock eyes with him.

  Images formed almost instantly; places, people, feelings, ideas. All of it, flashing through her mind, running full tilt at what felt like a million miles an hour. Again, the sheer velocity astonished her. The speed and volume at which things came made it almost impossible to focus.

  It’s all the same…

  That’s the first impression she got. That everything she was seeing from Eric was somehow pre-programmed, or looped on re-run. It was all moving too fast to perceive though. She could only get the smallest bits. The tiniest pieces…

  Fear. Animosity. Resentment.

  Not toward her t
hough. Toward others. Strong, however. A general unease.

  Grief. Disheartenment.

  There was nothing concrete to grab onto. No particular memory or stream of consciousness Melody could pick apart, to gain any insight. Everything was too fast. Too…

  Often.

  She blinked, breaking the connection. Eric’s eyes remained crossed for a second, almost comically, and then he rubbed at his head with one hand.

  “Wait… what?” he said. He looked utterly confused now.

  “I was telling you about how I fell. From the ledge, outside the window of my room.”

  He gasped as if hearing it for the first time. “And you’re alright?”

  “Yes.”

  Eric squinted down at her, as if suddenly suspicious. His dark brows knitted together again. He tilted his head…

  Better change the subject.

  “What did you do last night?” she asked forcefully. “Did you discover anything on your own?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “Well I know where we can find Lady Neveux,” he said quickly.

  He backpedals when put on the defense, thought Melody. Good to know.

  “Let’s find her then,” she said. “Sooner rather than later.”

  “Gonna be an hour or so,” said Eric. “She’s hosting a tea off in the Veranda garden, west side of the house.”

  “Are we invited?”

  Eric shrugged. “I was gonna invite myself. Until then, I was thinking of raiding the kitchen, see if I can scare us up some breakfast.”

  Despite everything going on, her stomach growled. Besides, they had an hour.

  “Now you’re talking,” said Melody.

  25

  The kitchen was little more than a pantry, and what was there was scarce. The cabinets were mostly empty. The larders were only half-filled.

  “Most of this stuff is spoiled,” Melody said, wrinkling her nose. “Is this what we’ve been eating?”

  Eric was busy rummaging through a line of half-empty jars and bottles. He was shoving the moldy ones off to the side, and there were a lot of moldy ones.

  “Food was good the first night,” he shrugged. “After that…”

  Walking through the house itself, Melody noticed the interior had changed as well. The sconces, for one, had been replaced. Where candles and lamps once hung, there were now fixtures. Fixtures fed by a thin series of pipes she recognized as gas lines.

  “These weren’t here yesterday,” she said.

  Eric wasn’t paying attention. He was busy trying to pry the lid off a tall, dark-looking jar.

  “Seriously, look at these. It’s like they’re new, but they’re not new.”

  Eventually they settled on a trencher of semi-soft bread that Melody somehow turned up and a tray of pickled eggs. The latter were taken from a very large, very ominous-looking glass jar. But once pulled from the gelatinous goop they’d been sealed in? They somehow smelled and looked okay.

  “Bon appetite,” Eric smirked, biting into an egg.

  They ate a very slow, very unenthusiastic breakfast at a small table in the back of the kitchen. No one showed up to stop them. No one came along to offer them anything better. When they were finished they left their plates where they were and moved back through the manor, searching each room as they went.

  “What if its not here?” asked Melody. The very thought made her heart sink. “What if we’ve been wasting our time?”

  The ‘wasted time’ comment seemed to resonate with Eric. He looked back at her strangely.

  “It’s here,” he said firmly.

  “How do you know?” she asked. “They keep moving everything. Look at this case,” she said. “It had all different stuff in it yesterday. And it was different the day before that.”

  She paced the room, walking back and forth. “This case is empty,” she said. “And the one next to it, too. Where are they taking all this stuff?” She stopped and pointed. “There was a piano right here for shit’s sake. I’ve been all over the first floor and I don’t even know where they moved it.”

  Eric shrugged. He was watching her closely though. Almost as if amused by her words.

  “If we can’t find a piano, how the hell are we supposed to find—”

  Melody stopped as she reached the window. Outside, on the far side of the house, a group of people were gathering.

  “What are they doing?” asked Melody. “And why do they have umbrellas?”

  Eric stepped up to join her. “Parasols,” he said. “Not umbrellas.”

  “What’s the difference? It’s not even raining.”

  “Parasols keep the sun off your face and neck,” Eric said mechanically. “That’s why they’re carrying them.”

  She exited the conservatory, doubling back through the foyer. There were only a fraction of the paintings and portraits that were there before. The beautiful rugs that once covered the floors were gone.

  “Which way to the Veranda garden?”

  “Through the front doors,” Eric pointed. “I guess we walk around the side.”

  She waited for him to lead the way. For some reason he didn’t. It was like he wanted her to go first, so he could intentionally remain behind her. Melody didn’t like it one bit.

  Where’s Lucus?

  More than ever, she wished the blacksmith was here. Silently she cursed herself for sleeping late. For not waking up — and staying up — after the second time they’d been together. The truth was, she’d just been so tired. And the whole thing had been so comfortable, so—

  “Are we going?” asked Eric.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Melody pushed the doors open, being sure to keep her companion in her peripheral vision. Outside the sky still maintained that strange, ‘off’ color. Like it was daytime… and yet it wasn’t.

  “That way,” Eric pointed. “Tea garden’s on the side of the house.”

  She walked along, passing the manor’s giant front pillars in all their glory. Or at least, all their former glory. They were faded now, the paint peeling and chipping. Nobody had repaired them. Nobody had scraped or repainted them or—

  “There,” said Eric. “They’re way off the path, that way.”

  Melody looked, thinking it was some kind of trick. Sure enough though, the group they’d seen from the window was still out there. They were moving as a single unit, past the tables and chairs. Following some sort of path…

  “Where are they going?”

  Eric shrugged. “Beats me.”

  They sure looked like women, with their parasols and long dresses. Only now that she noticed them, the dresses were black. Most of them.

  All of them?

  “C’mon,” said Eric. “We have to catch up.”

  Melody intentionally slowed her strides, hoping to get him to go in front of her. But he only slowed his own steps to match. It was more than coincidence. More than suspicious. But the women were closer now. Close enough to pick out details…

  “Which one is Lady Neveux?”

  Eric didn’t answer. He kept walking.

  “I said—”

  And then she saw it: the one thing she’d been afraid of. The one problem with following the group around the side of the house, and with Eric standing so close behind her.

  They were on the very edge of the strange, rolling mist.

  26

  Melody stopped. She did it so abruptly Eric actually bumped into her.

  “What?”

  She looked at him. Almost wanted to read him again. Somehow though, she knew the outcome would be the same. Melody cleared her throat.

  “They’re too close,” she said.

  Eric folded his arms. “Too close to what?”

  “To the mist.”

  Her companion turned his head to glance into the thick, rolling brume. “What… the fog?” He laughed as if it were nothing. “It’s misty out,” he said. “So what?”

  “So what?” Melody growled. �
��So what?”

  She was long past being angry. Beyond being locked in her room, or treated like a fool. Melody looked over at the group that skirted the edge of the mist, their backs completely to them. She turned to face Eric again.

  “Go on,” she told him.

  “I thought we were both going,” he said.

  “If it’s just a little fog,” she challenged, “then step into it. I want to see you do it, Eric. Actually, I’m dying to see it.”

  All at once he looked uncomfortable, even worried. She found herself enjoying his discomfort.

  “Go ahead,” she urged. “I’ll wait right here.”

  He shook his head. “Not sure what your problem is,” he told her. “But we don’t have time for this.” He pointed back at the group. “Look. They’ve stopped.”

  Not far from where they stood, the group of parasol-wielding women were gathered around in a semi-circle. They were still very near the edge of the mist, but none of them had broken it.

  “Don’t know about you,” said Eric, “but I’ve got an artifact to recover. Stay here if you want to,” he sneered. “I’ll be doing my job.”

  He stormed off, leaving her feeling alone… and a bit foolish. But was she being foolish? Or just cautious.

  Up ahead, one woman looked older and smaller and more wizened than the rest.

  Lady Neveux.

  Melody watched her, noting her body language. Noticing how the other women swarmed around her, bending low to attend to her. She had to be the Lady of the House. Or at least, someone just as important. Beyond the U-shaped ring of their group, the mist still swirled and churned. But for now, it remained where it was.

  That’s when Melody noticed there wasn’t a sound. Not a single bird, or an insect, or anything at all. She couldn’t even hear voices, although it looked like the group was talking. It was as if, noise-wise, the fog swallowed everything.

  Screw it.

  Angrily Melody crossed the distance to where the rest of the group was standing. Yet the closer she got, the more obscure they became. It was almost as if they were fading into the mist, rather than the mist rolling over them. One by one they disappeared; first the woman she’d marked in her head as Lady Neveux, then those nearest to her.