by Jill Morrow
How right she was. Stephen sighed, then shifted Kat so that he could study her face. Her eyelashes formed perfect crescents against each cheek. A deep longing rose within him. He wanted desperately to hear her voice, to talk to her, to argue with her. He bit back the longing before it could evolve into a loud, echoing howl.
He leaned forward to kiss his wife’s lifeless lips.
“Protect her, please,” he murmured, and for a moment, the stained-glass windows appeared to glow.
Isobel’s face tipped upward as if to better drink in the heady aroma of the purple smoke spiraling through the air. Alys wrinkled her nose. She could catch only a whiff of the pungent odor, but she did not like it at all. The rosemary had become merely an undertone, ceding way to a heavier, more potent perfume. The new scent smelled vaguely of musk, although Alys detected a rancid edge to it, like spoiled meat. Her eyes watered as a brisk wind blew more her way. She buried her face in Gregory’s chest and choked back a cough.
His arms encircled her. “I, too, find it foul,” he said. “I cannot fathom how Isobel endures it.”
“She more than endures it. She savors it.” Alys returned her gaze to the fire. Isobel sat straight-backed, eyes closed, smile wide across her face. She lifted her upturned palms until they were even with her shoulders.
Hugh studied the girl seated before him. Then, without missing a single note of his discordant tune, he slowly rose, uncoiling himself like a snake from the ground. Although his penetrating stare was for Isobel alone, Alys shrank even further into Gregory.
“Do you see his face?” she whispered.
Gregory nodded, jaw tight.
There were no words for the wooden blank of Hugh’s expression, for the gaping, dark emptiness of his eyes. Alys shuddered. Perhaps his form was comely, his features handsome. Still, he brought to mind only images of death, a mocking sneer against all life itself.
Gregory’s lips brushed against her ear as he bent close to whisper. “I want to tear the instrument from his mouth. I’ve heard enough of that infernal noise.”
“He cannot possibly play much longer,” Alys said. “What can he accomplish if his mouth and hands are so employed?”
“Look.” Gregory’s hands tightened on her shoulders.
The fire’s curling tendrils of smoke drifted upward through the air in sharpened forms, now. At first Alys did not believe her eyes, certain that such images could not be traced in smoke and were simply creations of her tired thoughts. But she could no longer deny what she saw. Plumes of smoke twisted into faces, bloated gargoyle faces with wide-open mouths and bulging eyes. The faces floated upward, yet failed to fade away into the air. They gathered high above the fire, forming rows and rows like a diabolical choir.
“Do you see them?” Alys clutched Gregory’s sleeve.
“I do,” he said.
“Are they real, do you think?”
“Do you mean are they beings, creatures that live and breathe? I don’t know, Alys.”
The disembodied heads continued to gather, most writhing and drooling, some convulsed with wild laughter. All eyes rested on Hugh as the heads floated upward.
Hugh took the recorder from his lips. The smoke became merely smoke again, its brown, ashy plumes stretching toward the darkening sky.
“Ah, Isobel,” Hugh said. “I know you feel happy, now, quite rested. Is this so?”
Isobel’s eyes remained closed. Her smile, if possible, grew even wider. A contented sigh escaped as she nodded her answer to his question.
Hugh’s voice coated the clearing like warm honey. “You will experience even greater joy,” he said. “I promise you this. You need only listen to me, do my bidding in all things. Rise, Isobel.”
Isobel slowly rose to her feet. Her back arched as she stretched, thrusting her breasts forward. She ran both hands up her body with such languorous pleasure that Gregory averted his eyes.
Hugh’s chuckle was so low that the priest and the prioress had to strain to hear it.
“Really, Isobel,” Hugh said. “You are so very transparent, so easily understood. Your mind rests on one thing only. You are uncomplicated, as easy to lure as a hungry, stupid carp.”
Isobel’s mouth formed a troubled pout. Her eyebrows drew together at the center of her forehead.
“Ah.” Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “You are perhaps not as…rested…as I would have you. Breathe, Isobel. Breathe deeply.”
Isobel took a step toward him.
“Mind the fire, Isobel.” Hugh’s voice rose. “There is no need to move. Stay where you are.”
Her eyes opened, glazed and unseeing. With a seductive sway of her hips, she swaggered around the edge of the fire until she stood before him.
Hugh’s breathing came in sharp little gasps as he stared into her face. Her lips parted, urging him forward.
“No, Isobel,” he said. “We will not…cannot…touch each other. You know this. I have told you this.”
Yet despite his words, his hand began a slow arc toward her waist. Perspiration beaded his forehead as she took another step toward him.
“No!” he protested, stare riveted to the curve where her neck and shoulders met.
Alys and Gregory jumped as footsteps sounded behind them, then dropped to the ground in an attempt to hide. Francesca appeared before them, two strangers by her side.
Alys pulled herself to a sitting position, eyes riveted to the labored rise and fall of Francesca’s chest.
“Are you ill?” she asked, grasping Francesca’s wrist. “Your breath comes so hard!”
Francesca pulled in another breath. “I am as well as I can be,” she said. “Time is too short for explanations. My niece, Katerina; her daughter, Julia. Alys, prioress of Saint Etheldreda’s, and Father Gregory. Can you all see each other?”
“I see through them,” Alys said slowly. Gregory nodded his agreement.
Francesca nodded. “It’s enough. Katerina?”
Kat swallowed hard. “I see them every bit as clearly as I see you and Julia. Aunt Frannie, what—”
Francesca cut her off with a wave of a hand. “My God,” she said. “Hugh looks as if he could devour Isobel whole.”
“Yet he will not touch her,” Gregory said, bewildered. “He says he cannot.”
“He’s right about that,” Francesca said. “He has no control over the lust that is part of this physical body. Touching Isobel could destroy them both.”
There was no time for further questioning. All five of them stared at the scene unfolding before them.
“I have a feeling I should cover my daughter’s eyes,” Kat said as Hugh’s hand hovered over Isobel’s bodice.
“Watch Julia closely,” Francesca said. “There is no way to tell when Isobel will invade her again.”
Sweat dripped steadily from Hugh’s brow as he leaned forward. His lips twitched.
The recorder slipped from his grip and dropped to the ground with a thud. His head snapped toward the sound, breaking his trance. He dropped to his knees and cradled the instrument in his arms.
“No, Isobel!” he shouted. Then, noting the clench of her fists and the confused expression on her face, he muted his tone.
“Sweet Isobel,” he said. “Breathe deeply.”
He quickly stood, circling the fire until it once again separated them.
“Listen, Isobel,” he said. “This tune is yours and yours alone.” He raised the recorder to his lips, returning to his strident song.
Isobel’s eyes closed. Her fists slowly uncurled, palms again upturned and open. She, too, began to sway to the call of the recorder.
“Julia,” whispered Kat, “are you okay?”
“Yes,” Julia said weakly. “But it’s getting harder to stay, Mom. They want me so bad. They’re pulling and pulling.”
“What do we do?” Kat asked, holding Julia close.
Francesca thought for a moment before dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know.”
30
CLAIRE ’S SHAR
P GASP SHOOK STEPHEN FROM HIS FOG. H E untangled his fingers from Kat’s hair and straightened on the bench of his pew.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” he asked.
Claire’s eyes had grown so wide that the white completely surrounded the green irises.
“Look!” she whispered, pointing at Julia.
Stephen couldn’t prevent his own gasp. Julia remained stretched across the pew, her head cradled in her sister’s lap. But something was wrong. Her body appeared translucent. Stephen squinted, trying to focus his vision. This was, however, no trick of the eye. He really could see the burnished wood of the bench through Julia’s jeans.
“It’s like what happened to Aunt Frannie,” Claire said in hushed tones.
“What does it mean?” Stephen’s gaze remained glued to his elder daughter.
“I don’t know,” Claire said, “but, look, Daddy. It’s getting worse.”
Stephen stared as the grain of the wood beneath Julia grew clearer.
“She’s leaving us!” Claire’s voice ended in a squeal.
“Shhh.” Stephen reached across Kat’s slumped body and wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Don’t panic, honey, please. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ve got to believe that we’ll understand it soon enough.”
They watched together as Julia’s form grew emptier. In seconds, only the shell of an outline remained, a delicate tracing of hair and limbs. Then, with a faint shimmer and a sound like a gentle sigh, Julia vanished.
A tremendous shiver raced through Claire’s little body. “Oh, Daddy!” she gulped, running a palm across the place on her lap where her sister’s head had just rested.
Stephen squeezed her shoulder, fighting back his own fear. If he gave in to it now, all would be lost. He cast a quick glance at Kat. Her head still rested against his chest. She looked as if she’d simply settled in for an inconvenient afternoon nap. He carefully removed his arm from Claire’s shoulder and rested a hand on Kat’s wrist. She still felt warm and solid to his touch.
“Do you think Aunt Frannie is gone from the bedroom, too?” Claire asked.
He swallowed. “I don’t know. Claire, remember, Julia is with Mom, and probably with Aunt Frannie, too. They’ll do everything they can to keep her safe and bring her back to us. Okay?”
Claire nodded, apparently eager to grasp any straw of hope he could extend. “Okay,” she said, scrambling across both her parents to settle by his available side. “I guess all we can do is keep praying. Right, Daddy?”
Stephen nodded absently, brushing away the growing suspicion that something else would soon be expected of him.
Kat wondered how anyone as loose-limbed and relaxed as Isobel could even manage to stand. The girl reminded her of a college student who’d had too much to drink. She stood slightly slumped to one side, palms still turned upward but wrists limp, eyes closed, a goofy smile slapped across her face.
Kat stole a glance at her companions. It was hard not to stare at the priest and the prioress curled together against the trunk of a tree. She couldn’t quite digest the fact that these were medieval people. For the most part, they seemed quite usual, even ordinary, as if she’d met them before. Alys was a little taller than she, but with a pallor probably born of malnutrition. Gregory, while more than half a head taller, would have been considered small in any modern population. Kat suspected that he was younger than Stephen, but he moved more slowly, like a man well up in years. With a start, she realized that Gregory was probably in the winter of his life.
“Julia.” Francesca’s whisper made Kat turn her head. “Julia, are you with us?”
Julia, resting against Francesca’s side, met her great-aunt’s questioning glance. “Yes, Aunt Frannie. I’ve done what you told me to do. I’ve built a wall of prayer.”
Wall of prayer. Kat turned her attention back to the clearing, but not before catching Gregory’s nod of agreement. How wonderful that everybody else knew just what to do. She had not been assigned to prayer duty, which was just as well. She still couldn’t even get through a meditation session without streams of extant comments flooding her brain. Let everyone else work on their prayer wall. She’d monitor the action unfolding before the fire.
Hugh removed the recorder from his lips. “Isobel,” he said, his voice throaty, “are you quite ready to be mine?”
A chill raced up Kat’s spine as she watched Isobel’s measured nod.
Hugh set the recorder on the ground. Then he slowly circled the fire until he stood directly before Isobel. Her eyes remained closed, but she seemed well aware of his presence.
He walked until he stood behind her. She did not turn to face him. A distance of perhaps eight to ten inches separated them.
Without a word, Hugh raised his arms from his side, extending them as if he were a large bird in flight. Isobel did the same, matching the rhythm of his movements as perfectly as if she could see them.
Hugh lowered his arms. Isobel followed suit.
Now it was Hugh’s turn to smile, a slow, grim upturn of the mouth that made Kat feel as though she’d just walked into a freezer.
“Look,” she whispered, nudging Francesca.
Francesca’s eyes remained closed. Her mouth moved in prayer. She raised a finger to her lips, and Kat got the message loud and clear: “Don’t interrupt me now.”
A quick glance at Alys and Gregory showed that they, too, were unreachable. Their eyes were also closed. A hot flush flooded the white of Alys’s cheeks. Gregory’s head bowed over his clasped hands.
Julia’s breathing came even and deep. She appeared, in fact, stronger than Kat had seen her in weeks. Her hand rested in Francesca’s, a reminder that she did not face this bizarre interlude alone.
Hugh circled Isobel three times, yet seemed to pay her no mind. His demeanor changed with each rotation. He walked the first circle with the cockiness of a young suitor well aware of his own success in the realm of seduction. Then his shoulders straightened, his chin raised. He widened his next lap around Isobel, pacing the ground like a wild animal cornering his prey.
The third circle brought forth a conquering warrior. His stride slowed, became even more assured and proud than before. Isobel was no longer a conquest, no longer his prey. She had become his not only to control but to consume. He stopped before her, triumph chiseled in his face, eyes glittering with unearthly light.
“Now, Isobel,” he said in tones of gravel, “do you choose to belong to me completely?”
The girl before him nodded slowly, as if intoxicated.
Hugh pulled himself to his full height. Kat almost sensed the malevolent spirit within struggling to gain a stature greater than the flimsy shell a human body could offer.
“Do you choose to swear fealty to me?” His voice dropped even lower in tone.
The girl squirmed. Her fingers traced down her own curves, then reached toward him.
He stepped backward. “Fealty, Isobel!”
She nodded so hard that Kat half expected to hear her teeth clatter.
Hugh moved closer, leaning in until Isobel could feel his breath against her ear. Each word fell separately, seductively, in the air. “Isobel, do you choose to pledge me your soul?”
A groan escaped Isobel, a guttural sound made by vocal cords long unused. Kat stifled a gasp, then turned to stare at Julia. Francesca, too, had opened her eyes to check her great-niece.
“Julia,” Francesca whispered. “Are you all right?”
Julia’s hand clutched her throat as her eyes flew open. “Yes,” she said. “But I wasn’t here a second ago!”
“Where were you?” Francesca’s calm helped steady Kat.
Julia stared at Isobel. “There. With her.” Her face reddened. “I’m sorry, Aunt Frannie. I got distracted. I started thinking about other things.”
“Close your eyes,” Francesca said shortly. “Pray the Rosary. Any prayer, Julia, any form of light. Don’t let anything else in, no matter how small it seems.”
Isobel’s groa
n did not pass unnoticed. Hugh cast her a quick look.
“Talk to me, Isobel,” he said, and even Kat took refuge in the Our Father. The words rose before her mind in gleaming springs of light. Beyond them rested a persistent darkness just longing to poke holes in that wall of light and gain entrance.
Hugh straightened. “You are more than ready,” he said half to himself, “yet something blocks us. Open yourself to me, Isobel.”
He stood before her now, a commanding snarl pasted across his face as he looked down at the girl. He extended his arms. She did the same. He flexed his fingers. She followed suit.
“I am ready to flow into you, Isobel,” he said softly, “but I will not do it until you flow into her. You must flow into Julia, Isobel. You must become one with the girl before I possess you. Do it, Isobel. Do it now!”
Kat frantically reached for her daughter’s hand. Francesca, too, tightened her grip. Several feet away, Alys’s mouth began to move in silent petition.
A lump of panic wedged in Kat’s throat. That didn’t surprise her; panic seemed perfectly natural under the circumstances. What did surprise her was the sudden realization that panic itself was a distraction, simply a clever way to pierce her concentration at a crucial moment.
Julia whimpered.
“Stay with us,” Francesca urged. “Think of light, Julia, the brightest light you can.”
“They want me,” Julia whispered. “They’re…they’re pulling…”
“Well, they can’t have you,” Francesca said briskly. “Concentrate, Julia!”
Hugh’s head whipped around toward their spot in the woods. His eyes narrowed as his chin jutted into the air. He raised his left hand, an accusing finger pointing directly at their hiding place.
“Something blocks us,” he said. “Something I know well.”
Kat sent Francesca a quick glance. Of course Asteroth would sense her aunt’s presence. Their horrible battle remained seared in her own mind; how could Asteroth possibly forget his own defeat?
But Hugh’s cold, empty eyes did not focus on Francesca.