ripped, and she held her breath. Had anyone heard that
strident noise? She could not risk being found. Then the
creature might fulfill its threats.
Seeing the lantern only a few feet from her, she dared
to whisper, “Hastings?” The lantern halted, and she slipped
through the trees as swiftly as she could. “Hastings, stop!
You must stop.”
She froze when the trees thinned, and she realized she
had followed the lantern to the edge of the clearing with
the stone table. Backing hastily into the shadows, she
sought another way to reach him.
But her eyes were drawn back to the clearing which
was lit by smoky torches. A score of people congregated
there, each wearing some sort of mask. Some appeared to
represent animals. Others were as hideous as the creature
who had chased her toward Rosewood Hall. They were
chanting and dancing in wild abandon around a collection
of torches by the tables.
She wanted nothing to do with them or whatever they
were doing. Pulling her gaze from them, she saw the lantern
still had not moved. Was Hastings watching, appalled, too?
Nobody seemed to be looking in her direction,
although it was impossible to tell with the strange masks
they wore. She edged toward the lantern. There still might
be a chance she and Hastings could flee unnoticed. Once
they were out of earshot, she would warn him about the
beast who had ambushed her among these trees.
Darcy put her hand over her mouth to silence her gasp
of dismay when she entered a tiny clearing. The lantern
was sitting on a stump, abandoned. If Hastings had carried
it here, he might have left it when he realized it could
draw attention to him.
She started to pick up the lantern, then drew back.
She should take a lesson from Hastings. If she moved it
now, the light would be a beacon to alert those in the
clearing to her movements. Where was he? She would
never find him without this beacon. The best thing she
could do would be to return to the house and search it
from attic to cellars until she found Simon. Together, they
would look for his father. It was what she should have
done from the beginning, but she had been too afraid of
losing this single clue to Hastings’ route.
Before she could take a step, her arms were seized
from behind. She screamed in her terror and outrage, and
the forms in the clearing halted in midstep. A sweaty hand
pressed over her mouth, silencing her.
A cloth gagged her. Struggling to escape, she heard
laughter. Cruel, triumphant laughter. She fought harder to
escape. This could not be happening. Not again! She had
to flee before that thing came near her again.
Her efforts were as futile as before. Still on her feet,
she was shoved back against a tree. Pain exploded through
her head, and the lights swelled and waned in front of her.
She must not lose consciousness. She must not.
A knife appeared out of the darkness. As it was held
in front of her eyes, it was slowly lowered so its tip rested
against the wrapper button directly over her heart. This
message needed no words.
Someone grabbed her wrists. Her hands were bound
behind the tree, and she moaned as her arms strained not
to be torn from her shoulders. Another rope was looped
around her middle. When it was tightened, she could not
draw a breath. She sagged against the tree as her ankles
were lashed to the trunk. She tried to see her captors, but
they were lost in the shadows beyond the lantern’s feeble
light.
Suddenly the fresh sweetness of air filled her lungs,
and she realized the rope around her stomach had been
loosened. Her relief vanished when a man who wore a
mask that made him look like some kind of bird ran his
fingers along her face. She twisted her head away, but he
pinched her cheeks between his broad hands. When his
tongue stuck through the mask and brushed her ear, she
shrieked. No sound but a groan slipped past the gag.
The man pulled back and looked beyond her. Through
the mask and in the flickering light of the torches, she
could see terror in his eyes. He backed away, bowing his
head.
Darcy moaned as the creature—the thing—stepped
around the trees, each step as measured as a ballet dancer’s.
Its every appalling aspect was exactly as she remembered.
She should have insisted Simon heed her, and . . .
She closed her eyes as horror surged through her. What
if Simon was hidden behind one of these masks? He had
not been in his rooms or his office. He had not answered
her frantic calls in Rosewood Hall. Was it because he was
here? She wanted to deny that, but was unable to
understand his surprising lack of curiosity about her
previous ordeal. He had discounted her descriptions of the
creature out of hand instead of tracing down every detail
as he did with his words.
Before her stood the beast, alive, real, and undeniably
male in his brief loincloth which revealed the well-oiled
muscles of his body. This was not Simon, for pale, curly
hair twisted across this creature’s chest. She could not tell
if it was white or blond.
The man-beast stepped closer. She stared at the
monster’s dark sockets where his eyes should be. Its
distorted nose led to a mouth too wide for any human’s.
Rope-like scars twisted in malignant patterns along the
mask’s cheeks.
It is a mask. It is only a mask. She repeated those
words over and over silently. Her fear made her more
vulnerable to this beast, and she must not give it more
advantage over her than it already had.
He leaned toward her, and the disgusting sibilant voice
came from beneath the mask as he whispered, “I warned
you to stay far from here, but you swiftly slipped back
through the trees. Do you remember what I said would be
your fate if you returned?”
She kept her chin high with the little dignity she had
left.
“Answer me,” he hissed.
She arched her brows. How did he expect her to speak
when she was gagged?
“Answer me.” The mask turned, and a man leaped
forward to squeeze her cheeks painfully again. The creature
ordered, “Answer me. Do you remember what I said would
be your fate if you were to sneak into our woods once
more?”
She nodded, and the man’s painful grip eased.
“But yet, you returned.” The creature gave a wild
laugh. “Just as I said she would.” As his followers began
to chant in excitement, he edged closer to her again and
lowered his voice so only she could hear his disgusting
whisper. “But you returned too soon. We aren’t ready for
you this night. You should have remained at Rosewood
Hall until you were summoned.”
She shivered. She did not want to be a part of whatever
this madman and his cult were planning.
He put his hand up toward her face, and she cringed
away. “You will be silent unless I ask you a question,
Darcy.” His voice drew out her name in his sickening
whisper. “If you do not cooperate, you will necessitate us
killing you now. That would be a shame.”
She nodded as she tried to calm the pulse crashing
through her skull so loudly she had no chance of
recognizing his voice.
When the gag was pulled away, she coughed and
coughed. She gasped through her coughing, “Please loosen
the ropes so I can breathe more easily.”
“You will be silent, or you will have no need for air,
Darcy.”
She listened to how he stretched out her name and
knew he enjoyed saying it. With a shudder that ached across
her shoulders and down her bound arms, she wondered
how he had learned her name. Terror riveted her. This
creature must hide the face of someone she knew. Someone
from Rosewood Hall? From Halyeyn?
“Who are you?” she whispered. “What have you done
with Hastings?”
Instead of answering, the creature took a bowl from
one of his sycophants. The man with the knife came
forward and put it once more against the button in the
center of her chest.
The beast raised the bowl to her lips and ordered,
“Drink.”
She snarled the most vicious curse she had ever heard
in Egypt, then repeated it in English before clamping her
lips closed.
The creature snapped an order, but the man holding
the knife did not shove it into her chest. Instead he put it
in his belt. He forced her mouth open with one hand and
held her nose shut with the other. When the bowl was held
to her lips, she had no choice but to swallow the bitter
liquid while she struggled to breathe. She choked and
gagged and winced as it burned her stomach.
The man with the knife laughed, and she heard more
laughter from the shadows.
Her nails cut into the bark, but she kept her head high.
“If that was poison—”
“You needn’t worry about that, Darcy,” the creature
said. “If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead
before now. This is simply another warning to stay away
until you are invited to join us.”
“Join you? I would rather die.”
His voice did not change as he said, “Joining with us
is your fate, Darcy. Your very life is necessary for us. You
bring us what we need to go on.” He made a motion which
the other man must have understood. The gag was stuffed
into her mouth again, and the bushes rustled as his
followers edged through them, taking the torches with
them.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she stared in horror
at the monster. He was not leaving with the others. When
he took a step toward her, his naked muscles glistening in
the moonlight, she tried to shift away. She could not move.
He said nothing. Had he lied to her? Was he waiting
for her to die in front of him?
She blinked, and her head was abruptly as light as the
breeze. His silhouette wavered before her eyes. She blinked
again, looking to her left. The trees were wavering as if
they had become liquid. Leaning her head back against
the tree, she fought to make her eyes focus on the moon
that looked as if it were reflected in a rippling stream.
He walked toward her. Plucking the gag from her
mouth, he stepped back. She wanted to scream, but her
voice came out in a soft mew. When he loosened the ropes
binding her arms, she folded to the ground. She clutched
her head, trying to make a single rational thought. Nothing
lingered long enough for her to grasp it, as her thoughts
spun like everything around her.
Long fingers on her ankles were untying the ropes
before she was more than barely aware she was being
touched. Those long fingers slipped up along her leg, and
she tried to pull away. Her limbs worked no better than
her eyes.
“Such a waste,” he hissed. “You could have done better
than Simon, Darcy, but you shall serve me well.”
“No.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“What spirit! If the prize was not so dear, you would
serve me in a far more intimate way.”
She thought she heard him laugh a very human laugh,
but vivid flashes of pain exploded in her head. The
undulating earth came up to her as she collapsed. The laugh
sounded again, but it was connected to nothing.
Darcy was not sure how long it was before she was
able to raise her head. Silence filled the wood, and the
moon had set.
One thought formed in her mind. She had to find
Simon! When he saw the welts on her wrists from the rope,
he would have to believe her. And the beast had spoken
his name. Hadn’t he? She was sure he had. She had to
warn Simon about this creature before Simon became its
captive, too. That thought revolved through her aching
skull. Pushing against the ground, she started to rise. Again
she crumpled.
Slowly she began to realize she had been drugged by
whatever was in the bowl. How long would she be this
weak? She shivered, for the night’s chill was deepening.
She managed to rise to her knees. As she looked at the
trees in front of her, they telescoped into darkness and
returned out of focus in a kaleidoscope that changed every
time her eyelids rose or fell.
Darcy groped for the tree behind her. Leaning on it,
she pushed herself to her feet. She swayed, then clutched
the tree more tightly. She needed something solid to keep
her from spiraling out of reality.
She closed her eyes as the creature’s voice echoed
through her head. He had no interest in killing her . . .
now. But he intended to use her in some way which she
was sure would strengthen his leadership over the people
who had gathered here. She had to get to Rosewood Hall.
Where was Hastings? Had he eluded the creature and
its followers, or was he drugged senseless somewhere
nearby? Or—and she did not want to think this thought,
but could not stop it—was he dead?
“Hastings?” she called out, her voice barely louder
than the rattle of the branches overhead.
A light moved in the trees, but she would not be so
foolish again. She could not find and protect Hastings on
her own. She needed help. She turned her back on the light
and reeled from one tree to the next. Her shoulder struck
one, and she groaned, but did not slow.
The hard surface of a road cut through her soft slippers,
startling her. Where was she? With care, she looked in
both directions. She wanted to cry out with relief when
she saw the front gate of Rosewood Hall ahead of her. She
must have gotten turned about in the woods while following
Hastings.
She lurched toward th
e drive leading to Rosewood
Hall. Something rattled behind her. What was it? Her mind,
slowed by the sapping drug, did not give her an answer
until the carriage was almost upon her. She tumbled to the
roadside.
The carriage slowed. With a gasp, she pushed herself
back to her feet and forward, holding out her hands. She
did not worry about what a sight she must be in her torn
wrapper and tangled hair. “Help me,” she pleaded. “I need
to get to Rosewood Hall.”
The carriage door opened, and a hand appeared to help
her in. She stretched out her hand for it, but it remained
beyond her fingers as the darkness seemed to rise up from
the ground and encompass her.
Fifteen
Meskhenet . . . Kafele . . . Meskhenet . . .
“Beware of what you know is true.”
“Do not be rash. Think with care before you take
action.”
“I love you, and I want to be with you forever.”
Forever . . . Meskhenet . . . Kafele . . .
***
Darcy tried to find her way past the unseen line
between dreams and waking. The terror within her refused
to release her as she opened her eyes. Hearing moans, she
peered through the dim light. She saw no one. The moans
were not hers, although her head ached with a dull
throbbing.
She started to stand, but something metallic clanked
and pain scored her right ankle. Dropping back to the stone
floor, she leaned her head against a wall. Something sticky
seeped through her hair, and she pulled away in horror.
Where was she?
An endless chorus of moans rose and fell. Her eyes
began to adjust to the faint light, and, in horror, she stared
at the crowded room.
Not so much a room as a cell, for rust-encrusted bars
sliced the window which was so small she could not have
squeezed through it. To her left, a door was clasped with
heavy iron as if to keep out some atrocity . . . or keep it in.
Creatures, for there was no humanity in them, crawled
around the chamber. Each of them was chained to the wall.
She would not have been able to silence the screams
clamoring in her throat if one of those . . . things had come
closer. Most were female. Few had decent clothing, and
several crawled through puddles on the floor.
Where was she?
Raising the hem of her nightgown, she saw her right
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 25