by Marina Myles
Scowling, Lucian folded his arms across his chest. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, Elisabeth’s behavior isn’t what is bothering me.”
She gave him a look that said, “What then?”
“This new life of mine is nothing I dreamt it would be. I presumed money and prestige would make me happy. Instead, it’s making me question everything I’ve worked for.”
I grew up in the center of society. Believe me, money cannot buy happiness, she replied by way of another note.
Lucian’s shoulders rolled forward. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about me. We need to return you to your former self. I plan to steal into the graveyard tonight and extract my ring from my uncle’s tomb.”
I’m coming with you.
He shook his head. “You’re not. It’s too dangerous.”
I don’t want to be alone, she scribbled.
Lucian raised an eyebrow. “It’s out of the question. You’re feeble and you may hinder me.”
If I come with you to get the ring, once you have secured it and performed the spell reversal, you can return the ring to your uncle’s tomb at once.
He considered this for a moment. “I still don’t know about trying to reverse your spell, Giselle. Since my first attempt went horribly wrong and a boy died, I could hurt you.”
I’m old. I have nothing to lose.
He read the note. Sighing with defeat, he placed a hand on Giselle’s withered cheek. “Very well. We will leave at eleven thirty this evening.”
At midnight precisely, Lucian directed Giselle through the gates of Bellu Cemetery. He’d picked the lock—a skill gained as a street boy—and they began to move through a haze of ankle-deep fog. Fortunately, the bright moon hanging over the aboveground grave plots cast shadows in which they could hide.
Giselle’s pulse sped. The cemetery boasted row upon row of plots, each with its own monument or statue. The juxtaposed monuments lent the yard a crowded look, and it was easy to lose one’s bearings. Grateful that Lucian knew the way, Giselle let him tug her toward a section of the graveyard set apart by a small knoll. A stately mausoleum rose up on top of the mound. She was surprised that Lucian’s uncle, a working Gypsy, was buried in such a magnificent place.
“Thanks to Baron Reppart’s money, I had my uncle buried here with dignity—instead of in my family’s meager plot,” he explained.
Pity washed through Giselle and she squeezed his hand. She remembered Gregori Ivanu as a kind man who always thought of others. Lucian always claimed he’d been closer to him than to his own father, and she was certain he’d been devastated when Gregori died.
She wanted to ask Lucian how he had saved the baron’s life, so she withdrew the pen and paper she’d brought with her.
He read the note and gave her a sideways look as they walked toward to the mausoleum. “I inherited the baron’s money after I lifted a fallen carriage off his chest,” he said. “He’d gotten out to purchase something on Hildae Street. A wild horse came charging by and spooked the carriage’s horses. The sudden jerk—plus the odd angle—tilted the coach on its side. It came crashing down on the baron.”
Giselle’s eyes flung open wide. Lucian was incredibly strong—and once he set his mind to something, he never gave up. That’s why she was disappointed he hadn’t kept his powers of sorcery.
A loud shriek made her jump. She huddled close to him.
“Just an owl,” he murmured.
Pressed against his broad chest, she could hear the sound of his heartbeat. It was steady and unaffected, but she wasn’t surprised.
They crept toward the tomb’s entry gates. In the moonlight, the edifice glowed like an enormous beacon—and the sight sent tremors of fear up Giselle’s spine. The eerie atmosphere was doing her heart no good and she wished Lucian would hurry and open the wrought iron gates. But he was moving carefully so that he could assist her.
To get him to pick up the pace, she wrote down the last detail of her predicament.
Ileana told me that if I ever escaped her grasp, my aging would accelerate at a rapid rate—until my heart simply stops. We must hurry.
Lucian looked horrified. “You mean you may die any moment?”
Giselle’s eyes flooded with tears. She’d watched her deterioration quicken since leaving London and she surmised that her bewitched age was close to ninety.
Lucian’s lips quivered. He gathered her to him in a panic. “It may not seem like it, but I didn’t do well without you these years, Giselle. If you leave me forever, I fear I’ll do even worse.”
Strangely, she could hear his pulse race, the way it had when she was young and beautiful.
“My heart shattered into a thousand pieces when you didn’t show up for our wedding,” he whispered. “I shut myself off emotionally from everyone and everything.”
She wrapped her gnarled hands around his waist and held him close.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked Elisabeth to marry me. While it sounds selfish, I was lonely.” His lips were close to her ear. “You’ve changed physically, but I still admire your spirit.”
Hot tears spilled forward and lined Giselle’s wrinkled cheeks. She mouthed the words, “I still love you” into his chest without him seeing.
Lucian took her hand. “Right, then. Let’s get busy returning you to your proper state.”
He was about to unlock the gates when someone struck the back of his head with a crow bar. Giselle whirled around. There stood Vacimo, Ileana’s loyal henchman, with the weapon clutched in his beefy hands.
Feeling a hand on her left shoulder, she turned around and gasped at the sight of Elisabeth Dalinsky’s evil smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Bind her hands, Vacimo!” Elisabeth shoved Giselle in the goon’s direction.
A thousand thoughts raced through Giselle’s mind. Why on earth is Elisabeth doing this? Is Lucian still alive? Are they going to leave him here?
Her wild concerns unexpressed, she stole a look at Vacimo. She recalled him from her wedding day. In fact, she remembered all too well his ironclad grip as he threw her into Ileana’s awaiting carriage. A huge man, he was missing a few teeth and bore a scar stretching from his right ear to his mouth.
As if he were under a spell himself, he pulled her hands behind her back and tied her wrists together with twine that cut into her skin.
“Now what, Miss Elisabeth?” he asked.
“Ileana wants us to take the old hag to Dantel House,” Elisabeth replied. “I’ll find Ileana’s book of spells there. She’s given me permission to choose one that will cause Giselle’s demise.”
Damn both of them, Giselle raged inwardly. She presumed Ileana and Elisabeth had moved in the same social circles in Bucharest. And since they had joined forces, it appeared the women shared a similar quality: malevolence.
“Doesn’t Ileana prefer to do her own handiwork?” Vacimo asked.
Giselle knew the muscular goon was dazzled by Ileana’s beauty—and that he would do anything for her. That part of him was terrifying.
“Ileana’s still in London putting the finishing touches on her plan to destroy her stepdaughter,” Elisabeth replied.
Vacimo nodded his head knowingly. “Alba Zpda.”
“Yes. Snow White.” A wicked grin curled Elisabeth’s mouth. “She is supposed to be as fair as the fallen snow, with lips as red as a rose—and Ileana cannot tolerate her tremendous beauty. That’s what I love about Ileana; she’s cruel to the bone.”
Giselle threw Elisabeth a look of infuriation.
“Poor little Giselle,” Elisabeth said, stepping forward. “Oh, yes. I know precisely who you are. Ileana and I have been working together ever since I laid eyes on Lucian at the opera house. I wanted him.” Her eyes were dark spheres. “Desperately.”
Giselle’s heart struggled to beat.
“Lucian was all I thought about,” the not-so-meek girl informed her. “But I knew he was in love with you. When I was introduced to Ileana and we spoke of you and
Lucian, she revealed that she is a maven of the occult. ‘If you help me, I shall help you,’ she said. After we made a pact, I helped her find Vacimo and she turned you into a hideous old woman.”
Giselle gasped for air. She eyed Lucian, who lay on the ground, unmoving. Her spindly legs faltered and it took all of her resolve to remain standing.
Elisabeth knelt beside him and stroked his hair. “Thank God he’s still breathing.” She shot a blazing look at Vacimo. “You didn’t have to hit him so hard, you big lug.”
Vacimo reddened with embarrassment.
“I love him more than words, you know,” Elisabeth told Giselle. “I didn’t have to do anything while you were out of the picture. But now that you’ve returned—as Ileana said you might if you escaped her clutches—I’m going to make you disappear forever.”
Giselle’s pulse stuttered. If I die, at least Lucian will know what Elisabeth truly is. A she-devil.
Elisabeth stood. “Take this ugly creature away, Vacimo.”
The henchman nodded. As he pushed Giselle out of the cemetery, she tried to get his attention—so that she could mouth a secret message to him. But Vacimo wouldn’t look at her.
“In case Lucian didn’t tell you,” Elizabeth said on the way to the carriage, “he postponed our engagement last night and broke my heart. And it was all because of you. I listened at the door as the two of you spoke this morning. That’s when I came up with this plan. Of course, I wanted Lucian to suffer a little after he humiliated me, but he shall awake soon without knowing what happened to him. Nor will he know where you’ve gone, my dearest Giselle. Sadly, that means he won’t be able to save you.”
Coming to, Lucian rubbed the back of his neck. His head reeled like a toy pinwheel in a fast breeze and when he managed to flip onto his back, the clouds rotated in swift circles before his eyes.
What the hell happened?
He forced himself to his feet. As his mind gradually cleared, he remembered standing in front of the mausoleum with Giselle—and her informing him that she was living on borrowed time.
She can’t die.
He blinked until his eyes focused. Where the hell was she? A splitting headache assaulted him as he realized Giselle was nowhere to be found.
Damn it.
Delving his hand inside his pocket, he realized the key to the tomb was gone.
Double damn.
The sound of crunching leaves seized his attention. Nerves humming, Lucian crept behind the enormous tomb. When he peeked out, he saw a stout man lumbering up the knoll. The figure held a lantern that swung in the winter wind. In his other hand, the man grasped a shovel.
A groundskeeper.
Surely the cemetery employee would throw Lucian out on his ear if he were caught. Lucian needed to get that ring and find Giselle. He didn’t know who’d taken her, but he was going to find out, if it was the last thing he did.
The shadowed man came closer and Lucian crouched. Lacking a weapon, he planned to incapacitate the groundskeeper by sheer muscle power. Then he could break into the tomb.
He was about to pounce when he heard, “Master?”
Lucian’s lungs hitched. “Taur? Is that you?” He marched around the mausoleum’s curved wall.
“Yes, sir.” The manservant’s cheeks were flushed a deeper scarlet than usual.
“I’ve never been happier to see you!”
“Sir,” Taur said, breathlessly, “I hate graveyards, so if this isn’t a show of servitude, I don’t know what is.”
Lucian slapped the valet on the back. “You’re the best, Taur. How the hell did you know I was here?”
Taur raised the lantern to shoulder level so that he could see Lucian’s face. “I know where your uncle is buried.”
“Of course you do.” Lucian grinned. Then he remembered how much the knot on the back of his head hurt. “Someone attacked me and took Giselle. Scared the piss out of me.”
Taur gave an understanding snort then lifted the shovel. “I brought this—and I’m offering my help. I think it’ll take two people to get the lid off the crypt.”
“Good thinking.”
Lucian and Taur took turns trying to smash the gates’ padlock with the head of the shovel. Finally, the lock burst open and the gates swung apart.
There was an ominous silence.
“You first, sir,” Taur urged.
“Right,” Lucian replied, suppressing a shiver.
As he entered, the hair on his arms stood on end. Death had always been something he didn’t understand—and if he was frightened of anything, entering a blackened tomb at midnight was it.
The space smelled musty and dank, exaggerating the heavy sadness inside. Lucian reached for the lantern. As he waved it in front of him, the light illuminated a marble crypt which concealed an inner sarcophagus.
“I guess it’s time,” he muttered. Setting the lantern on the floor, he curled his fingers around a corner of the crypt’s lid. Heaving it toward him, he managed to inch it off its base. “Well, don’t just stand there, Taur!”
“ Y . . . yes sir.”
Taur knelt down on the opposite side of the tomb and pushed the marble lid while Lucian pulled.
Sweat beaded on the men’s brows. It was a tedious job, but after a while, they opened the crypt wide enough for Lucian to shimmy inside.
Before he did, he sat on the edge and dangled his feet inside the darkened space. “Lantern?” he asked without looking at Taur. Once he took the light, he slid into the crypt. “Shovel?” his voice rang out.
Taur slipped the shovel into Lucian’s raised hand.
Ten minutes went by. Grunts and groans filled the mausoleum. Taur heard the removal of the sarcophagus’s lid, bones crunching, and Lucian swearing like a sailor before he emerged victorious.
“I’ve got it!” He held the ring forward for Taur to see.
It was an oversized piece of jewelry, wrapped in forged gold and black onyx. The top of it bore the emblem of Lucian’s Gypsy tribe: a lion bowing under a full moon.
Lucian slipped the ring on his finger. Next, he and Taur returned the marble slab to its original position.
“Where to now, sir?” Taur asked, exhausted.
“Ileana instructed Giselle to ship her book of spells to Dantel House,” Lucian replied as they emerged into the wintry night. “I suspect that’s where she is. And since the ring does me no good until I cast a reversal spell in person, we’ll take my carriage there right now.”
CHAPTER SIX
Dantel House, a former royal palace that bordered a dark, glossy lake, sat miles apart from other houses and overlooked Bucharest from a distance. Its pleasant façade seemed to welcome visitors with open arms, but Giselle knew better. She cringed as she pictured its collection of heavy Victorian furniture, unsettling portraits, and dark, brooding rooms—all with Ileana’s portentous stamp.
Vacimo yanked Giselle out of the carriage. As he clasped her arm, she scowled at the house’s portico. She wished she could have mouthed a plea for help inside the carriage, but he’d stared straight ahead like a lifeless machine.
If only I could talk.
With her aching arms tied behind her back, Giselle had no way to get to the pen and paper she’d stuffed inside her cloak. Nor could she search for another object she’d hidden in its folds . . . an object that could prove as essential to her spell reversal as Lucian’s ring.
“Take her to the dungeon,” Elisabeth ordered Vacimo. “I shall search for the spell book and join you momentarily.”
Grunting his reply, the massive henchman lit a torch and urged Giselle forward. Without her cane, she stumbled and struggled along. The dungeon seemed a hundred miles away. Finally, Vacimo thrust open the door which led to the house’s underground. Like a soldier on a mission, he maneuvered Giselle down a flight of stone steps. The air got colder and colder as they reached the dungeon’s core. Shivering, Giselle tried to wriggle free of Vacimo’s grasp, but it was no use. She could barely walk at this point, let alone defen
d herself.
Vacimo scowled deeply at her snail’s pace. “Walk faster!” he shouted.
Where was Lucian?
Praying that he was all right, Giselle sunk into a high-backed chair at the henchman’s command. The dungeon, lit only by the torch’s circle of light, had always terrified her. It reeked of Ileana’s strange concoctions and resembled a mad alchemist’s laboratory. Hence, Giselle had avoided its stoic block walls—unless Ileana insisted she retrieve something from its shelves.
Ileana. With fine features and a crown of gleaming yellow hair, she was an undeniably beautiful woman. But Giselle had learned much about beauty these past three years. Skin-deep at best, it meant nothing compared to the integrity of one’s soul. Giselle had prized her own looks before they were snatched away, but now she yearned to be young again—if only to live the full extent of the life that God had given her . . . regardless of how she looked.
“Now we wait for Miss Elisabeth,” Vacimo said. Folding his arms across his chest, he stood watch over Giselle.
How will I escape? She squirmed in pain. Her arms felt as if they’d fall off, and she didn’t know if she could withstand the throbbing much longer.
When she began to cry, Vacimo stared at her.
“You are in pain, eh?”
Giselle nodded as tears warmed her cheeks.
He glanced around. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to untie you. You can’t escape from here. I locked the door.”
He pulled a knife from his boot and set her wrists free. Exhaling with relief, she rubbed the raw skin while he returned the weapon to his boot.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
He grunted.
“I stood in the lobby of the opera house when you sang one night,” he said after a moment. “Ileana insisted on seeing you perform again.”
Giselle couldn’t believe he was talking to her.
“I thought your voice was the most beautiful thing I ever heard.”
She managed a smile.
He inched closer. “It’s sad that you need to write messages now.”
Seizing her chance, Giselle extracted her pen and paper. Vacimo watched as she scribbled something. Then she handed him the note.