She had a life of her own before her father died. She can resume her education, get her doctoral degree, and go on to a fine and respected career as an historical scholar and Lady Professor. She does not need me or any man-to give purpose to her life, for she already had it, earned by her own effort and no one else's.
With a sigh, he put up the brush and currycomb, and saw to Sunset's dinner.
There was no answer; the prospects were equally bleak whether he reverted to his former self or remained as he was. She could not love him as a beast, and probably would not love him as a man.
The best he could do would be to conceal his true feelings, and continue on as they were. If he could not have her love, he would at least not spoil the friendship.
He left Sunset to his grain, and turned his steps back toward the house, prepared to hide his feelings forever, if need be.
Fortunately, the mask of the beast made it damnably easy to hide the heart of the man.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Paul du Mond watched in fascinated detachment as hands that did not seem to belong to him slowly drove a potent load of clear, pink-tinged liquid into his vein through the medium of the syringe needle. The hands squeezed the plunger hard as the last of the liquid entered his body; he wanted to be certain he got every precious drop. Beltaire was generous with his drugs, but du Mond was not going to repay that generosity with wastefulness.
"What did you say this was?" he asked Beltaire, as he removed the bandage from around his elbow, and felt the first rush of euphoria hit him. He sat back on his bed, and watched Simon through a sweet haze of pleasure.
"I didn't," Beltaire replied casually. "A little of this, a bit of that, actually, including a few things known only to The Great Beast's devotees. You've had most of them in single doses already. It is a blend designed to last longer than cocaine, yet one which will not send the partaker into a mindless dreamworld like many of the opiates. Eventually, it will free your spirit-eyes so that you can see beyond what fools call the real world into the many worlds beyond this one." Paul nodded wisely, although in his current euphoric state he probably would have nodded wisely had Beltaire recited a nursery-rhyme.
"I don't suppose you've heard anything more about the virgin child your suppliers were supposed to get you?" the Firemaster continued, raising an interrogative eyebrow. "We really must have a virgin for the final ceremony opening up all four Elements to you." He sighed. "Best of all, of course, would be virgin above the age of puberty, but that's too much to hope for from these Chinese slave-merchants. They never can resist sampling their wares."
Du Mond shook his head, and a deep, hot anger awakened from the coals that were always glowing within his soul. He had paid, and paid dearly, well in advance of delivery-and all his supplier could offer him were excuses. There were shortages, due to high mortality in the shipments. It was harder to get people to part with children than with useless girls of marriageable age who had no dowries. The missionaries had confiscated his shipment. The missionaries had made it difficult to bring his shipment into port. Always difficulties, never anything but excuses.
He already had a Fire Elemental bound to his service, which was more than he'd ever achieved with Cameron. The trouble was hardly with his new Master. Simon Beltaire delivered everything he promised and more.
"I'll have words with them again," he replied, and added darkly, "I can always send Smith and Cook to them if they have nothing more to offer than excuses. I suspect the two of them could extract our money, at least."
"That should be your court of last resort," Beltaire warned. "It would be better to go to the extreme of doing your own hunting before you turned force on your suppliers." He raised a finger suggestively. "Remember that you have the use of my motor-launch when I do not require it. There are quarters in San Francisco-as you well know-where a brat might not be missed for several days. Most would go with anyone who offered them candy-and opium-powder mixed with taffy or fudge is a sure way to keep an urchin sleepy and cooperative long enough to get it into the launch across the Bay. Once it is in my house, of course, it can yell as much as it likes. Under normal circumstances I would not suggest this at all, except that the matter is fairly urgent if you are to make continuous progress. A local brat would at least be sturdy, which is more than can be said for Chinese merchandise that's just made a long voyage."
Paul licked his lips. "I'll consider it."
Beltaire nodded, and packed up his paraphernalia. "I will leave you to your experience," he said. "This first time, you might not be able to break through the barriers to the Other Side; if not, be patient, for sometimes your body needs to become accustomed to these things so that your spirit can soar freely. And sometimes your spirit is preoccupied with a problem that must be solved before you are free to seek other realms. If that is true, and you identify the problem, solve it at once." Paul did not notice him leaving, but after a timeless interval of lying in a state of hazy, vague pleasure on his bed, neither was he able to make the breakthrough he had hoped for. Despite Beltaire's advice, this frustrated him. Try as he might to empty his mind of everything, one problem kept intruding; the need to find his Vessel, the untouched female-or male, but Paul preferred to use a female Vessel, and it was much easier to tell if a female was a virgin than a male.
If only he could find an adolescent-or better yet, an adult!
He stared at a spot on the ceiling, a water-stain shaped like a cloud. Scant chance finding a virgin past the age of ten, he grumbled to himself, his euphoria flattening. At least, not one I can get hold of without getting the police on my trail. And as for an adult-huh, there's only one that I know of, and-
It hit him then, like a bolt of lightning. His Vessel, his perfect Vessel, was right at hand and waiting for him! That Hawkins harridan-she was a virgin, and a fat lot of good her virginity was doing anyone, too! She wouldn't be missed by anyone but Cameron-he still had free access to Cameron's estate, and if he caught her outside the mansion on one of those long walks of hers, Cameron would never know what had happened to her! Cameron wouldn't report her missing, he wouldn't dare; he couldn't face police himself, and there would be no one else who could answer questions about her! He might even assume she had run off, frightened by the things he was asking her to read to him.
He levered himself up off his bed. Best to do it now, as Simon had said, as if the Firemaster had somehow known that this would be the solution to his problem. If he waited, Cameron might get tired of the lack of progress and send her off himself, or she might decide that poverty was better than reading what must seem to her to be the ravings of lunatics, and quit.
He had a moment of doubt as his hand fell on the doorknob. Beltaire had said that the drugs would last for many hours, and that they would have several different effects on his mental and physical condition. Should he do this while he was still under their influence? Could he? They might slow his reflexes, so that he would botch the kidnapping. They might send him visions that would confuse him. They might render him too euphoric to act. Or-they might give him immensely greater strength and endurance, and render him impervious to pain. He stood twisting the knob in indecision.
But then, he saw that while twisting the doorknob, the thing had come off in his hand. It hadn't simply fallen off, either; he'd wrenched it from the doorplate.
Well! So that is one of the effects! Beltaire had warned him to be careful around the house, and now he knew why! There were several drugs that had the effect of numbing the nerves and enhancing strength, and Beltaire must have put them in his mix.
Perfect. If I leave now, I can borrow the motor-launch and be in Pacifica in an hour I can have the men drop me in the shallows, then anchor the launch just below the cliffs, and I can take the path up from the beach. I can wait there for her. Neat, clean, and impossible to trace. She would simply disappear.
And there's no reason for Cameron to suspect me.
He would finally get Rosalind Hawkins, and she woul
d finally get what she deserved.
Rose could hardly help but compare April in California with the same month in Chicago. There was nothing to choose between, to be frank. April had always seemed to be one of the most miserable months in the calendar to her-the weather was hideously distempered, changing every few moments, and all of the changes unpleasant. There was just enough promise of spring to raise one's hopes, but not enough to be convincing that winter's grip was loosened-and there was always the chance that a blizzard in the middle of the month would send everything into an icy winter freeze for another week or more. There could be no opera, no ballet, no concerts, even; it was Lent, after all, in a predominantly Catholic city, and if there was any music available, it was all religious, and dolorous. Menus at University were full of fish, a dish that Rose got weary of rather quickly, given the limited imagination of the University cooks. Their illiterate Irish cook had always insisted on honoring the Lenten custom as well, and her ideas beyond fish were limited to vegetable soups and stews, and Welsh rarebit. By the time Lent was over, Rose was generally ready to kill for a pot roast.
San Francisco did not seem to notice that it was the Lenten season. This was the month that Caruso and the Met were coming to perform at the Opera. Fish had no greater share in the city's menus than any other time of year. Flowers had been in full bloom for two weeks and more, and if it rained a great deal, well, the fresh greenery looked very pretty in the rain.
Rose had resumed her walks as a guarantee that Jason would ride Sunset at least once a day. She had no trouble encouraging him if she called out that she was about to get her exercise, but if she said "I believe I'll continue working, so why don't you go take your ride," he would always find some excuse to remain. As long as it wasn't pouring rain, a fast walk down to the sea and back was a good way to shake off discouragement and depression-it was very hard to think of one's self as a martyr when there were birds singing in every tree, and flowers filling the air with perfume.
And today it was impossible to think of herself as anything but incredibly lucky. Tomorrow she would take Jason's private train into San Francisco again, and she would listen to Caruso for the following two days from Jason's private box.
Cameron had asked her to consult Master Pao about some disturbances he had felt lately among his Salamanders that he thought might be Earth-related. She had resolved to tell Master Pao the whole truth about Jason's problem-for he still was unaware of the extent of the damage the "accident" had caused and see if there was something Eastern Magick could do that Western could not.
Perhaps we will never be able to undo what was done to him. That thought had occurred to her several times over the last two weeks, sounding what could have been a pessimistic note with overtones, for her, of hope. If Cameron remained in his half-lupine form....
It would be sad, of course, but not the tragedy it might otherwise have been. He didn't need servants as long as he had Salamanders and Sylphs. He was able to get out on his estate again, atop Sunset. Granted, he could no longer entertain his old friends, but he didn't seem to miss them.
He does miss music, but there are gramophones, and there are inventions like the radiophone that hold some promise of bringing distant concerts to listeners. I should persuade him to get a gramophone and a collection of recordings. Soon enough, electricity would come to Pacifica, and thus to the estate; with electricity would come the telephone. He could conduct all of his business from his office here, and for what needed the personal touch, there was his agent, and there was Rose.
I don't need a degree to do research and publish. I certainly don't need one for Magick. I could stay here with him forever ...
Could her company-and yes, her love-make up for his restricted life? She liked to think so. Certainly he seemed to be enjoying himself more now than he had been when she first arrived.
She did not want to hope for something so selfish, and so tragic, as his continued imprisonment in his altered form-but it was difficult not to.
Time for research was at a premium with her departure so soon, and she thought seriously about turning back halfway down the path. But the distant roar of the waves lured her on, and she told herself that they would have plenty of research-time when she returned. It is not as if we are pursuing this under some deadline, after all.
Sunlight showing past the trees ahead of her pointed to the clearing at the top of the cliffs, and her turn-around point. I'll just enjoy the sea and the wind for a moment, and get some sun, then I'll walk back at a faster pace-
Her ears warned her a fraction of a second before it happened; there was the crackle of underbrush, and she had just enough time to half turn before something heavy hit her from behind, grappling her around the waist.
But her assailant did not get a firm grip on her, nor did he manage to pin her arms. With a shrill scream startled out of her by sudden fear, she clawed and struggled her way free, leaving her jacket in his hands. As she wrenched herself away, she let her momentum take her and staggered a few paces away in the direction of the cliffs.
That was not where she wanted to go-nor did she want this attacker between herself and the mansion! She staggered about to face him, her hands crooked instinctively into claws to tear at his face and eyes, her hair draggling down into her eyes, and one sleeve of her shirtwaist half torn off.
To her utter shock and horror, when he scrambled to his feet and glared up at her, she recognized the face of Paul du Mond. And to her deeper horror, she recognized by his dilated, glassy eyes, his pale complexion, and his fixed stare that he was not his normal self. She had already marked him with a long scratch down one cheek; he did not seem to notice it, not even to wipe the blood away. Nor did he speak, or alter his predatory stance in any way although he must have recognized her, and knew that she now knew him.
Her stomach knotted and her heart chilled. For some reason, known only to him, he had come to attack her. If he is drugged-he won't feel anything I do. I could claw his face to ribbons and he won't feel it-
He lunged for her again, his lips twisted into a snarl, a thin line of spittle drooling from one corner of his mouth. She tried to evade him, but this time his luck was better, or hers worse; he caught her by the skirt, and wrenched her offbalance long enough to take complete control of the situation.
She had no time to react; his reflexes were inhumanly fast. He seized both her wrists in one hand with an iron grip; she made herself go limp, landing on her derriere with a painful thump, determined to make of herself a dead weight that he could not carry. And once she was down, she began to kick at his knees and legs with the hard heels of her shoes. If she could break a bone, drugged or not, he would not be able to carry her off, as he seemed fixed on doing!
Her focus narrowed to her struggle; although her entire body thrilled with terror, she did not, would not, could not let it overwhelm her. She must fight; Jason was who-knew-where, and his Salamanders were probably with him. Only one person was going to save her: herself.
She didn't scream; she saved her breath for the fight. No one would hear her this far from the house. But inside, she was screaming in terror. Her arms burned with pain as he hauled at them; it felt as if he was tearing them out of her shoulder.
He ignored the vicious kicks at his legs, and began to drag her inch by inch toward the clearing. Twigs tore at her clothing, her face, her arms, marking her skin in fiery paths-she twisted and turned, trying to break that powerful grip in her wrists, until her arms were nearly wrenched out of their sockets. What did he want with her? What could he want with her? And why was he dragging her towards the cliffs?
The struggle went on in grim silence; the roar of the ocean covered the sound of her panting and gasping, and he seemed as impervious to everything as if he were an automaton made of clockwork and steel. She made one attempt to bite him, but gave that up when he used the opportunity to attempt to land a blow to her jaw that would surely have knocked her senseless had she not ducked out of the way. After that, she did h
er best to keep her head out of his reach.
Kicking and writhing, hooking her legs around trees until he tore her loose, forcing him to fight dearly for every inch, she was dragged inexorably towards the clearing and the cliffs. Her shirtwaist was in rags; her skirt, of sturdier stuff, hampered her attempts to get a purchase enough to throw him off-balance. Was he going to throw her over the cliffs? And why?
Whatever he wanted with her, the fact that he apparently wanted her alive for it made her even more terrified, if that was possible. Panic gave her new strength, and she twisted like a wild thing in his grasp, wrenching her arms back and forth. But some other force had given him incredible strength, and he continued to pull her onwards.
Only two or three yards of cover remained between him and the clearing. Once he got her that far, there would be nothing for her to hold on to, and he could simply drag her across the slippery grass unimpeded. Her heart pounded so wildly she thought it would burst.
Terrified past reason now, she screamed in hopeless terror, and fought with all her strength.
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