He wished he could hear her speaking to him in his mind as he had before and narrowed his eyes, willing her to talk to him.
Nothing.
Soft and muddled, a familiar sound came to him, a sound with a beat at its center, a cadence. He stood still and waited, straining to hear any discernable words that might separate themselves from the whispery jabber.
Marley entered a hallway leading toward the front of the house and Gray went after her. He glanced back at Nat and shook his head once. Nat raised his hands to indicate he would wait where he was.
“Dangerous, very dangerous.” The words snapped clearly from the otherwise meaningless vibrations. Many sibilant voices seemed to argue, and he felt he was supposed to be included. “This one is a neophyte. Whatever happened to him as a child stunted his paranormal development.”
A slow, heavy beat started in Gray’s head. He knew they were talking about him. What he didn’t know was how much truth there was in the suggestion they made that he had started life as a paranormal talent, but that his progress had been arrested.
Or perhaps he did know and chose not to look too closely at a past no human should have endured—particularly as a child.
“He’s all we’ve got if the Embran attacks her.” There was a bustling quality about the voices, a determination to press ahead with whatever they decided was best.
He had never heard them use the word Embran before.
“He could separate Marley’s consciousness from her body forever.”
“Or give her a chance to return just when all seems lost. He has power if he can learn to use it.”
He wanted to yell for someone to teach him—quickly.
“You follow her,” a voice said sharply. This time a different voice and a familiar one.
“It is not my way to interfere directly. That is not in our rules. But this Embran threatens her life. He threatens many lives.”
Gray felt shadows move. A man, tall, with long, graying hair but a young and vibrant face materialized, but without substance. His image was clear for a moment, then foggy. His dark clothing was from another era and Gray wasn’t sure when it might have been.
“Who is the Embran?” he asked. “Or what?”
“If you need to know, you will know. You, Gray. You follow Marley. Be there. Do nothing unless you’re told. The Embran wants Marley, but we don’t know his intentions for tonight. When the time comes you will have to make sure her body is kept warm. Stay back.”
Another whisperer broke in irritably. “Remember he can only see what happens on his own aware side. What goes on beyond the veil will be invisible to him.”
“Hush,” the man told this one and muttering gradually faded away.
“You, Gray. Pay attention. I don’t think the Embran is aware of you. Your powers are not developed enough, but neither are you the weak stuff of his chosen prey. And you are not a Millet, which is to your advantage.” He gave a humorless laugh. “But one day I believe you will have to fight him—unless you choose to abandon Marley—and you will have only your instincts to follow. Be ready.”
Silence rushed in where the voice had been. The shadow form was gone, and Gray felt like shouting for the man to come back. “I’ll never leave her,” he said.
Ahead of him, Marley turned right, into a room illuminated by a few bulbs in an old chandelier. She walked to the center of the room where the only furniture was one pale couch.
Gray hung back, tucked himself just out of sight, but made sure he could get to her rapidly. He heard music. Lightly and from a distance. The tune was familiar, but old and remembered from another place. Gray didn’t know what it was or anything about it except it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
He dug finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes and concentrated.
Chapter 36
Marley didn’t feel alone.
Screens made of thin wood with green, watered silk stretched over them hung from ceiling tracks and fitted into corresponding grooves in the floor. And familiar music played gently, coming from overhead.
This place felt warm and soft, enticing. She closed her eyes tightly and opened them again. A simple dark blue chair looked inviting and she sat down.
Instantly, pressure on the top of her head and her shoulders stiffened every muscle. Her back hurt. She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t hold her weight.
The screens rattled.
“Comfortable, are we?” a grating voice from the other side of the screens asked.
Marley drew back in the chair.
“You’re not comfortable? What a pity.”
The laugh that followed sent a pain through her head.
“I don’t believe you know me and I intend to make sure you never do. You are an interloper and I think I know why. Soon I shall be certain. Through interference from my enemies, you have strayed to a place that holds only danger for you. But we can make this so very simple. Who sent you?”
She couldn’t make her mouth work.
“Who sent you?” he repeated louder. “How did you know where to come when I first marked you? How did you find me in the warehouse? You will never succeed in destroying me or others like me.”
“I don’t know,” she got out. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“You have intruded where you have no business being. You couldn’t have done that without a guide. Who is your guide and what did they tell you?”
“Nothing.”
A great, growling noise sent a shudder through Marley.
Without warning, a spotlight shone on the screens. Behind them, starkly silhouetted, she saw a standing figure, arms spread wide, a loose robe hanging. Wide sleeves fell from the shoulders. But it was all a dark shape without features.
“I can crush you,” he said. “There is no way out for you unless I say so. I won’t allow you to leave until you answer all my questions. Where is my chinoiserie house?”
Marley felt icy cold. “What?” She had no idea what she should or shouldn’t say, or how long she would have control over her mind. She felt the power of the other one.
“My chinoiserie house. You’ve got it, haven’t you? Who gave it to you? What did they tell you about it and about me?”
Belle had told Marley to guard the house, to make sure no one took it from her, and to follow where it led her. And to stop the killing. But the woman had not told her how she was supposed to accomplish all this.
With the help of the Ushers, she had followed where the house seemed to want her to go, but apart from Shirley Cooper, who was already dead and had never appeared to Marley, there was no proof of other deaths connected to any of this.
Women were missing. More of them now. And she had heard Nat and Gray speculate about a connection to the string of women who had disappeared some years ago. She locked her knees to control the shaking.
“Answer me.” The man’s voice thundered, then cracked and seemed to slide away.
Marley saw him turn his head, and the way his hood draped.
But she drew back in horror at the sight of the man’s profile, the thick, wide jaw, nostrils that jutted, much too big to be normal. One hand rose and pointed in her direction. “Who gave you my house?”
Not a hand, a claw.
“No one.” She steadied her voice.
“Man or woman?”
“No one.”
“What were you told?”
“Nothing.”
“I want to tear you apart, do you understand?”
Marley closed her mouth tightly and held her jaw rigid. She would not show fear.
“This is your last warning. You are not here by accident. I can bring you back whenever I please. I have been following your mind pattern. At first I only knew there was something familiar about you although I could not believe my own deductions. I didn’t want to. To me you are the most hated of creatures, you and your clan. Tell me where to find the house.”
“I don’t have any house.” She concentrated o
n her story. “I live in an apartment.”
For an instant he was silent. Then he said, “Oh, you think you’re clever. I have my ways to make you scream. I can make you beg. I can make you as nothing, but only after you deal with horror you cannot even imagine. Tell me what I need to know.”
“You’re mad,” she said. “I don’t believe anything you say and I don’t care what you say. I am more powerful than you.” She was not weak. Hers was a honed talent, a dramatic skill, set of skills.
“What?” he thundered. “You are no stronger than the others who have gone before you. Give me what’s mine.”
Give you what you consider yours so you don’t need to keep me alive anymore?
The thought shook her afresh. Could each of the missing women have had something he wanted? Once they gave it to him, had they been discarded?
She had to be strong, for them and for herself—and for the people who loved her.
“Why should I try to help you?” she said.
“Because I’ve told you to.”
“Why should I believe anything you say? I don’t think you know anything that would interest me. And I don’t believe you can hurt me or anyone else. Get away. Go back to whatever hole you crawled from. I’ve imagined you and now I’m casting you out of my mind. Go away. You aren’t real.”
Marley summoned her strength and pushed to her feet. “I have to leave now. Enjoy your fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales? You impudent puppet. You will give up to me whoever it is who pulls your strings. And you will give me my house.”
“I don’t have your house and I’ll give you nothing. You don’t exist.”
The screens smashed open and darkness flooded the whole space. All Marley could see were the red eyes she had come to dread. They drew closer, and closer, their uneven progress evidence that their owner limped badly.
He was in front of her, hovering so close that fear paralyzed Marley. Light-headed, she took a deep breath and coughed. An odor surged over her, so strong, so fetid, she swallowed waves of sickness.
“I will be back for you,” he said. “I can’t stay longer now—it’s time for me to leave. When I return and find you, my possession had better be with you.”
Marley tried to cover her face against the foul stench.
An arm shot out and fingers scraped the side of her head, tangled with her hair and tore painfully, this way and that.
She panted and gulped down sobs.
They were not fingers, but talons. She felt them scratch her scalp.
“You don’t believe what I tell you, hmm?” he said. “Perhaps I can persuade you with a little gift. I hope you are clever with your needle, Marley Millet.” He made a croaking sound as if amused, or pleased. “You see, I know who you are. I know your family. They have been a curse to us, but that will end.”
Claws on the free hand poked at her mouth, pried her lips apart, and she felt cloth shoved inside her cheek.
He pushed her and she fell backward, this time onto a couch. She slid sideways and lay with her face turned into a pillow.
Shivering, her muscles in spasms, she grew colder and colder until at last she dared to open her eyes a little. Beneath her, the couch was covered with light-colored material, pale yellow with beige leaves. Marley pulled up her feet.
She was alone.
There was no blue chair and no silk-covered screens.
The music still played, never growing any louder. And the whispering she would have welcomed while she was alone with the creature rushed in around her.
“You must find a way to help me,” she said to the Ushers. “If I must turn to the ultimate form of neutralization, I will.”
The Mentor demanded that paranormal martial arts be used only when one’s life was in jeopardy. The Millets must never be unfair.
But if she chose to use what she could, she would have to engage that creature physically. How badly would he wound her before she prevailed?
Her mouth felt thick and she remembered the cloth that thing had put there. She pulled it out, sickened at the thought of what it might be.
Under the weak light of several bulbs in an overhead chandelier she saw a piece of black cotton and knew what it was. She held the piece of her T-shirt that had been torn from her sleeve the night she saw Pearl Brite disappear from the warehouse.
Marley clenched the fabric in her fist. The Millet rules of chivalry even in the face of great provocation were starting to annoy her.
Growing from a confluence of shifting specks of white light, a form took shape. Marley blinked; she turned her head aside and tried to bring the apparition into focus.
Her skin stretched tight over her scalp, freshening the pain from that creature’s talons.
Either what she saw was a brilliantly golden book encrusted with gems or she could be looking at the top of a box. She had seen this once before, in her flat with Gray beside her. Her father had mentioned a small casket. Marley screwed up her eyes. She thought she was seeing a book and as she decided she was right, the front cover fell heavily open, revealing a yellowing parchment title page on which there were a few words: The Mentor: Triumph Through Honor.
“You only need remember our code,” a man said. He sounded so reassuring, she smiled.
Chapter 37
Tonight he had finally found her for himself. With the aid of the scrap from her clothing, he had summoned enough of the old power to seek out the pattern of Marley Millet’s aura. No two patterns were absolutely alike, although it was possible for him to make a mistake.
When he was fully strong, he never misread an aura, but in times of increasing weakness such as he suffered now, his eyesight deteriorated when he was transformed.
Now, too drained to stay and deal with her further, he had returned to his own place again, and to the young whelp who was his supposed helper. Soon he would discover if his horrible notion about his enemy’s identity was correct. If he was right about who had betrayed him to the Millet woman, the way forward was more dangerous than he could have imagined.
Only willpower kept him dragging his body forward while the young man scurried at his heels, gabbling in his fear. It would be easier to go alone and do what must be done, but this one must be there, too.
“Are we going to be found out?” the terrified whelp said, panting. He tried to laugh. “Can you save us?”
The questions didn’t deserve answers and he tossed his head in disgust.
“I’m sorry,” the younger one babbled. “Sometimes I forget you can always keep us safe.”
The Embran marveled that this weakling could be the product of his own being. Completely human in appearance, it was true—and without the power to transform himself into Embran form—yet he had come to being through the joining of Embran and human. It had been wise to hide this failure’s true partnership. “Shut up, you sniveling fool. Stay with me, and we’ll discover if you failed in the only important task I ever gave you to do.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I have never failed you.”
“We shall see.” He must regain the chinoiserie house. How long had it been gone? Where was it now? Was it safe? He choked on his own misgivings.
With each dragging step his torment grew. The red house was his access to the renewing chambers of the Lower Place, Safehold as some citizens called Embran, where he had begun his existence centuries ago. Weeks back he had been warned that it was time to return, but unfinished business here had tempted him to gamble on how long he could put off going for the infusion that brought him back to his full might.
He had obviously waited too far beyond his own limitations and an enemy had used his rare lapse in judgment to attempt to eliminate him.
Who was it? Did he know? Had he already unearthed the identity? The possibility that his suspicions were correct made it almost impossible for him to go on.
He paused to take a package from his robes. From inside the string-tied brown paper he removed a handful of dust and tiny bones. These he cramme
d into his mouth while he closed his eyes and waited for even the meager flush of strength the compound could bring. Eating the crushed shell and the bones of the dead Embran young inside had become his panacea for weakness. In the Lower Place, live young were used, but they could not be kept fresh on a journey to the Earth’s surface.
A minute passed. And another. Nothing.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
Slowly, he stumbled down the stairs that led to the basement and his possible answer. Soon he would find out if his worst fear was a fact. If so he had to work fast, and do whatever he must to save himself.
He heard his companion’s hoarse breathing and took a small pleasure from this one’s fear.
The cold of the basement helped calm the throbbing in his thickened skin. Ignoring everything but making it to the ice vault in the farthest corner, he wrenched open the door and fell to all fours. Crawling, he made his way deep into the vaporous compartment. He didn’t bother to look up at the swinging hooks—his tools to cause ultimate fear.
When he reached the first of the long row of white caskets, he started to count.
Grunting, he pulled himself forward. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…there it was. Fourteen.
With draining effort he hauled himself to his feet, tore off a hasp and raised the lid.
Empty. His human wife’s body was gone. “How can this be?” he shrieked, turning on his companion. “Where is she? Your only duty has been to look after all of these.” He indicated the lined-up iced caskets.
This was his way of making sure no one ever had proof that so many missing women were not only dead, but connected to him. Here, they would never be found and he was safe—unless some fool betrayed him!
“She must be there,” the other one said. “I check the cooling systems regularly.”
“You have not checked regularly enough.” He had come himself until every move he made became a decision. How long ago could that have been? Six months, seven—while the Lower Place had kept demanding his return? Then came the final desperate order and still he had ignored it—he had been so sure he could make it back at the very final moment. “When was the last time you opened this to make sure of the body’s condition?”
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