“I didn’t plan this,” Corrigan said through tight lips. What had he expected from all of them, warm welcomes, congratulations that he had finally found a reason to exist anymore? No, they had behaved like raging animals with gnashing teeth and claws.
“Then give us time to adjust and don’t expect more from us than we can give right now.”
Helen touched her husband’s shoulder, giving him a stern frown for his childish behavior. Just because he was hurt and upset didn’t give him the right to break Margaret Ann’s hookah pipe. She rather liked the thing. It was indeed a rather interesting conversation piece.
She moved away from him to stand next to Corrigan, placing a hand on his left bicep. “If she is what you want, then I’m happy for you Cor. No one deserves to share their existence with someone more than you.” Helen stepped back to stand next to her husband, giving his hand a swat when he tried to touch her. He was in for it later when they got home.
Corrigan was torn between hurting his family more and going after what he had secretly wanted all his life. He met his eldest brother’s sympathetic look. Even if Ambrose stepped in and made them decide, he knew it wouldn’t change his mind; or his heart.
“Go,” Ambrose said. He inclined his head to the closed door. “She’s waiting just outside the door. Your young woman already thought us monsters, now she has proof.” He turned his attention to each of his brothers and sisters. “If we can’t be civil amongst ourselves, what hope is there for anyone else to believe we’re not animals in disguise?”
Corrigan found Clarissa standing just outside the door, her face reading sad as she looked up at him. With one last look at his family, he followed her out into the hallway, closing the door securely behind him.
“They don’t like me, do they?”
He cupped her pale cheek before responding. “Give them time. They’ll come around to the idea.”
Clarissa gave him a tentative smile, but inside she had her doubts. The surer she was becoming of her own feelings for Corrigan, the surer she was that nothing could come of them.
Chapter 16-
“Is there a reason you chose an attic for a bedroom?” Clarissa remarked as she wandered around the surprisingly spacious above stairs attic in the main house.
They had gone to his room but not before they had the privilege to watch from the security of the far end of the long hallway as his family exited the parlor room, heading to their own homes and rooms. None looked to where Corrigan and Clarissa stood quietly watching, nor did any of them speak as they left the main house. Ambrose and Maude had chosen to remain inside the parlor. The door closed and locked in the wake of everyone’s departure.
Corrigan sat down heavily on his wrought iron bed in the corner. He watched warily as Clarissa took her time walking about his room, picking up objects as she passed them. He then noticed her back-pack which he’d seen she had tossed onto a wicker chair by his wooden chest near the end of the bed.
He reached for it just as Clarissa picked up a horse hair paint brush among many he kept in an old empty paint can. She studied it curiously as well as the stacked canvases he had leaning against the attic windows and along the floor. While she was distracted nosing about his room he thought to see what she would carry about in an old ratty looking back-pack.
“I don’t need a lot of space and I’ve never been one to get too attached to owning things,” he said, answering her question. His family had posed a similar question when he’d asked to have the attic instead of his own home on the complex. He’d declined the offer without really giving them a reason why.
Clarissa had packed some strange objects inside her back-pack including a box of matches and a set of colored candles. There were also some books on mythological creatures and what looked to him like a box of rocks. Then at the very bottom, wrapped in a bit of fabric was an object that stoked his curiosity.
Corrigan pulled back the fabric from the small swathed object revealing a tiny dagger with a blade several inches shorter in length than his hand. It didn’t look very menacing, nor could he imagine it causing much damage to an enemy. Pulling more of the fabric away he revealed the rest of it. He could see the detailed design on the handle had a macabre style, a tiny silver skull at the butt of the handle. An expletive forced its way out of his mouth.
He quickly dropped the tiny dagger wanting to get as far away from it as possible. It had been many, many years since he’d seen such a deadly dagger and it was all he could do not to throw the cursed thing into the ocean.
Clarissa heard the curse and turned in time to see Corrigan drop something onto the floor next to his bed. She saw the back-pack unzipped on the bed next to him and knew at once what he’d found inside it.
“What did you do?” she asked as she came to kneel on the floor reaching for the dagger that lay half way under the bed. Before she could grab it, though, he grasped her about the shoulders bringing her onto the bed next to him.
“What the hell are you doing with that thing?” he barked into her astonished face.
Clarissa looked up at him wide-eyed, surprised by his sudden anger. “I found it in Mrs. Connor’s house. She had it lying on a bit of velvet inside a case. Did it hurt you? You shouldn’t go through other people’s things without asking.”
He shook her, for a moment not caring if he hurt her. “Who is this Mrs. Connors and what is she? Does she have others like it?”
“Corrigan,” she said, trying not to get angry by his harsh treatment of her. “Stop squeezing my arms.” She was pleased when he loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Mrs. Connors is the woman I’m staying with until the community finishes my house. She’s one of the S.S. and I don’t know if there are other ones like it. It’s the only one I found in the case.”
“Do you know what it is?” he questioned, watching her closely to see if she was lying.
Clarissa shook her head.
He grumbled several more unflattering words while he bent down and retrieved the dagger from the floor. Holding it carefully by the handle, using the bit of fabric to keep from touching it with his skin, he showed it to her.
“This little dagger is about the only thing in this world that can put me back in my grave,” he said calmly, though she could see by the set of his mouth and the bitter edge to his eyes that he wasn’t feeling very calm at the moment. “This is an instrument of death, not just to me, but to every paranormal infestation on this planet. That includes you as well.”
Clarissa touched the silver handle where the deathly grinning skull looked up at her. The moment she touched its handle it began to warm beneath her fingers, causing Corrigan to drop it again, fisting his hands as if he’d hurt himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand to see if the dagger had done any damage to his skin. Holding his palm out to inspect the skin, she noticed a dark blistering over his inner wrist. She knew the dagger hadn’t touched him there, but all the same she could see the outline of a skull on the tanned skin.
Clarissa rubbed her thumb over the spot, hoping to soothe the burn with her cooler skin. Looking up she caught his intense stare.
“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” he said gravely.
She shook her head, bringing his wrist to her mouth where she placed a gently kiss over his wrist. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Corrigan. I think I’m beginning to understand you now and I couldn’t possibly let you back into the grave until I fully figure you out.”
She made a mischievous smile before she playfully bit his wrist. A laugh was forced out of him despite his resolve to remain angry. Clarissa was glad to see he wasn’t always so moody and that if given the right push could step out from under that cloak of despair that he always wore.
He brushed his thumb over her smiling bottom lip and she couldn’t help but open her mouth and bit him again. Corrigan didn’t seem to mind and instead of pulling back at the bite he held his thumb still as if enjoyed her teeth on his skin.
Corrigan’s iridescent blue eyes held a spark of something that she couldn’t quite put a name to. It was a look of passion and of longing for something he wasn’t quite sure should be his. It poured into eyes, windows into the soul of a man who rarely glimpsed the light of happiness.
Clarissa felt a strong pull inside her chest where her heart had once beat. With him near it almost felt like it did. She knew it was his heart that beat so strongly, could hear it as it made its rhythmic cadence. It beat for him and it beat for her; it beat for them.
He took her hand, placing it just over his chest where the pounding of his heart seemed to actually beat instead of lull inside his chest cavity. For her it would beat; forever if need be. Her fingers touched the warm skin where his shirt was left unbuttoned and at her touch he felt that light inside grow ever more.
She gazed at her fingers as they made contact with what she now knew was the missing piece of herself. It was a startling revelation, but with it brought a breath of terror to steal up her spine warning her that all this could easily be taken away.
Unable to stop himself, Corrigan leaned down and placed a hesitant kiss on her slightly parted lips. Unlike the harsh and punishing kiss he’d given her before, this one was meant to soothe her as well as himself. She was a danger to him as much as he was to her, but when his lips were on hers and the light of her immortal soul swept through him all that was forgotten; for a time.
Several minutes later a scratch was heard coming from the far wall and was followed by the appearance of a large black head. It poked its way through the hinged door in the wall, its red penetrating eyes staring at the couple on the bed.
Corrigan pulled back at the sound, turning to watch his dog, Archú, as he padded over on his large black paws to sit on his hind legs at their feet. The dog tilted its head, an intelligent gleam in its red eyes as it studied Clarissa.
Clarissa and the black dog watched each other as if sizing one another up. She had never seen such an animal and knew that it wasn’t any ordinary black dog. No dog had eyes like this one and its massive paws were likely as big around as her face.
Corrigan said something to the dog in a language she didn’t understand. At once the dog plopped down on its black stomach, its head resting on its enormous paws that had razor sharp claws that could easily slice through bone. It made a deep whining sound in its throat, but remained on the floor.
“What kind of dog is that?” It continued to watch her closely as if trying to figure her out. It opened its mouth to yawn and she got a good look at its deadly set of vicious looking teeth.
“He’s a black dog,” Corrigan answered as he reached for a tin of dog biscuits he kept in an old night stand by the bed. One of the legs was broken and a stack of books kept it level on the floor.
Throwing a treat to the dog for his good behavior in front of a stranger, Clarissa watched as the dog leapt to his feet, catching the biscuit in his mouth. He then trotted off to a pile of horse blankets in the corner where he flopped down and went to sleep.
Putting the tin back in the drawer he caught Clarissa watching the dog as it slept in the corner. He had to keep the biscuits hidden or Archú would eat the entire container making him sick.
“They originated in Northern England,” he said, knowing she was curious to know more about his pet. “People thought that if you made contact with one of them you would be struck dumb and die. He’s pretty friendly though as long as you feed him regularly. He comes to mooch off me from time to time. There’re few left of them in the world and I only know of two wandering around the State of Florida.”
“Really, who owns the other one?” Except for those glowing red eyes and the fact that he was by far the largest breed of dog she had ever seen, he was very well behaved, maybe even cute.
Clarissa had seen on the blood red collar around his furry neck, the name Corrigan had given him engraved on a plate in the shape of a tombstone. Archú, it was a name that translated as Hound of Slaughter. It was an appropriate name for a flesh-eater to give his dog and an accurate name for a black dog.
“Why the devil himself,” Corrigan answered with a devilish smile.
“You’re kidding, right?” Clarissa didn’t believe for a moment that Corrigan knew Lucifer or that the man owned the only other black dog in Florida. But then there was a look in his eyes that made her wonder if he was being entirely serious. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
Corrigan yawned, his eyes becoming misty in his effort to remain awake. Unlike her species his body required that he sleep as much as twelve hours to keep in top shape. It was coming on dawn, the sky streaked with oranges and pinks. From the cracked and open attic window, they could hear the lull of the waves as they crashed against the nearby shore.
“You’re falling asleep on me,” she chided him as she caught him blinking rapidly.
He shook his head to clear the fog of Morpheus’s pull into the dream world. Yawning again, he brushed his hand against hers as she let it fall on the bed between them. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, stroking the back of her hand absently. “Let’s just say it has been a long night.”
“I won’t mind if you lay down for bit,” Clarissa encouraged him, pushing at his shoulders to get him to move. His bed was too small for his size and as he spread out onto the dark green comforter his feet and several inches of his legs stuck out the end.
He lay on his back, his eyes closed and his handsome face looking peaceful in its repose. With what little space wasn’t taken up by his body, Clarissa managed to find a spot next to him near his head. Taking his hand within hers, she touched the tender mark where the skin was raised in the shape of a gruesome skull. She’d make sure to put the deadly weapon somewhere safe and away from him.
His breathing slowed as his heart rate dropped even more. It was a beautiful moment watching Corrigan as he slept and he seemed easy enough with letting her be so close to him especially when he was most vulnerable. Her kind never slept, they could rest but it was not the same as true sleep. Clarissa would give anything to lie next to Corrigan and drift into the magical world of dreams.
“Will you dream of me when I’m gone, Corrigan?” She asked as she stroked his midnight colored hair off his forehead. She bent down and whispered in his ear. “Will you make me real in your dreams; make me flesh and blood like you?”
Corrigan frowned in his sleep, his closed eyes scrunching at the corners. “You’re more than real to me, Clarissa. You’re my very soul.” And with that he turned toward the wall and drifted further into an unconscious sleep.
Clarissa held her hand over her chest, savoring the effect he had on her as she gazed down at this most unusual man. A sad smile hovered over her mouth, a single tear slipping from her blue eyes. “And you are my eternal heart.”
She tenderly squeezed his bicep as she pulled away coming to stand at the side of his bed. “Sleep well, Corrigan.”
Finding a scrap of paper, she made a hasty and quite embarrassing note for Corrigan to find when he woke. She tucked it securely under a pretty vase, hoping he’d see it.
Clarissa walked to the attic window, the light already streaming through the glass, illuminating the sparsely decorated interior that was Corrigan’s room. The light hit her skin just so causing a prism effect creating the illusion of rainbows floating over her body.
Opening the window more, she turned to look one last time at the sleeping man on the bed in the corner. He would be out for hours and as his day was drawing to a close hers was just beginning.
She slipped out the window, finding her feet on the window sill before jumping down to the balcony below. Moving with a fluidity borne of her kind she stepped off the rail, la
nding softly on the ground. Securing her back-pack over her shoulder she looked up at the quiet house then at the other smaller homes around her. They were all likely in their beds fast asleep. If she listened hard enough she could hear the tell-tale signs of male snoring and someone swatting the culprit with a soft object, a pillow most likely.
With a soft sigh, she walked through the LeMoyne complex. In the light of day it was a most beautifully manicured property. Large blooming trees and perfumed plants were placed about the lawn in just the right amount and in the perfect location that made her think a professional had worked here. There were even several water features throughout the property, the gravel pathways that promoted strolling and daydreaming.
In the next instant she removed herself from the flesh-eaters property to the recently awakened streets of downtown St. Augustine. The stores had yet to open and only an occasional living or ghost passed by her.
“Where have you been?” a female voice barked harshly in Clarissa’s ear before she felt herself being pulled into a nearby shop.
Eleanor pulled Clarissa into one of the more touristy shops that sold the sorts of items that visitors to the Florida coast bought up instantly. A plethora of locally made nick-knacks that satisfied the heat-stroked, sun-burned Northerners while divesting them of their hard-earned money on what might later be considered useless tourist junk; then again maybe not.
“Have you lost your mind?” Eleanor continued to rant. “Where have been all night? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She made an agitated swat at her curly blonde locks, glaring angry at Clarissa. “I thought to stop by early this morning at the house, but you weren’t there. Apparently you’ve not been home all night. What in God’s name were you doing all night? Where could you have disappeared to so easily? I swear…”
“Stop,” Clarissa commanded, shaking Eleanor a little to get her to shut-up for a second. “Just stop,” she repeated, taking a step back and watching as Eleanor calmed herself down. Her mouth set in a firm line as she managed to expel the last of her pent up energy.
Grave Danger Page 22