by Rachel Xu
Then again, maybe she'd feel differently if she was the one who'd nearly been eaten for lunch.
“I had my reasons,” he said. “I know a lot more about the situation than you do.”
“Yeah? So, why don't you enlighten me for a change? I've been kept in the dark about everything else, it seems.”
He looked away.
The silence grew awkward and she lifted his arm again and unraveled more of the gauze, tempering her frustration. When she reached the final layer, she peeled it off gingerly, grimacing on his behalf.
“You sure you wanna see this?”
She smiled with sympathy. “If you can handle it, I can handle it.”
“Well, if you throw up, aim away from me.”
With a nervous laugh, she tossed the final piece of gauze into the bin and examined his arm.
It was swollen and red with uneven purple lacerations in a semi circle on either side of his forearm. Hannah had done a decent job of stitching up each cut, but the wounds were gruesome; though not nearly as severe as she'd recalled.
Her stomach clenched and she had to turn away to collect her bearings and swallow down the nausea.
“Think they'll scar?” he said.
She met his gaze and found him grinning.
“How can you joke about it?” She gaped at him. “What if you never regain full control of your arm or hand? What if it gets infected? You could lose your arm, you know. I highly doubt Hannah is trained in nursing—or is she? You should be in the hospital. You should also be in horrible pain, but you seem—well—rather fine to me. Just what meds are you taking anyway?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “Would you rather I rolled around on the floor groaning? I can do that if it'll make you feel better.”
“Maybe you're still in shock.”
“You seem to know a lot about this, is there a book on how to react to a shark bite? I must not have read it.”
“Oh, you're hopeless—” She flung her hands upward. “So, what now—any treatment or just fresh bandaging?”
“A quick rinse with water and new bandaging will be fine.”
Ian focused on the red digits of the alarm clock by his bed while Lily dabbed a damp cloth on his arm. Her touch was soft and gentle and caring. He flinched a little each time she applied pressure. It was 4:19 a.m. and Hannah would be around within the hour to check on him. He was going to be in for a verbal beating when she found Lily laying in his bed instead of him—that is, if he could actually convince Lily to sleep there while he took the settee. Hannah would go on and on about his need for bed rest and he'd have to assure her he felt fine.
He'd been through it all before.
Many a time.
Lily dried his arm with a clean hand towel and wrapped gauze around it, one layer at a time, taping it as needed. She was so focused on what she was doing that he allowed his gaze to linger. She was very pretty; those long lashes brushing against her cheeks, latte-brown hair mussed up and half tucked behind her ears. She smelled like flowers. He felt silly even just to think it.
“There,” she said, patting his arm lightly when she was done. “Now, where's the pain killers? You in for another dose?”
“Hannah will bring them.” He was exhausted and did not need a sedative.
“Now, back to bed,” she insisted, standing and rinsing her hands in the water basin, drying them on a towel. She reached for his good hand.
He pulled it from her grasp. “No-no, I'll sleep here.”
“I'm not taking the bed, that would be absurd.”
Ian leaned back against the blanket pillow he'd arranged earlier and pulled the quilt up to his chin and shut his eyes.
At the sound of her leaving his side, he peeked through the slit of one eye in time to see her switch off the overhead light. She left the sconce lights on and to his relief, went to his bed. Pulling the blankets up, she plopped down on top of them and turned onto her side, facing him. It was too dark to see if her eyes were open but when she tucked her hands under her chin, he presumed she was going to try and sleep.
He tried to relax, mentally cursing Auguste for his taste in Victorian furniture. It was nice enough to look at but rigid to lounge on, let alone nap. But at least his arm wasn't throbbing anymore.
He should have been more careful. Lily was too savvy to keep making careless mistakes around her. What had he been thinking using his injured arm to grab her wrist like that? Instinct, he supposed. This was the very reason he'd always instructed Hannah not to disturb him while he was sleeping. He didn't trust himself to be woken that way. He'd been jumpy since childhood. Everything was a threat and for good reason. And why had he gone and opened the drawer with his bad arm as well? Such an obvious and thoughtless mistake. He'd have to be much more conscious of what he was doing from now on.
Now that Lily was here.
And what should he do with her anyway? It was too dangerous to let her stay, especially now that she'd been attacked by something.
A very bad sign.
He shuddered involuntarily.
Several minutes later the door burst open with a lingering creak and he opened his eyes. A disheveled Hannah stood in its frame, suffused by the sconce light; the hallway cavernous behind her. She had sunken eyes and a haunted expression; long hair all a-toss.
Without noticing Lily, her gaze went straight to Ian and she crossed the room to him, thrusting her hand out from behind her back.
She was holding Auguste's cane.
“I've been wanting to tell you—”
Ian motioned toward the bed and she followed his gaze with a jerk. Surprise visibly replacing the look of distress, she asked no questions but gave him a look of stern warning and left the room, closing the door behind her.
No one else had found that cane since Auguste's death, though Ian had known where it was all along. Hannah must have been in the attic recently, despite him forbidding her to do so. She'd barely spoken two words to him while tending his wounds and putting him to bed earlier, but each time she'd checked on him there'd been a look of grief and fear in her eyes and in the lines of her face. Several times she'd started to say something but had bit her lip instead. Had the discovery of the cane been troubling her all this time?
He would have to talk to her about it in the morning.
Chapter 9
The next morning, breakfast out of the way, Hannah stood next to the carved-knight newel post in the front entrance with her hands clasped together at her waist.
She watched Ms. Kline who stood conversing with the uniformed police officer at the door. He had thoroughly searched the basement and the outside grounds over the past hour and was now ready to take his leave.
“Sally lives with the Conner's at the end of the road,” he explained to Lily in a baritone voice, “ 'bout five miles north of here. She has some kind of dementia and every once in a while she gets it in her head to run away, and when she does, she usually finds a way to break into a neighbor's home.” He scratched his cheek with his index finger. “Don't know where she gets the energy to do that, but this isn't the first time. As soon as you called I figured it was her.” He chuckled, perusing the open notepad in his hand. “She must have thought you were a threat somehow.” He looked up. “Explains why she nicked you with a knife. I wouldn't worry about it happening again though—the Conner's are making arrangements for her to move to a nursing home next month.”
Lily was nodding but her expression was difficult to read.
Was she buying the story?
“I'll be giving 'em a call this afternoon,” he was saying, “and making sure they keep Sally under lock and key till moving day.” He crooked a grin and tugged on the rim of his peaked cap. “You just be sure to keep your doors locked this time 'round.” He winked and flipped the notebook shut, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “You take care now,” he said to Lily, nodding a good-bye to Hannah.
Lily shut the heav
y oak doors behind him and gave a half-hearted smile to Hannah before heading to the dining room where she had plans to spend the greater part of the day baking with Angie. It was Hannah's idea; she was determined to keep Lily away from Ian all day if possible.
She had not been amused to learn of Lily's plight in the master baths the night before. The whole thing was a figment of the girl's imagination, of course, but she must be kept quiet for Ian's sake.
Hannah pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her apron and hit redial.
“Hello,” a male voice answered on the second ring.
“Andrew—” she spoke in an undertone, glancing down the corridor. “It's me. Hannah.”
“How'd I do? She buy it?”
“I'm not sure. I think so. You did well—excellent costume, by the way. Almost fooled me.” She stepped to the base of the stairs and looked upward. No one seemed to be in ear shot but she spoke in a hushed tone. “If she has any further concerns, I'll be sure to verify your story about Sally. And if I need your help again, I'll pay cash, as usual.”
“That all for today?”
“Yes. Thank you. Bye for now.”
She slid the phone back into her apron and went upstairs.
Early in the evening, having washed her hair with great awkwardness in a ceramic basin and dry-shaved her legs, Lily changed into jeans and a ruby red sweater. She dried her hair and combed it out, as pin-straight as ever, and pulled on her skimmers.
It was time to go check out Ian's work shed while he was sleeping in the guest room. That is, she assumed he was sleeping or at least resting, since he hadn't joined them for any of the meals that day. Hannah had assured her he was fine but didn't want any visitors.
Lily left the mansion from the exit at the far end of the corridor and waved at Chris as she passed by the rose bushes that encircled the maiden fountain. Chris paused his yard work to give her a friendly wave and returned to his wheelbarrow. He appeared to be wrapping up for the day and would probably be heading home shortly. There was no sign of Mike from back here but she quickened her pace nonetheless, eager to reach the forest without being caught. The window in Ian's room was leaded glass and she doubted he could see through it well enough to notice her. Dusk was approaching and she wanted to get this over and done with quickly.
When she reached the ebony gargoyle, she stopped to stare at it, remembering what she'd seen the other night in the dark. She'd expected to find the white orb laying on the grass next to the base but it was clutched firmly in the gargoyle's paw as it had been the first day she'd come back here. Had she just been seeing things that night?
No—the white light had definitely fallen to the ground in that split-second before the lights had gone out. But how? The gargoyle's paw wasn't even cracked.
She hesitated a moment longer, thinking about Ian's repeated warnings to stay out of the forest.
He must have something to hide—and now was the perfect opportunity to find out what.
Lifting her chin with determination, she took a deep breath and followed the dirt trail into the forest, not even blinking when the orb lights flicked on and lit the path.
The forest was dull due to the overcast sky and descending dusk, but not yet dark. When she reached the jutting root that she'd previously tripped over in her high heels, she peered into the tree-shrouded area where she'd seen lights shining from Ian's work shed. She pushed aside the heavy boughs of two spruce trees and stepped through into a clearing.
Ahead of her was a massive tree, like an African baobab, some twelve feet wide in diameter, and endless intertwining limbs stretching up and out of sight above it. The gray sky seemed miles above.
In the center of the trunk was a hinged door cut from the bark itself, and above it were three ocular windows, one atop the other with two meters of space between each. The upper two were dark but the lowest one was yellow, casting her in a dome of light. Was Ian here? She inhaled slowly and stepped up to the door to examine the tree, breath catching in her throat. Intricate, mythical creatures had been carved into the wood all the way up the trunk; unicorns on haunches leaped out at her around the base and angels curved their bodies and wings around the windows.
Had Ian done all this? Was he an artist?
Overcome with a fierce curiosity, she tapped on the door and waited. Receiving no answer, she tried the handle and found it unlocked.
He was either here or not.
She glanced once over her shoulder and pulled the door open, gasping at the sight inside.
The walls of the hollowed-out tree were covered from floor-to-ceiling with precious gems and trinkets, sparkling in the light emanating from a dozen stained-glass lanterns which hung from the ceiling. Ancient scholarly tomes were stacked in a tall pile on the left-hand side of the room and the dirt floor was spread with a geometric Turkish rug, blue and red. Against the far wall, which was at least as deep as the room was wide, was an upholstered wingback chair.
With a hand over her pounding heart, she entered the room and did a slow circle, inhaling the scent of bark and soil. The lanterns hovered about a foot and a half above her head. How were they receiving electricity? Beside the door was a polished wooden ladder disappearing through a round opening in the ceiling to the floor above, just wide enough for a man's shoulders, though an overweight individual would not make it through. Lily climbed the ladder and emerged into a bedroom of sorts, the furniture contours outlined by the dim light coming through the round window. She felt around for some kind of light switch and finding a button, pressed it.
The walls of the room lit up instantly: they were covered in shards of multicolored glass, artfully arranged into a panoramic picture of mountainous landscapes, and suffused from behind like sunshine on stained-glass.
Completely out of place from the tranquility and beauty of the walls was a wooden cot with purple velvety blankets in a scattered heap on the mattress. On the adjacent side of the room was a walnut table with detailed carvings curling up the thick legs. There was no way such a table could've been brought up the ladder; someone must have built it within this very room, piece-by-piece. Across its heavy-duty, glossy surface was an assortment of carving tools and a four-foot long block of wood; half-formed into a unicorn. It lay on its side, staring out at her with unseeing, sapphire eyes.
Between the bed and the table was another wooden ladder disappearing to a third floor. She crossed the surprisingly sturdy hardwood flooring and climbed the ladder to the final floor. She figured she must be twenty-five feet above ground by now.
Surprised that she could be shocked yet again after all she'd already seen, she sucked in her breath to realize these walls were entirely covered with rows and rows of what looked like marble-sized diamonds. She emerged from the ladder onto the hardwood floor, found a light source, pressed it, and stood gaping at the twinkling walls. Perhaps they weren't real diamonds though—glass maybe. They couldn't possibly be real—could they? And no security either: why, anyone could wander into the forest and find this tree, come back later and strip it bare of its jewels. Even the front door had been left unlocked. No, it must all be an illusion: carefully molded glass that had been colored and shaped to look like precious jewels.
She was so distracted by the diamond-studded walls that it took her a moment to notice the golden cage filling the center of the room. It was the size of a standard refrigerator. Inside sat a turquoise bird with fiery tail feathers cascading from the perch to the floor in a slew of orange, red and yellow. It tilted its head to one side and studied her curiously with an emerald eye; letting out a cluck with its tongue.
She'd never seen any bird like this before. Was it some kind of rare exotic species from deep within the Congo? How strange that Ian would keep such a valuable pet hidden away from everyone. With only an ocular window, she didn't expect the poor creature to be getting enough sunlight—especially in the summertime when the full leaves of the trees probably blocked out every last ray.
A gold key hung from a string around one of the bird's pinkish ankles.
How bizarre.
She stepped up to the bars of the cage to examine the key when a door slammed below, sending a jolt up her back.
Ian!
Lily scrambled down the ladder—hoping to hide under the cot—a silly, childish reaction—but it was too late. By the time she reached the base of the ladder, he was already climbing up into the room on the other side.
He stood to his full height, the ceiling nearly grazing his head, and glared at her; bandaged arm hanging at his side. “I thought I told you never to come here alone.”
She ran a shaky hand through her hair.
“I—just wanted to talk to you and, well”—she shrugged, trying to appear casual—“I thought maybe I'd find you out here.”
“You obviously didn't look too hard. I've been laying on the bed in that blasted guest room all day bored out of my mind. Just where you left me.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Okay, I lied . . . I wanted to see what your workshop looked like. Is that so bad?”
“Yes—it is.” His brow tightened in apparent anger. “What if some hungry wolves had spotted you?”
“Oh, stop being so paranoid.” She laughed and leaned her shoulder against the ladder rail.
“I'm not paranoid.” He sat down on the low cot, draping his arms over his knees and hanging his head, looking up at her sidelong. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”
She sat down beside him gingerly. Was he furious or just annoyed?
His brown eyes were almost black in the cozy lighting. “You could have just asked me to take you here and I would have,” he said.
On impulse, she put an arm around his shoulder gave him a side squeeze. “I'm sorry. I was sure you'd refuse. And you were bed-ridden, too.” He stiffened at her touch and she withdrew her arm. “Did you . . . make all this?”