“Do you think he used Trent to further the fallen realm’s agenda?”
“Of course, he did. Raziel uses everyone, even his own brothers.”
“Do you know why Trent abducted Elizabeth?” he asked, fearing the answer.
“You won’t like it, Charles. William was a prideful, self-absorbed man, and he only pretended to follow Raziel’s plans. William intended to abort your child and replace it with his own, and then he would crown that son.”
Sinclair shut his eyes, hands clenched tightly, but a sweet whisper in his mind reminded him that Trent’s plans had failed: Rest in the Lord. He is your refuge and strength, Charles. God’s plans never fail. Beth lives. Your unborn children live.
“It was the Lord who stopped Trent from fulfilling that evil plan, Lorena. He allows the fallen to proceed with their plots for his reasons. His purposes.”
She sighed, tears beginning to form in her green eyes. “I wish I had your faith!”
“You can have it, Lorena. You need only ask. Speak to God. I promise you! He is waiting to hear from you.”
“I’ll try.”
He hated leaving, but he knew the circle awaited his return. “I’d speak with you more tomorrow, but I begin to grow weary. Will you remain here at Queen Anne whilst we search for Beth?”
“If you wish it, yes. Charles, I must tell you something more before you go. You can confirm this with Miles, but I had a caller earlier today. Rather than enter the house, he asked me to meet him on the portico.”
“Who?”
“Anatole. I asked him why he didn’t come in, and he said he preferred to gain permission from the home’s owner. There is a tradition amongst Redwing that says spirits may not enter a blessed home without permission. Because of this, I’m not really sure if this spirit was Anatole or Raziel in disguise, but I think it was Anatole, for his manner was far too kind for an imposter.”
“What did he tell you?”
“First of all, he told me that he has Beth in his keeping, but you’re not to worry. He wouldn’t say where, but he insists that she is safe. He says she’s remains in danger, and that once the danger is past, he’ll bring her back to you.”
“Anatole has her?” he asked, amazed. “He’s protecting her? From whom?”
“He didn’t say, but I’m sure it’s Redwing, and most likely the spirits as well as the humans.”
“Did he explain just how he found her? Did Romanov kill Trent?”
She sighed. “Probably. He certainly knew about Trent’s plans, didn’t he? It’s likely that he knew Trent’s every step. The spirits have access to visions of future events, but their eyes are far sharper than any human’s.”
“But he will bring Beth home?”
“So he said. Charles, I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask him for more information. I’m not much of a detective. I urged him to speak with you himself, but he insisted that I deliver the message. He knew you would be visiting me this evening.”
“Did he say anything else? Where she might be? If she’s ill.”
“He didn’t mention if she is ill, but he assured me that she’d return soon. He did, however ask me to tell you this. Redwing is at war. He says their members will begin to die, and that the killer is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I asked him to explain that, Charles, but he vanished.”
“Yes, I know that trick. He often disappears when I try to ask questions. Do you know where he lives?”
“I’ve a list of his addresses, but if he’s hiding Elizabeth, he could be anywhere. He owns a dozen different houses throughout the city, primarily to keep his enemies from discerning his whereabouts. He could be in any one of them.”
Charles stood, but fatigue hit him with the force of a stone wall, and he had to catch himself on the chair to keep from falling.
Lorena instantly offered support, placing her arm around his waist. “It’s too soon for you to be out of bed, Charles. Please, you need rest. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for the duchess.”
She helped him to the doors, where she summoned Emerson and the butler, who’d been speaking near the staircase. “Mr. Miles, your master requires assistance!”
In a few minutes, the butler and Emerson had secured the marquess into the coach. MacKey watched from the foot of the portico steps, standing six feet from the coach.
“I’ll send Michael back right away to examine your shoulder,” Charles promised her through the open coach window. “And I’ll have men keep watch on the house. If you hear anything, notice anyone that frightens or concerns you, send a footman to my home right away. Do you understand?”
“I do, now go and get some sleep,” she told him.
MacKey watched the carriage leave, waving goodbye until it passed through the great stone gates.
As she climbed the portico stairs, Lorena thought through everything he’d said about God, about the circle, about himself. Charles had been honest and open and so very kind.
And she had lied to him.
Not about herself or about Romanov. Not about Trent or anything regarding Morgan or Redwing.
She had lied about one thing only, and its implications meant she dared not remain at Queen Anne House. It was far too dangerous.
Charles had nearly guessed it. Lorena was in love, but not with Paul Stuart. She’d suspected before, but now, Lorena Melissa MacKey knew it for certain.
She was in love with Charles Sinclair.
Chapter Eighteen
The strange cottage - one second after Charles disappeared
Elizabeth Sinclair began to weep. She could still hear the echo of her husband’s voice in her ears, feel the warm touch of his hands, smell the woody scent of his cologne. She reached into the empty space where he’d stood only one second earlier, and the molecules still vibrated.
“Captain!” she sobbed, clutching at the air as if it held his essence. “My darling, please, wherever you’ve gone, find me!”
All alone in the cottage, the duchess took a deep breath and crossed to the window. The sky in this strange land held no sun, but a sickly moon shone down upon the midnight landscape. The black line of yews and sinewy trees revealed an army of eyes within their dense shadows. Birds. Thousands of them, and Beth could hear their caws and whispers grow evermore bold and strident with each passing moment.
“I must find a way out,” she said aloud. “Charles, if you can leave, then certainly I may, also, but how? How do I go about it?”
The cottage’s main room held two rockers and a willow settee dotted with plump feather pillows. A single, down quill had wriggled its way out of the corner of one, and Beth noticed that its colour was white.
“All the birds here are black,” she said to her absent husband. “Captain, does this mean something? How could this cottage’s owner stuff white feathers into cushions, when there are no white birds anywhere?”
Elizabeth sat for a moment, finding herself somewhat dizzy. “This feeling isn’t fear,” she said, still speaking to her husband. “Or at least, I don’t think it is. Oh, Charles, I pray you’ve found your way home! We will see each other again, Captain, I know it! But I’m so very tired and warm...”
Sitting upon the settee to allow the spell to pass, she studied the surroundings. The entwined heart pattern appeared throughout the cottage’s interior, repeated again and again, as if reminding Elizabeth of her living bond with Sinclair.
“Two tiny hearts within our own,” she said aloud, a tear tracing her soft cheek. “Can it be true, Captain? Am I carrying twins, or does this mean that there are two possible outcomes to this pregnancy? One a boy, and the other a girl?”
She looked at her left hand, where the Pink Princess diamond sparkled against her wedding ring. The band was set with seven white diamonds cut in the Peruzzi style to add brilliance. During the reception, Charles had jokingly suggested each diamond repres
ented a future son or daughter. Beth had argued that seven would make a fine start.
How long ago was that? Hours? Days? Weeks?
“I must find my way home,” she said, forcing herself to concentrate. “Think! What is it Father used to say? Never let fear dictate your actions. Instead, use that fear to sharpen your wits. Charles, you left when I wound your watch. You tried on your own, but failed, and only my touch made it work. Why? Do I require another to help me to escape? Perhaps, but who? No one else is here. The woman left long ago, and neither of our children is here now. I’m so confused and tired, Captain. A part of me wishes you were still here, but another is very glad you’ve escaped.”
Outside, the birds drew nearer to the cottage, and the moon’s faint light had grown brighter. The lunar god of Sebet Babi was starting to awaken.
“Oh, please, Lord, help me to find a way home!” she cried out, her hands clasped together. “I’m afraid. I’m so terribly afraid!”
“You sound troubled,” a man’s voice called from the other side of the cottage door. “Let me in, my dear, and I’ll protect you. I can help you find your way home.”
Elizabeth swallowed down the fear as she moved closer to the entry. “Who are you? Your voice is familiar.”
“A friend,” the man softly answered. The voice was musical, even hypnotic.
“No one I know would be here. I dare not trust you! I shan’t open this door. Go away!”
“You know me well, Elizabeth. I’ve been your friend for so very long. Don’t you remember? I used to stand beneath your window and talk to you. Very pleasantly.”
“No, go away!”
High-pitched laughter sailed upon the howling winds like the screeching of a thousand witches, and the duchess feared the carnivorous birds might soon reach the door. The male voice called to her again, its tone altering—the resonance shifting into a slightly different register, as though imitating another.
“Princess,” it whispered. “Let me in. It’s Paul. I’ve come to rescue you, but you must hurry and unlock the door! The birds are close behind me!”
For a tiny second, hope replaced fear, and Beth started to unlatch the door. How can Paul be here? She hesitated, her fingers on the handle. “Prove to me you’re Paul. Tell me something only he would know.”
Silence.
“Tell me about the tree room. Where is it? What game did I play there?”
“I’ve forgotten, Princess. Remind me.”
She pictured a high bedchamber in the central tower of Briarcliff Castle. When she was six, Beth visited the castle for a an entire summer and would spend hour upon hour in the magical space. The chamber’s bed was made from a gigantic yew tree. The thick trunk formed the posts, and the branches a natural canopy. Whilst home from his Oxford studies, the earl would play knight and princess with her and even pretend to rescue her from dragons. Beth used a wooden sword to dub him ‘Sir Paul’ as reward. Stuart called her his very own Princess, and she promised to love him forever and marry him.
“Shall I ride my knightly steed and batter down the door, Princess?” the voice asked, turning cruel.
“Go away!” she cried, realising the hopeful voice had been that of a trickster.
“Little one,” it spoke again, the voice now a heartbreakingly perfect imitation of Sinclair’s. “Let me in. There was a lying spirit at the door, but I’ve overcome him. He’s gone, little one. Trust me. I’ve returned to help you escape. I’ve found the path that leads home, Beth. Just open the door.”
“Leave me alone!” Elizabeth shouted as she shut her eyes tightly, whispering prayers. But her whispers were lost in the wild, avian cacophony that overflew the cottage. She feared the creatures advanced upon her, and that soon she would be taken.
“The Lord Almighty knows your plans, Creature! He will not allow you to harm me!” she shouted.
The area near the creek stone fireplace rippled as though the entire structure were reflected upon water, and a booted foot passed into the room. Behind that foot, emerged a long leg, then a broad torso, and finally the entire, hideous person stood before the fire. He brushed sparks from his clothing with gloved hands, tendrils of smoke clinging to strands of long, dark hair. His eyes were icy blue.
The Watcher smiled, and the temperature of the cottage fell by twenty degrees.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Raziel asked her.
Beth nearly collapsed from shock, but the fallen angel grasped her arm to draw her close.
“No, no, my dear,” he said greedily. “You cannot escape me here. This is my domain. The traitor cannot rescue you here, for the way is shut. Oh, but you look feverish,” he continued, lifting her into his arms.
Beth resisted, but all strength abandoned her.
“Poor duchess,” the cruel Watcher hissed. “All alone, now that your husband is gone. Did you think his timepiece was a means of escape? No, my beautiful prisoner, your Captain has been removed to another section of Sebet Babi. He is chained inside one of my cells.”
She began to shiver. “You lie,” she answered defiantly.
“Would you risk his life to prove it? It lies within your power to free him. You need only yield to me.”
Elizabeth heard his voice in a thousand pitches at once, each out of phase with its nearest neighbour, and the overall effect caused her to fall into a light trance.
“That’s better. Here, now, let me place you upon this soft bed.”
Raziel Grigor carried his victim into the candlelit bedchamber and set her upon the quilts. “How inviting this bed looks. A bride deserves a wedding night, after all. Shall I resurrect my foolish son to keep you company? Rasha is here, you know. I keep his worthless flesh in the lower dungeons, beneath the centre of the maze, just in case I ever need to resurrect him.”
“Rasha,” she whispered, trembling all over. “Rasha is dead.”
“Yes, the foolish Romanian failure is very dead. He believed me when I promised to make him king. I’d hoped to inhabit him eventually, but his blood failed the test. Not to worry! He was but an early attempt. My next son will be perfect.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, trying to shut out the trancelike voices.
“No, you don’t, but your husband begins to understand. He will remember it all soon. All that he is, and all that he is destined to become. And on that day, every prisoner will be released!”
“You’re insane,” she dared say.
“Am I?” Raziel laughed. “Shall I show you what plans I have for you? Rasha was meant to tempt you into bed, but his methods were cowardly and crude. Perhaps, I’ll use you myself,” he hissed into her ear as he crept onto the quilts, his weight crushing her small body. “No, wait, I have it!” he crowed, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I’ll assume the form of another. One that you know very well. The hybrid creature who called himself William Trent. That should prove a great deal of fun.”
Trent’s name snapped Beth from the dreamscape, and the duchess’s dark eyes widened in shock. “Trent is dead!” she shouted, trying to break free of his powerful arms. “I saw him die!”
“Of course, he’s dead,” Raziel answered. “This is the land of the dead. Aren’t you aware of that? Your husband is also dead, just as you are dead.”
“You lie!” she shouted, twisting out of his hands and stumbling out of the bed. Elizabeth tried to run into the main room, but Raziel slammed the door with his mind, and she cowered near the door, weeping as she slid down the wall.
Two balls of red light popped into the room, and they transformed into a pair of winged reptilian creatures. The face of the taller gargoyle was pockmarked in oozing sores, and he carried a coiling serpent in his left hand. The other held a balance and a sword. “These are my companions,” Raziel told her. “They offer their help, my lady. Touch the duchess, Globnick. Let her feel your power.”
&
nbsp; Beth had nowhere to run, and the scaly creature stepped towards her. She shut her eyes as its burning claw touched her forehead. Instantly, a searing heat branded her head with pain, and she screamed in terror.
“Now you, Shishak. Offer the duchess your special medicinal aid.”
“No, please!” she wept, but the hideous demon cackled as it gripped her by the waist. Elizabeth doubled over. Her entire abdomen erupted into waves of intense fire. Nothing the duchess had ever experienced compared to it, and she felt as though she had truly entered Hell’s gate.
What if I’m dead? she thought in despair. As consciousness abandoned her, she cried out, “Captain, I love you! Wherever you are, I love you! Find me, please! Find me!”
25th November – 11:59 pm
Inside the northwest apartment of Istseleniye House, Elizabeth Sinclair screamed. Her physician, Dr. Henry MacAlpin, had been taking a fitful rest upon a sofa near the fireplace. At the bloodcurdling sound, the young Scot jumped to his feet and rushed his patient’s bedside.
“Duchess?” he asked, feeling for her pulse and finding it exceedingly rapid.
The piercing screams had awakened the other guests, and though it was nearly midnight, both Ross and Kilmeade arrived at the door to the grand apartment.
“What’s happened?” Ida asked anxiously as she tied the sash to her dressing gown.
MacAlpin felt like a first-year medical student. He could find no physical cause for the duchess’s continued unconscious state, and the screams made no sense to him at all. Her heart hammered wildly, the brow hot as a brand, yet her hands were like ice.
“Fetch brandy and a cool cloth,” he ordered Ross.
Brona Kilmeade divided up the work. “I’ll fetch the cloth, Ida. You get the brandy. There’s a half-filled decanter on a table near the drawing room piano.”
The women left to carry out their tasks, and Henry turned back to the duchess. He placed a stethoscope over her chest, listening carefully to her lungs and heart. Brona returned with the cloth, handing it to the physician.
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