Shades of Winter

by Linda Fallon

  “Shut your eyes,” O’Hara said, gathering her even closer than before. “They’re trying to scare you. They can’t hurt you.”

  She closed her eyes tight, she clenched her fists and pressed her face against O’Hara’s shoulder. Somehow she could still see the ghosts, as if they danced behind her closed lids. It was a trick of the mind.

  O’Hara ran his hand up and down her back. “Remember that they want you to be scared. Your fear makes Scrydan stronger. Think of something besides ghosts and haunted hotels. Think of something beautiful.”

  “I can’t think of anything beautiful, at the moment,” she confessed.

  O’Hara held her tight. He was scared, too, she suspected. He just didn’t want her, or the residents of the hotel, to know.

  “Quigley,” he said in a low voice.

  “What?”

  “My damned given name,” he said without heat. “Quigley Tibbot O’Hara.”

  In spite of everything, she smiled against his shoulder. “Really? Quigley?”

  “If you tell anyone I will deny it,” he insisted. “I have gone to great lengths to keep those outside my immediate family from discovering the horror.”

  “Horror is a bit … strong.” She laughed softly. “Well, maybe not.”

  He started to laugh with her, and Daisy opened her eyes. The ghosts that had encircled and tormented them were fading. She laughed a little harder. “Quigley Tibbot? That must’ve been a family name.”

  “My great-great grandfather,” O’Hara said.

  “I hope he was very rich and left you a fortune, since you were his namesake.”

  “Alas, he was a farmer who died up to his neck in debt.”

  The noise and bright lights of the ghosts faded. Daisy caught a glimpse of a woman’s ghostly face. It was more sad than horrific. More hauntingly tragic than frightening. One by one the images and the lights faded until the ghosts were completely, magically gone. Daisy lifted her head to look up at O’Hara. Yes, he would always be simply O’Hara to her. Quigley certainly didn’t suit him!

  His face was so near. She wondered if he would kiss her. His hands raked up and down her back, slow and firm and comforting beyond belief. She could release her hold on his jacket, but she did not. She hung on tight.

  Yes, he was going to kiss her. His face dipped toward hers, his head slanted to one side. He stopped while his mouth was still inches from hers. Then he retreated a little bit.

  “Viking?”

  How long would it take Lionel and Buster to get help? And what kind of help could they bring to this terrible place? At the very least, it would be morning before help arrived. Eve suspected hoping for help by morning was a true grasp at optimism.

  Lucien’s eyes followed her as she paced. Lionel and O’Hara said her love would save him. But how? The man she loved was in there, still hanging on and fighting Scrydan for his heart and his soul.

  “You won’t win,” Eve said as she stopped by the side of the bed. The room was dimly illuminated with the light of the fire and moonlight through the uncovered window. Pale light danced over Lucien’s face, his bare chest, his spread legs. The firelight made the glimmer in his eyes seem to burn.

  “I’m already winning,” Scrydan said smugly. His fingers swayed, as if they caressed the air.

  “You don’t look like you’re winning anything,” she snapped, annoyed and frightened by his lack of concern at his present situation. “You’re tied to the bed, helpless as a kitten, and you’re not going anywhere until I get Lucien back.”

  “He told the others to kill me, if it came to it.”

  Her heart hitched. “I know.”

  “Lucky for me, there’s not a single person in this house who’s capable of killing me while I’m in this body.” He smiled. “Not one,” he added softly. “They look at this face and they see Lucien Thorpe, not me. That’s why I’ll beat you all.”

  He glanced up at the ceiling and frowned.

  “What’s wrong, Scrydan? Things not going as planned?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Soon enough.” And still he stared at the ceiling.

  “I want to talk to Lucien,” Eve said.

  Scrydan stared at her. “No. He’s almost gone, you know. Fading, fading …”

  Eve sat on the side of the bed and reached out to touch his face. She loved that face, so much. She loved Lucien more than she had ever imagined possible. It wasn’t possible that she could lose him this way, when they were so close to happiness. True, their life would never be normal. But shouldn’t they have more time? Maybe they didn’t have forever. Maybe no one did. But they deserved better than this.

  Lucien … Scrydan … tugged at the ropes that held him tightly bound. Eve stared down at that heavy, knotted twine. The knots looked sturdy enough, but if Scrydan was right he’d eventually be able to break them on his own.

  But he wasn’t strong enough yet.

  She caressed the roughness of his beard, raked the back of her hand over his throat. “Lucien,” she whispered. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Stop it,” he whispered.

  “Fight him, for me.”

  Scrydan was no longer calmly confident. “It’s too late …”

  “Fight him, Lucien. I love you, so much.”

  Scrydan tugged at the ropes again, leaning as far toward her as possible. “You think love will help him now? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then why do you suddenly look so scared?”

  She rested her hand over his heart. It was cold in this room in spite of the fire, Lucien wore nothing but his trousers, and still his skin was hot. And his heart raced, his heartbeat was faint and much too fast.

  “I’m not scared of you.” He leered at her. “I know what you want. You want this body. Go ahead, lover, use it. I can’t stop you. Have you always dreamed of taking Lucien this way? I think you have. I think you like the idea of having that power over your lover. Have you always wanted him bound and helpless? Perhaps you would prefer to be the one who’s bound. Love me, as you desire.”

  “You have no idea what love is.”

  “Move your hand a little lower and I’ll show you.”

  She ignored his crudeness, the way he leered, the way he rocked his hips. With a gentle, hard-won smile on her face she moved her mouth closer to his. “I love you, Lucien. I need you.”

  He moved his head forward and snapped his teeth at her.

  Eve lowered her head and kissed the bare skin over his heart. He was too tightly bound to stop her. “Come back,” she whispered as she kissed again.

  “Why would you want him to come back?” Lucien asked. Lucien, and not Lucien. She had to remember that. “He’s a weak man, an imperfect man, and he forgot you so many times. So many. You don’t know how many times he forgot you. I do, though. I know everything. I’m stronger than he is. I’m more powerful. I can give you everything.”

  “Then give me Lucien.” She lifted her head from his hot chest and looked him in the eye. “Give me Lucien.” This time when he snapped at her she didn’t back away. The man she loved was still in there, and he wouldn’t allow Scrydan to harm her. She tilted forward and laid her mouth over his, kissed him soft and sweet. After a moment’s stillness, he kissed her back. His mouth moved against hers, and she tasted tenderness, fear, and Lucien’s passion.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, slipped between their lips, and still they kissed. “I love you,” she whispered between quick, tear-damp kisses. “I love you.”

  “Evie?” Lucien whispered.

  She rested her hands on his neck and kissed him deep. “Yes,” she said softly as she drew her lips away, filled with relief. For a moment she had thought she’d never speak to Lucien again. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, Lucien. Stay with me.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  She shook off her own doubts. “You will. You must. Scrydan is holding all the doors closed. Lionel and Buster were outside when it happened, and they’ve gone for help. Last I heard,
Katherine and Garrick were going to the kitchen to make coffee. I guess they’re still there.” She licked her lips. “O’Hara and Daisy are on the third floor, and … and Lucien, I think Hugh is hurt pretty badly. He fell down the stairs and I haven’t heard anything from him since.”

  “I don’t care about them,” he whispered. “There’s no one in this room but the two of us. I’ve missed you, so much. I want to hold you. Untie me, Evie. Release me so I can wrap my arms around you.”

  Instinctively she reached for the ropes at his right wrist. Her fingers touched the knot there … and then she stopped to look Lucien in the eye.

  And he leered at her.

  “The Evie gets to you every time, doesn’t it?” Scrydan asked. “So sweet. So adorable. And it almost worked. You were seconds away from untying me when you came to your senses. Kiss me again, woman, and I’ll make you forget again.”

  Eve backed off the bed, holding her breath as she made her escape. He’d fooled her again, at a time when she should have known better. He’d whispered and kissed her and made her think he was her Lucien. She’d been so certain it was her Lucien she kissed and spoke to.

  Like it or not, she had to face her greatest fear. What if Scrydan was right and Lucien was gone forever?

  *

  Scrydan watched the woman pace. So close. So damned close! He’d almost convinced her to untie him.

  It was disturbing that Lucien had been able to work his way to the surface once again, even if his control had only lasted for a minute or two. He should be too weak for such an effort. He should be dead! But he had awakened and fought his way to the surface. All for a kiss.

  What a fool.

  “Your friend in the hallway is dead,” he said. “His soul is now trapped here, like so many others.” He smiled at the woman’s obvious pain. “The others will follow, soon enough.” He glanced up. Things were not going as he’d intended, but he didn’t have to let the woman know that. “Upstairs, in a room where many have died, this O’Hara you dislike so much is going to eventually wrap his hands around the throat of that pretty little girl and choke the life out of her. Goodness only knows what he’ll do to her first. Anything is possible. He’s such an angry young man, and he does find your friend attractive. I doubt her death will be a quick one.”

  When Eve flinched and turned her face away so he could not see her pain, he smiled widely. If he did this right, he wouldn’t need the others at all. This woman would feed him, and then she would either release him from these annoying bonds or he’d become strong enough to free himself. “When he realizes what he’s done,” he added in a whisper, “he’ll toss himself out of the window and break his neck.”

  “Shut up,” she whispered hoarsely.

  No, he didn’t need the fear of the others. Lucien’s Evie would feed him well enough.

  “Downstairs in the kitchen, the lovely widow is having a nice chat with her dead husband.” He leaned forward, stretching the limits of the ropes that confined him. “In just a little while she’s going to mistake your drunken friend Garrick for the ghost that torments her, and she’s going to slit his throat. When that’s done, she’ll slit her own wrists with the same kitchen knife, and they’ll die together in a puddle of mingled blood.”

  “Do I have to gag you?” Eve snapped.

  “I don’t think you will. You’re foolish enough to think that Lucien might come back. You think he might fight his way back to tell you that he loves you, one last time, and you certainly don’t want to miss that particular moment.” He grinned at her stupidity and her hope. “Besides, don’t you want to know what will happen to the two who wandered off?” He tsked loudly. “The morons went in the wrong direction. They’re already lost. And it’s so cold. So very cold. In just a little while they’re going to fall asleep and never wake up.”

  “That’s not true,” she whispered.

  “It’s a fairly painless way to die,” he said sensibly. “I do wish that farmer was closer,” he pined. “The boy is filled with fear of things he cannot see or understand. His death would be invigorating, if only he were near.”

  The fear was growing in her. He could smell it, taste it. That fear sent a surge of energy through these veins, a tingle of pleasure through this entire body. “Don’t you want to know what I have planned for you, lover?”

  A light in the corner of the room distracted him. The spirit of that damned witch! She had all but ruined this room with her cursed spells. And she had been a most unreliable ghost! The others obeyed his every command because they were rightly afraid of him. She … she had always defied him.

  Even now, she was trying to communicate with Eve. Fortunately, Eve did not have the gift her beloved possessed. She was oblivious to the assistance that was being offered her.

  The humans in this house were as defiant as the witch. They fought the fear, they clung to one another. There was too much love in this house. Too much hope.

  Even though the night was not progressing as quickly as he had planned, Scrydan was not concerned. The hope would die soon enough, and so would they.

  “Is he really gone?” Katherine asked, glancing nervously around the room.

  Garrick nodded. “He might come back, though. If he does, we must ignore him. No matter what he does, no matter what he says.”

  She nodded, but she knew ignoring the ghost of her late husband was all but impossible. But in truth, the man had hurt her more than the ghost ever could.

  Garrick had distracted her with that kiss, and it had worked too well. No one had ever kissed her that way. In the beginning, Jerome had occasionally given her rough, coarse kisses. He had never kissed her sweetly. He had never made her feel soft and warm all over, simply by moving his mouth over hers. He had certainly never held her the way Garrick did.

  Katherine shook off the memory. It was perfectly all right to like Garrick as a friend, but to think of more was impossible. Judging by the light in his eyes, he was already thinking of more.

  Jerome used to get something similar to that light in his eyes, and what followed was never pleasant.

  Women were so sloppily sentimental! Love and affection were pretty dreams, dreams men never shared. Katherine had learned to think like a man, to be cold and practical. She wouldn’t let herself be fooled by pretty words, not ever again.

  She walked across the room, trying to get away from Garrick. She had a feeling he was very good at spouting pretty words a woman liked to hear. Lies. Pretty promises. The kitchen was too small for her to go far, but she certainly didn’t want to be within touching distance. Not until she had a chance to reconstruct the wall with which she protected herself.

  As if he knew she was now unprotected, Jerome appeared before her. Smiling. No, sneering. That twist of his mouth was not a smile.

  Garrick came up behind her quickly, and she stepped protectively between the ghost of her husband and her friend.

  “Stop this, Jerome,” she ordered. “I’m not afraid of you. You can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “Of course I can,” he said, his misty eyes on her face, his unworldly fists reaching out for her.

  Katherine didn’t move away, and those fists never touched her. Garrick placed his hand at the small of her back, gentle and supportive. And so warm and real! She needed that now. Reality and the warmth of another human’s hand.

  “Tell him to go away,” Garrick whispered.

  Such simple advice, and she had never taken it. When her husband had been alive she hadn’t dared. When she’d sensed his spirit in the house, after his death, she had cursed and railed at him, but she had never simply told him to go away.

  “You’re the only one who can send him on,” Garrick whispered.

  Katherine Cassidy had never possessed power of any kind. No matter how strong she tried to appear to be, she knew she was weak. Helpless.

  “Tell him, once and for all, how you really feel,” Garrick prodded when she remained silent.

  Katherine straightened her spine and took a
deep breath. “I despise you,” she said to the misty Jerome. “You were a mean, abusive drunk and a bad husband, and it isn’t fair that you never had to pay for those sins. You never had to suffer.” In her heart and soul, something broke. A wall crumbled and gave way to her long-hidden fears.

  She swung out at the ghost with a clenched hand, but her small fist went right through his image. “You died too quick!” she shouted. “It’s not fair! You should have been tortured, you should have died a slow, painful death. It’s not fair!”

  The ghost of Jerome backed away from her.

  “Katherine,” Garrick said softly. “Tell him to go. Tell him to leave you forever.”

  Tears burned her eyes and she pushed them back. She did not cry. She certainly shed no tears for Jerome. “No, that’s too easy. He can’t just die and rest in peace. I want him to suffer.”

  “Honey,” Garrick whispered. “I think he is suffering.”

  She spun on Garrick. “Don’t call me honey! Just because I let you kiss me one time, that doesn’t mean you can call me honey.” She hit him on the chest with the flat of her hand. Jerome had called her “honey.” She had hated it when he called her that! She hit Garrick again.

  Garrick didn’t back away from her or even flinch. “Tell Jerome to go,” he whispered. “I think if you tell him to go away and you mean it, if you feel it in your heart, he’ll leave.”

  “It can’t be that easy.” She hit Garrick again, and in answer he wrapped his arms around her. She struggled, but not hard and not for long. His arms felt good. The way he held her—it was warm and close and made her feel safe. Exhausted, she rested her head on Garrick’s chest and took a deep, unsteady breath.

  “What if it is that easy?” he asked. “Tell Jerome to go away, tell him to stay out of your home and out of your life. Think of all the things you can do when he’s completely gone.” He kissed the top of her head. “You can dance. You can laugh. I’ll buy you a yellow dress, and we’ll burn all the black.”

  She shook her head.