by Anne Stuart
"There's nothing wrong here," she said out loud. "Nothing that a little sunshine and common sense wouldn't fix."
The tree limb crashed through her window, shattering the glass and the mullions and skittering across the floor like a guided weapon. Katie was so shocked she couldn't move, could only stand there and watch it fly toward her with deadly intent.
She wasn't even aware that it had stopped a few feet short of her. The wind howled through the broken glass like a hungry demon, whipping everything up, catching Katie's wet hair and lashing it against her face, pulling at her clothes, tugging at her. She ran from the room, slamming the door after her, but the sound of the angry wind followed her, chasing her down the dark, deserted hallways.
The kitchen was empty, cold and lifeless. There was no coffee on the stove, no fresh muffins, no sign of Mrs. Marvel. It was after ten in the morning—the battery-powered clock on the wall told her that much, but clearly Mrs. Marvel hadn't entered the kitchen that morning.
First things first, Katie thought, rummaging in the darkened refrigerator for something edible. She settled for some cheese and a bottle of flat cola, desperate for any form of caffeine, before she turned to face the mess she was in. Her first thought was the network of cellars. Had the water risen so high that the entire house might go? Were Mrs. Marvel and her son down there, trying to stop the inexorable rise of the sea? Or had they drowned in the basement, trapped by the storm?
There were no flashlights in the kitchen, only a few candle stubs, but she lit one, taking it with her to the basement stairs, holding her breath and saying a silent prayer before she opened the door, holding the meager light over her head to illuminate the black passageway.
The smell of the sea was overpoweringly strong. She could hear the water beneath, lapping against the stone, though she couldn't see how far it had risen. She took a tentative step forward, peering into the darkness.
"Is there anyone down there?" she called. "Mrs. Marvel? O'Neal?"
"They're not there, miss."
Willie's slow, deep voice came from directly behind her. She shrieked, startled, and the wax from the candle splashed onto her hand. She dropped it, and it went out, rolling down the stairs into the darkness, landing with a splash in the gathering water.
They were in darkness, the two of them. In the murky light she could just see his huge form blocking the doorway, blocking the exit. There was nowhere else she could go. Below her lay the flooded passageways, vaults and cellars. Above her stood Willie.
She didn't move. She had no real reason to be afraid of him, only a dream conversation with a ghost, only a sense of uneasiness that had no connection to reality. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
"Where are they, Willie?"
"O'Neal's out there in the storm. He won't hear a thing—the wind is making too much noise. It sounds like a woman screaming, doesn't it?"
Her entire body felt suddenly cold and clammy. "Yes, it does," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Where's your mother? You know she told you to look after me. She wouldn't like it if something happened to me."
The slow, soft chuckle was the most terrifying sound of all. "I'm looking after you, miss. Just the way she told me to. She said I could do anything I want with you, as long as I didn't make too much of a mess. And as long as O'Neal wasn't around."
"Why would that matter?"
Willie snorted. "I'm not stupid, you know. I have eyes in my head. I know the way he looks at you. I know the dirty things you do when you think no one's around."
"Were you watching us, Willie?" she asked calmly, edging down a step.
"I don't need to watch. I know what people do. Dirty things, and you're dirty, too. Disgusting. You know what he is, don't you? I know you do. Ma won't believe me when I try to tell her. She hits me and tells me not to make up stories, but I've seen him change. He turns into a seal, and he dives down and brings up treasures from the bottom of the ocean. That's where all the money comes from."
"Very clever, Willie," she said softly. Another step down. Dampness was seeping into her sneakers, but she couldn't afford to let that stop her. If she had to she could swim for it.
"How could you let a creature like that touch you?" he demanded mournfully.
"I don't know, Willie." She pitched her voice a little higher as she took another step down, away from him, into ankle-deep water, hoping he wouldn't notice she was moving farther and farther away. "What did you want to do with me?"
"I want to kill you," he said simply. "That's all. I like to hurt things, and see how they cry. How long it takes them to die. You're in the way, you know. If you'd been able to leave yesterday then things would have been all right. O'Neal would have forgotten about you. But you stayed too long, and now I have to punish you."
"I couldn't leave. The storm was too powerful."
"Too bad for you," Willie said. "There's no way out, you know. The cellars are flooded."
She took another step down, and the water was almost to her knees. It was icy, icy cold, and she wondered how long she could last down there. Fiona had promised her that drowning was an easy death. Maybe she was about to find out. She would rather drown than let Willie get his hands on her.
"Don't make me come down there after you," he warned her in his soft voice. "I don't like it in the dark. There are things down there."
She paused. "What things, Willie? Ghosts?"
"I don't believe in ghosts. Ma says such things don't exist," he said flatly. "I know she's right. If there were ghosts then I would have seen them. That girl from Portland would come back, and the two boys down in Camden. And my father."
"You killed your father, Willie?"
Wrong question. "Don't say anything about my father!" he shrieked, throwing himself down the stairs after her.
She made a dive for the water, but she wasn't fast enough. His thick hand caught her arm and hauled her out of the water. She stared up at him in the darkness, too stunned to struggle. He was breathing through his mouth, deep, panicked breaths, and she thought she could see the faint gleam of madness in his eyes. It was probably her imagination—it was too dark to see anything. She only knew that his eyes would be mad.
"Where's your mother, Willie?" she asked again, desperate. "Does she know you killed your father? Does she know you hurt people?"
"She told me to kill him. She said he wanted to send me away." His voice was soft, almost confused. "I have to do what my ma tells me, don't I?"
"Not always, Willie. You don't really want to hurt me, do you? Wouldn't you rather let me go?"
"No."
"But why, Willie? What have I ever done to you?"
"You talk to the ghosts. I don't like that. I don't like people pretending they can see ghosts. When people are dead, they're dead. They don't come back to haunt you. You won't come back, either. You'll be gone, just like the rest of them, and no one will even find what's left of your body."
It was the last straw. She panicked, kicking at him, but she might as well have been kicking a brick wall. He took no notice of her struggles, simply wrapping his big hands around her and hauling her up the darkened stairs.
She screamed when they got to the top, and he shoved her against the wall and hit her, hard, knocking her into dazed silence before he threw her over his shoulder and started toward the stairs.
She clawed at the banister, but he simply yanked her free, slamming her against the stone wall as he mounted the stairs. He seemed impervious to her fists beating at his back, her useless attempts to kick him, and she'd just about given up hope when he stopped, utterly still, on the landing at the top of the wide stone staircase.
There was a faint glow coming from somewhere in front of them, but from her position slung over his shoulder she couldn't see its source. All she could sense was the sudden terror that stiffened Willie's huge body.
His tight grip on her slackened, and with a jerk she slid down, away from him, landing in a heap at his feet, too dazed to scramble away. He was s
taring straight ahead, no longer even aware of her presence, and she turned to follow his gaze.
The old man stood there, his red hair on end, his mouth an empty O of fury, as he pointed a pale, glowing hand at Willie. "Murderer," Da intoned in an awful voice. "Vile, cruel beast."
Willie was shaking all over in abject terror and frustrated rage. Obviously someone else could finally see and hear the ghosts of O'Neal's family. "I don't believe in you," he said in a harsh voice. "I don't know you. You can't be haunting me…"
"I'm haunting you, lad!" Da thundered, his sepulchral voice carrying over the noise of the storm. "I know the things you've done. And I'm here to punish you for your sins. You touch that girl again, and I'll show you such horror you'll be struck blind and dumb."
Katie started to edge away. Bad move, she thought. Willie had almost forgotten about her existence, but at Da's words he looked down at her, his frightened eyes narrowing in sudden cunning. "Come any closer to me and I'll throw her over the side," he said, reaching down for her.
"Nooooooo!" From out of the darkness came the woman, shrieking like an ancestral banshee as she rushed toward him, a pale orange glow around her. It was too much for Willie. With a hoarse scream he held up his hands to ward her off and stumbled backward. Down the long, winding stone steps.
It took forever for him to end his fall. The sound of snapping bones echoed eerily in the cavernous hallway, and the sudden silence was awful.
"Is he dead then, love?" Da asked in a pleasant voice.
The woman leaned over the balcony, staring down at the figure sprawled at an awkward angle, blood pooling beneath his smashed skull. "Thoroughly dead, my dear," she said, her voice as Irish as his.
"Damn, but I enjoyed that, Maeve," he said. "Nasty little piece of goods, that Willie. Wish we'd done something about him years ago."
"We couldn't." She turned to Katie, who still sat huddled on the stairs, listening to their conversation in dull amazement. Maybe Willie had hit her harder than she thought. She must have fallen. These two luminous creatures couldn't really be standing—no, floating there, looking at her with such knowing eyes.
"She knows why she's here, doesn't she?" Maeve asked her husband. "Fiona's able to talk to her, isn't she?"
"I think she hears us as well, love," Da said. "Don't you, lass?"
Katie just stared at him.
"You've gone and scared the girl witless," Maeve scolded him. "She's seen you before, though I don't expect she can understand a word you're saying."
"Where's Fiona?"
"Watching over her brother, of course. Not that he can see her, the stubborn boy. She's afraid he's going to throw himself into the sea out of guilt."
"Guilt? What's the lad to feel guilty about?"
Maeve cast a speaking glance at Katie. "I don't think they spent last night playing cards, dearest."
"Then he'll have to marry the girl. That's what we wanted, isn't it? She's the right one. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to see us."
"She's the right one. I'm just not sure if she knows it herself."
"She knows it herself," Katie said in a firm voice, rising on unsteady feet.
"I told you she could hear us," Da said triumphantly.
"Where is O'Neal?"
"Jamie? He's out somewhere, and Fiona's having a devil of a time keeping up with him. Go after them, lass. Find your man and take him."
"Seamus!" Maeve said in shocked tones.
"Take him in holy matrimony," Da amended sheepishly. "He'll have you. We brought the boy up right, and he's half-mad over you as it is. But mind the old lady. She's around here somewhere, and I don't know how much help we can be. She's no fool like her son, easily frightened by a pair of shades. I doubt she could even see us."
"What do you mean? Can't you make her see you?"
Da shook his head. "A dark soul like hers can see no light. She won't like finding her son dead. She won't mourn, but she'll be in a royal snit."
"Seamus." Maeve's voice was softly reproving.
"She's a dangerous creature, and I'm not sure Jamie knows it. Go after him, lass. Love him. And keep him safe."
They were gone. That quickly, the two of them vanished, and she was alone in the cold, dark hallway. Alone with the corpse of the man who tried to kill her.
Her knees were wobbly, her head ached, her jaw throbbed, and she had to cling very tightly to the smoothly carved wooden banister as she made her way down the stairs. Willie lay on the floor at her feet, and there was no doubt he was thoroughly dead. His sightless eyes stared upward, his slack mouth hung open, and he lay surrounded by a halo of blood.
She stared at him in numb horror, half waiting for him to sit up, to come after her, dead or not. But Willie didn't move. He was gone, and he'd left no ghost behind to finish his filthy business.
She couldn't open the front door. At first she thought it was locked, then she realized the force of the wind was holding it closed. She struggled, but she was no match for the fury of the winds. She needed to find O'Neal, needed him with a desperation that tore at her heart. She ran back to the library, ignoring the body that lay in the hall, ran to the tall windows that overlooked the lawn. She picked up the nearest chair and flung it through the casement window, shattering the glass. The wind speared through the broken panes, but she ignored it, smashed against it with the iron fire poker until she made a space large enough for her to climb out into the heart of the storm.
The wind fought her, crazily, and she could barely force herself through the empty casement. She landed on her hands and knees beneath the window, and shards of glass cut through her jeans. She staggered to her feet, barely able to stand in the screaming winds, and called out his name.
"Jamie!" The sound was whipped away from her, carried up to the heavens, and there was no way he could hear her. He could be anywhere in this storm, he could have retreated once more to the churning ocean, courting death. She had to find him. If he wanted her gone, she would leave, but she had to see him, touch him, just once more.
The wind sounds like a woman screaming. Willie had said that, and the words haunted her, as the sound of a shrill, keening sound rose into the storm. And Katie knew with sudden horror that Mrs. Marvel had found her son.
Chapter Fifteen
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It took Katie less than a minute to realize that she may have made a very grave mistake. Each time she tried to rise to her feet the wind smashed her down again, tearing at her like a thousand angry harpies, screaming at her. The best she could manage was to crawl on her hands and knees through the mud and bracken, keeping low so the wind couldn't catch her and toss her in its angry grip.
There were trees down everywhere, littering the expanse of lawn that led to the cliffs, leaning against the mansion, knocking through windows. The rain was blinding, beating down painfully, and the ground beneath Katie's hands and knees was a wash of mud.
She had no idea where she wanted to go, where she could go, for shelter, for safety. Even more important, where she could find O'Neal. She didn't have much choice. She crouched low to the ground, keeping in close to the side of the building as she worked her way around it, clinging blindly to anything her numb wet hands could find.
It seemed to take forever for her to reach the fortresslike front of the house. The courtyard was flooded with several inches of muddy water, but the stone walls provided some respite from the howling winds, and she managed to pull herself to her feet.
She tried screaming his name, but the howl of the storm drowned her out, and she gave up the effort, instead concentrating on finding shelter. If O'Neal had any sense at all he'd be someplace reasonably warm and dry, as well, and it shouldn't take her long to find him.
If O'Neal had any sense.
She no longer even thought about how uncomfortable she was. Her clothes were soaked with the cold, driving rain, her sneakers saturated from her attempt at escape. Her hands were numb with the cold—she could see the blood from a dozen tiny cuts being washed awa
y by the ceaseless rain, but she viewed it dispassionately.
She had two choices. The stables that now served as a garage were nearby. Willie wouldn't be there, Willie was gone forever, and she might find safety despite the rising water. They were on a high spit of land—there was no way the storm tide could rise enough to flood the old mansion. She could curl up in the back of one of the cars and wait out the storm, wait out Mrs. Marvel's murderous wrath, in relative warmth and safety.
Or there was the guest house. She could barely see its outline against the silver-black rain. It stood on lower ground, it was made of wood and stone, and there was no way it could be as secure as the huge stone mansion.
And yet it called to her. Warmth and safety, shelter from the storm. Was O'Neal there?
Don't be daft. The voice in her head was Da's, rich with asperity. He'll have checked out the underground caves and seen how badly the place is flooded. He's looking for you, lass, and you'd best let him find you before that she-witch does or there's no telling what might happen.
She whirled around, but she was alone in the storm. What good could a ghost do against such fierce winds, anyway?
"Where is he?" She spoke the words out loud, but the wind screamed her into silence. It didn't matter. She was asking the ghosts, and they heard her without words.
Look in the garage, Da said. Where else do you think a man would find himself?
Katie plastered herself against the stone wall of the mansion as another evil gust came up, threatening to knock her off her feet. If the situation weren't quite so desperate she might have been able to laugh. Even enchanted, ghost-ridden creatures tended to be ominously male when it came to cars and tools.
She'd grown so used to the constant shrieking of the wind that the sudden, comparative quiet of the garage once she slammed the door was unnerving. It was very dark in there, but she saw him almost immediately, leaning over the engine of the Range Rover.
For a moment she froze. After all that had happened in the past hour, she was suddenly, curiously loath to face him. The last time she'd looked in his eyes he'd been buried deep inside her body, making love to her.