by Linn Chapel
“But Holt, you’re too feverish for a long trip!” she protested.
“Don’t fuss over me, Tressa.” Holt lifted a glass of water and drank.
“I’ll come with you,” Tressa said, turning back to Peter. “Maybe I can help in some way.”
Holt sat up in his chair and swung his gaze around to look at Tressa for the first time. “You’ll stay here, Tressa.”
He rose abruptly and stalked into the kitchen. She heard him slam the glass of water onto a counter and moments later the front door closed behind him with a thud so heavy it made the timbers of the house shudder.
A few minutes later, she dredged up the courage to follow him outside. She found him standing at the edge of the cliffs, looking across the water to the spruce-covered islands that lay near the shore. Far away, beyond the islands, purple clouds glowed above the twilight horizon.
“Is it anything like the coast of England?” she asked softly as she joined him.
Holt gazed out to sea. “No.”
Tressa felt her frustration mounting, but she went on in a calm, quiet voice. “You’ve already gone to a lot of trouble to help us. You don’t have to bring us to your estate in England. Peter and I can go somewhere else.”
“No, we shall go to Langley,” he replied in a cold voice.
Tressa longed to use her psychic ability to read his intentions but held herself back.
“I wish you’d talk to me,” she whispered.
Holt turned on her suddenly. “Tressa, no words can make my mood better!” The wind was streaking through his black hair, making it whip about his face. Behind him, the dark sea churned and dashed against the rocks.
The force of his outburst made her own temper flare out of control.
“Then I won’t say another word!” she shot back. She whirled and flew back into the house as fast as she could, slamming the door behind her.
Eighteen
Early the next morning, Tressa brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchen as Peter prepared for his journey with Holt. Her own temper had cooled overnight, but would Holt still be angry when he appeared downstairs?
As she poured herself a cup of coffee, she wished there were no need for Peter and Holt to make the journey. They could easily be spotted and intercepted while they were retrieving the passports.
Peter had finished with his preparations by that time, and now he shouldered his backpack and made his way to the door. “Don’t worry, Tressa. What could happen to us in broad daylight? Luke’s already on his way here, so you won’t be alone for long.”
As Peter left the house, Tressa finished her coffee and set her cup down, still unconvinced. Following him to the door, she suddenly ran headlong into Holt, who had just come down the stairs. She uttered a muffled cry of surprise into his chest as his hands steadied her.
Then she moved away, leaving a small gap. Holt’s hands remained on her shoulders and Tressa found herself staring at the buttons of his black shirt.
He lifted one of his hands to touch her cheek. “I know that I’m being very difficult, Tressa,” he said in a low, quiet voice.
“But why? Why are you so angry?” she whispered, looking up at him.
Holt stiffened and dropped his hands. “You are forever courting trouble, aren’t you?”
Outside in the driveway, Peter’s voice called impatiently for Holt to join him.
Holt frowned unhappily and turned to leave the house.
What kind of trouble had he meant?
She raised her hand and touched the spot where Holt’s fingers had briefly caressed her cheek. Whatever was bothering him, he still felt something for her.
Following him from the house, she approached Peter’s car. “The sun’s about to rise. How do you feel?” Peter was asking Holt.
“A little better than yesterday, but not well enough to drive,” Holt answered, moving to the passenger side of the car.
Before he entered the car, he shot Tressa a look over the roof of the vehicle. “Try to stay out of harm’s way while we’re gone.” His gaze sharpened with concern. “If it weren’t more dangerous to bring you with us...” He broke off and shook his head.
Then both Peter and Holt entered the vehicle. Tressa watched somberly as they drove away through the forest.
A cold mist from the sea hung in the air, chilling her. Wrapping her arms about herself, she walked up the stone path and entered the house to wait for Luke.
The drive happened without mishap. Shortly after noon, Peter was swinging open the door to his apartment. Cautiously he entered, with Holt following close behind.
Peter found his passport and packed a duffel bag with clothes. As he worked, Holt stood by one of the windows and silently watched the street below.
So far, so good.
Quickly Peter added all the demos and video footage that he could find on the shelves near his desk. He also packed a few papers and the contact info for various media promoters and their minions, and – zip! – the duffel bag was full.
They left together, quietly locking the door behind them.
Peter’s hunger pangs had become too insistent to ignore by that time. He drove to a restaurant, where he ordered himself several sandwiches for take-out. “Want anything to eat?” he asked his companion when the order was ready.
Holt shook his head. “Everything smells unappetizing to me. Are you sure I’ll be able to eat?”
Peter nodded. “I’m sure. Drink a lot of fluids, for now. I ordered iced tea along with the sandwiches. I thought you’d like tea because you’re British.” He handed Holt one of the take-out drinks.
Holt accepted the drink, looking parched, but after his first sip he made a gagging sound. He shot Peter an outraged look but drank more, anyway. “Thank God we’ll be in England soon,” he muttered when he was done.
Peter laughed and started the engine. As Holt gave directions to his own place, he unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to Peter.
Peter munched as he drove. The two of them made a good team, he had to admit. Peter had been expecting Holt to commandeer the trip, but so far, he had managed to work with Peter as an equal. There was no doubt that Holt was very particular – and grumpy – but that was alright with Peter.
“How long have you lived in America?” Peter asked between bites.
“About a hundred years. Turn left here,” Holt added as they came to an intersection.
“What do you think of the twenty-first century?” Peter asked, curious.
“I think very little of it. But there were many things I disliked about the past, as well.”
Peter laughed. “Hard to please?”
“Discerning, Peter. Discerning.”
A certain matter, a potentially explosive one, had been gnawing away at Peter for some time. He decided to bring it up. “Holt, I’ve got to ask you something. Were you planning to turn Tressa?”
There was a heavy silence. “No.”
Peter glanced over to see that Holt was looking as dark as a thundercloud.
Peter returned his eyes to the road. “We’re going to be in close quarters for a while. Let’s get everything out in the open.”
Holt said nothing in reply.
Peter forged onward. “You and I started off on the wrong foot, but at least you know why I was so worried whenever I saw you with Tressa.”
Holt finally spoke. “Yes. You knew what I was.”
“I knew. And I thought you were only biding your time before you tried to turn her.”
“No, I had no plans to do so.” Pain echoed in Holt’s voice.
“I apologize. I was wrong about you, then.” Peter decided to get one more thing off his chest. “Has it happened before? Have there been other human women over the years?”
Holt said in an ominous voice, “Have you not pried enough? No, there have been no other women. I have no liking for modern women at all. Except for Tressa. I had already seen her many times before we met, from a distance.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Thoughtfully, Peter drove on. There had to be some reason why Holt had become so cold toward Tressa. Cautiously, he said, “I wonder why Tressa seems so unhappy?”
A growl came from the passenger seat. “I’m perfectly aware that I’m making her miserable.”
Peter decided not to press for details. “Holt, the transition can be hard, but it only lasts about two weeks. And when it’s over, you’ll be human.” Peter glanced over at Holt.
His companion was staring straight ahead, frowning moodily. “My mind still grapples with such a change, Peter. After so many years, I can hardly believe it’s possible. But it must be true, for I feel different... and more different with every passing day.”
Time. Time would convince him better than any words.
“Tell me about your sister, Peter.” Holt’s face was turned away as he gazed out the passenger window.
Peter slowed for a traffic light. “Well, she’s quiet, and doesn’t like attention.”
“I’ve already noticed that, Peter,” Holt commented dryly. “Tell me something that I don’t know.”
Peter thought a bit as he drove on. “She wants to help other people. She has a very generous nature, but no common sense. And no street-savvy.”
Holt snorted in response. “I know that, too. Better than anyone.”
“Well, are you aware that she can read another person’s intentions?”
“Yes, she told me about her psychic ability.”
“She doesn’t use it very often. But there’s something else unusual about Tressa. She daydreams a lot.”
Holt corrected him. “No, she’s not daydreaming. Your sister is simply a mystic soul.”
“Whatever it is, it can be confusing to other people,” he warned.
“I rather like it,” Holt said mildly.
Peter shook his head wryly. “Tressa can’t seem to get involved with normal things for her age. Shopping, movies, social media, you name it. I can’t count the number of times I’ve found my sister with her head stuck in some book about history, ignoring her phone messages. She’s not the easiest person to understand.”
“No, you’re wrong. She’s perfectly transparent.”
“Maybe that’s because she actually talks to you. Her conversations with men usually go like this: ‘Get lost.’ Only she says it more nicely. Same thing in the end, though. The brush-off.” He glanced at Holt.
Holt said nothing in response, but the stormy look had left his face.
Peter wondered how much Holt knew about the Newman family. “Did she mention that our father is a Mysterium?”
“Yes. She also told me that your mother is human, and that you have a brother named Luke.”
“That’s right. I’m the oldest, then comes Luke, then Tressa and Brianna and our two younger brothers. Our mother is a journalist who works part-time, and our father is a physical therapist – an unofficial one. He’s got a knack for healing injuries.”
“I see. Do his healings occur in mysterious ways?”
Peter chuckled. “You’re right, he’s got a psychic touch. But he’s had a hard time practicing because he won’t go to the trouble of getting a license, which tends to bother the folks on the state medical boards. When I was growing up, a summons would come in the mail, or an official would show up at our door, and a few days later, we’d move. The current address is near Denver.”
Peter thought again about his decision to set up Operation Metamorphosis on the East Coast, where he had already made some media connections, and – more importantly – his undercover activities with vampires were less likely to impact the rest of the family. Now that Ted and Margot had concocted a murderous hidden agenda, he was glad he’d made that choice.
Holt spoke up. “My place is nearby.”
Peter parked and soon they were entering one of the stately, well-maintained historic apartment buildings that marched down both sides of the old city street.
Inside the lobby, the atmosphere was quiet and tasteful. Bypassing the main staircase, Holt led the way to the rear of the building, where they climbed a flight of narrow stairs.
Peter was about to enter the hallway on the second floor when Holt tapped him on the shoulder and opened the door to a utility closet. They stepped inside, and Holt reached up to switch on a small light. Then he closed the closet door and pulled on a rope which caused a hatch to swing down from the ceiling. Grasping the frame, he swung himself lightly up.
Peter followed suit. After switching off the light and replacing the hatch, Holt led the way down the length of a dim attic. Peter followed without much trouble, for the flooring was solid and light filtered in from a series of small dormer windows. At the far end, Holt unlocked a door. They passed through it, and Peter realized they had just entered the adjoining building through a shared wall.
Holt lowered himself down another hatch and Peter swung down after him. They seemed to be in a spacious room, but it was very dark, for heavy draperies had been pulled shut over all of the windows.
Holt strode across the floor to pull aside one of the draperies. A shaft of daylight slanted through the window, illuminating the room.
Nineteen
Peter wasn’t surprised to see the high ceilings and wood floors of Holt’s living quarters, or the bookcases and the antique secretary desk that stood, tall and imposing, against one wall.
An elegant old armchair had been pulled up near the fireplace, and in the grate lay chunks of soot-blackened wood. Through an open door to the right of the hearth, Peter spotted a smaller room with a four-poster bed.
“Nice place, but there’s no television screen,” Peter said with a grin.
Holt just sent him a wry look.
“I’m surprised you took the risk of heating with wood,” Peter said, walking toward the hearth.
“I learned to be cautious. Tending a fire became a game of skill to chase away the tedium.”
Moving to the bookcases that lined the walls, Holt began to pull a number of old volumes from the shelves, making neat stacks of them on the floor. “On our way to Tressa’s apartment, we’ll drop off a few packages for shipment to England,” he called over his shoulder as he worked.
“Why go to the trouble? No one’s interested in your things.”
“Are you certain? Someone might guess that my possessions could be used to coerce me. I won’t be able to rest easy unless I bring some of my books and heirlooms with me to England,” Holt muttered. He gestured across the room. “Peter, we’ll need airline reservations. You can make them while I pack.”
Peter crossed the room to the ancient secretary desk. On the mellow wood of its open surface sat a modern computer and a pad of white paper. The top sheet, he noticed, was covered in flowing script.
“A computer?” joked Peter as he seated himself at the desk. “Where’s your quill pen?”
“To the left of the computer, Peter. But I use a steel nib. A vast improvement over the old quills, believe me.”
There was indeed an old-looking pen with a metal nib beside the computer, Peter discovered, along with a bottle of ink. He chuckled as he switched on the computer. “Tressa told me that you do some editing.”
“Yes, I’ve needed money over the years for rent and firewood, and other necessities. I’ve also needed funds for a journey back to England every decade or so,” replied Holt. “Editing from home was the most natural way for me to make a living. Lucrative, but dull,” Holt added with a deep sigh. “I’ll pay for our tickets, by the way. My credit card is in the drawer. And please don’t make any jokes about that. I’m not at all happy that I was forced to make a few concessions as the years went by.”
Peter passed up the opportu
nity to bait Holt about the credit card and quickly brought some flights up on the screen. He grimaced to himself as he scanned the airline prices, for the combined cost of their tickets was going to be so high that he’d have no option but to agree to Holt’s offer.
He found four seats on a flight departing the very next day, luckily enough, and it wasn’t long before he had made all of the reservations.
Holt had finished labeling his packages by that time. He joined Peter at the secretary desk, where he slipped his passport out of a small compartment.
Then he reached inside his jacket and brought out the knife and the black pistol. Grumbling to himself, he stowed them away in the bottom drawer of the desk, which he locked with a little key.
“I won’t be able to carry them on my person,” he said a bit resentfully. “One has no choice but to obey the airline security rules. The times have changed, my friend, and now a man is forced to disarm himself at the very moment he is about to embark upon a dangerous journey. What a topsy-turvy world we live in.”
They left Holt’s apartment by the same circuitous route they had come, each carrying a package of Holt’s valuables. They dropped the packages off for shipping and by the time they had parked near Tressa’s apartment building, it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. They congratulated each other on keeping to their pre-arranged schedule so well.
Together they climbed the front steps to the entrance of Tressa’s building. Peter brought up his spare key to unlock the security door, but his hand froze in midair, for Holt had brought up his own spare key at the very same moment.
There was a long, awkward silence as they eyed each other.
Gritting his teeth, Peter stepped back. “Go ahead. Use your key.”
Holt gave him a nod and reached forward, but to Peter’s surprise, he fumbled with the key, dropping it. A bewildered look swept over Holt’s face as he leaned down to retrieve the key. Then he inserted it more accurately and swung open the entrance door.