by Linn Chapel
Her parting words had stopped Holt in his tracks, for he was standing just where she had left him. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling fiercely as she drove away.
Twenty-nine
Tressa’s racing pulse gradually slowed as she followed the country highway through the rolling landscape of Somerset.
With a few more winding turns, driving on the English roadway became much easier. While her new skills might not be good enough for the crowded streets of a town, they would pass in a rural district, she decided.
She’d head north through the Mendip Hills, then. From browsing through the guidebook, she knew that she’d find Cheddar Gorge in that region. She was curious about the canyon and the mysterious caves which had once held prehistoric artifacts and ancient human remains.
Her nerves calmed even more as she drove, and by late morning she had arrived at Cheddar Gorge and was passing between a pair of steep canyon walls. In the lower reaches of the gorge, ferns and small, clinging trees grew in the shady crevices among the tumbled rocks. High above the roadway, a band of bright blue sky showed in the gap between the canyon walls.
Hoping to see the view from the top of one of the cliffs, Tressa parked in a turnout and entered a footpath that wound upward, higher and higher, until it brought her to the summit of the cliff.
The wind swept over her face in cold buffets as she gazed across the chasm to the other side. She began to feel very much alone, and her mood of jaunty exploration slowly left her.
The brink of the other cliff seemed so close, and yet so impossible to reach. The deep chasm in between was just like the rift between herself and Holt, she thought with growing dejection.
She’d had so many failures in her life, but this was by far the worst. It was a true failure, and the most personal of all.
Blinking away the tears that had suddenly welled up in her eyes, Tressa picked up a pebble from the windswept edge of the cliff and tossed it downward into the depths of the gorge. There was a long silence before she heard a hollow-sounding chink as the pebble hit the ground, far below.
She turned away to retrace her steps. As she was winding downward between the rocks and tufts of windblown grass, she came to a decision. She’d leave Langley in secret, as soon as possible, and take a plane back to the United States.
Some kind of note would have to be left for the others so that they wouldn’t worry that she’d been captured. She’d give a vague reason – any kind of story would do, except for the real one. Then she’d stay on the West Coast with one of her friends from college until all the dangers from the Operation were over.
When Tressa reached the bottom of the gorge, she came upon another path that skirted the foot of the cliff. She walked thoughtfully onward, still thinking over her plans.
Very early tomorrow morning, she’d take a taxi to Bath. From there, she’d travel by train to London and catch the next available plane to the United States.
Nearby, visitors drove along the roadway now and then, but Tressa was so preoccupied with her plans that she barely noticed the occasional vehicle that passed her until a sleek, expensive model with tinted windows slowed nearby. Worried that she’d been traced by someone from the Operation, she tensed and watched it out of the corner of her eye as she walked along. Then the vehicle increased its speed and rolled on. She breathed a sigh of relief and reminded herself that it must be commonplace for visitors to slow down while viewing the scenic cliffs.
Now that her plan to leave England was in place, there was nothing for Tressa to do but pass the time until she could put her plan into action.
She walked on, dipping her head as she made her way under the arching limbs of the shade-dwelling trees. Unlike the windswept summit with its dry rocks and tufts of grass, the region at the bottom of the cliff was a narrow realm of cool dampness and deep shadows.
The sense of passing through some strangely enchanted place grew within her as she walked along. The creeping moss that covered the rocks and the spilling foliage of the cliff-dwelling plants gave the region about the little footpath a lush, green feel.
The vegetation grew denser as Tressa proceeded, muffling her footsteps. Another car passed by out of sight with a soft swish of tires and then all was quiet once more.
If there were any place in the world where fairies and goblins lingered on, and where the hidden remnants of magic and witchcraft from a legendary age still existed, it would be here in this shadowed world at the base of the gorge, she thought.
In that hushed atmosphere, the faint sound of dripping came to her ears. Up ahead, she spotted the dark mouth of a cave, broad near the ground and narrowing to a point at the top. As she walked closer, the sound of dripping was joined by the hollow tapping of an echo. Somewhere deep inside the cave, a trickle of water must be falling, drop by drop.
Tressa peered curiously into the dark recess, remembering bits of local lore she had gleaned from the guidebook. The damp interior seemed to be empty, but between the echoing drips and the velvet darkness, it was easy to see why local folk had once believed that witches lived within the Cheddar caves.
She walked on, passing through a shady grove of trees that spread their tenacious roots over the rocks. Picking her way between chunks of fallen debris, she followed the trail through the trees, planning to turn around at the next stony outcrop.
As she came to it, she suddenly spotted an even larger cave that had been hidden by the rocks. Stepping up to the entrance, she ran her gaze over the walls of the cavern, following them as they curved inward, deeply shadowed, until they disappeared into darkness. From where she stood at the mouth of the cave, Tressa could feel a breeze of cool, damp air welling outward, exhaled from the hidden depths like an endless sigh.
Tressa rubbed at her arms, chilled. With one last, curious glance into the darkness, she turned around to retrace her steps to the car.
She had only gone a short distance when she heard a soft but insistent voice. “Tressa.”
The nape of her neck tingled as if an ice-cold finger had touched her there. Whirling around, she saw that a dark-haired woman was now standing inside the mouth of the cave. It was the beautiful vampire of the maze.
In that strange dreamscape, she had been seated in the shadows on a stone bench, wearing a long, draping gown. But today, she was wearing a red figure-hugging pullover and a pair of narrow black pants. Her dark hair was very short, cut and tapered in a chic urban style.
Her lips were vivid with a dark red shade of lipstick. They curved in a smile. “Hello, Tressa.”
Too startled to respond, Tressa could only stare back, breathing hard.
The vampire gazed levelly at Tressa for a long moment before stepping forth from the cave. With easy, confident movements, she came to stand in the shade under the trees.
Tressa slid her tote bag slowly from her shoulder and set it on the ground, thinking of the set of wooden stakes she had placed in the bag the day before. They were still there, underneath her supplies for the trip. Sweat broke out across her brow as she wondered if she’d be able to act quickly enough.
“Shall I introduce myself? My name is Eleanor.” Her accent was English, like Holt’s. “I already know who you are, Tressa. And I know that you’re staying at Langley with Holt.”
Tressa could feel no cloud of hypnotic power assailing her mind. Eleanor seemed to be only interested in talking.
But how much did Eleanor know about the transition? Was she aware that Holt was turning human? Cautiously, Tressa spoke up. “Have you seen Holt since he arrived in England?”
“No, but we’ve been in touch, by letter. Holt doesn’t care for phones and modern technology. I’m sure you’ve noticed that.” She smiled, her perfectly-shaped lips curving again. “Holt has explained about me, hasn’t he?”
Tressa shook her head. A few wisps of hair had fallen loose from their knot and now they fluttered weakly against her face. Self-consciously she brushed them away, thinking how windblown and rumpled she m
ust look in the faded t-shirt she had borrowed from Luke.
“I’m sorry, Tressa, but it’s better for you to know the truth, don’t you agree? Holt has made a mess of things. He doesn’t know what to do – his last letter to me made that clear. That’s why I just had to talk to you.”
Tressa stood mutely staring at the trees behind Eleanor for several long moments. “How did you know I was here?” she finally asked.
Eleanor seated herself on a large rock within the shade of the trees. “I happened to see you driving away from Langley, and I followed you. There’s so much you could never understand about Holt, but that’s not important now. There’s only one thing you need to know. Holt and I may have chosen to live in separate countries, but that has never stopped us from reuniting as often as we can. We belong together. We always have.” A small furrow of concern appeared between Eleanor’s delicately arched brows. She eyed Tressa with sympathy. “I’m sure you understand.”
Holt and Eleanor. Separate dwellings, but periodic reunions. Their love for one another was so strong that they had found a way to avoid the tension and aggression that plagued any vampires who attempted to live together.
Eleanor didn’t seem to know about the transition yet, but as soon as she learned the truth, she’d realize their dilemma had disappeared. Now the problem would be Holt’s humanity and his advancing age, but if Eleanor were to make the transition herself, all of their problems would be neatly solved.
Eleanor’s cool, dark eyes ran over Tressa’s face, lingering on the straggling wisps of hair and then moving downward to inspect the faded t-shirt. “There’s no need to mention any of this to Holt. He already knows about your feelings for him, and I’m sure that talking about the problem would only embarrass both of you.”
Eleanor rose to her feet. She brought out a sleek black phone and, raising it up to her lips, she spoke briefly into it.
Tressa heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Through a gap in the trees, she could see the silhouette of a black car pulling up in the shade, the same expensive model with tinted windows that had passed by earlier on the roadway.
Eleanor turned to the waiting vehicle and slipped through the undergrowth, gliding gracefully through the branches. Her steps made no sound.
She slid into the back seat of the car and swung her slim, black-clad legs inside. All was dark within the shadowy interior but for a momentary flash of scarlet as one of her arms, sheathed in the sleeve of her red pullover, reached out to close the passenger door with a decisive click.
With a purr, the gleaming car drove off.
On the footpath, Tressa stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. It seemed to her that the whole world had frozen. There seemed to be no time, no movement.
Then she noticed that something was moving. It was her heart, thudding painfully in her chest.
She forced herself to turn and take a step, and then another. Numbly she followed the footpath back to the turnout where she’d parked the estate car.
Driving south from the gorge, the countryside passed by in a blur. By the time she pulled into the entrance of the Langley estate, Tressa had managed to surround her feelings with a heavy layer of ice.
But as she nosed the estate car into its parking spot, her hopes of returning unnoticed were dashed, for Holt emerged from the back door of Arbor Cottage just as she switched off the engine. And he was still scowling.
Beneath the layer of ice that surrounded her, Tressa’s heart flopped over and ached.
Holt strode up to the car. “I apologize for my angry behavior, Tressa. I wish to talk to you now – alone.”
It wasn’t hard to guess what was on his mind. She shook her head, unwilling to face him so soon after learning the truth from Eleanor herself.
“Let’s talk later, Holt,” she murmured in reply. She knew that such a talk would never take place, though. She’d be gone from England very soon.
Just then, a voice called out her name. She turned and found to her dismay that Peter and Luke were swiftly approaching along the lane.
“Where have you been?” Peter demanded as he drew closer.
Tressa replied as evenly as she could, “I went sightseeing, that’s all. No one saw me.” She lifted the tote bag from the passenger seat and opened the door.
No one from the Operation.
But as Tressa stepped from the car, Luke grasped her by both arms. “You shouldn’t take risks like that!” he sputtered. “Especially now that there’s been a new development,” he added. Releasing her, Luke launched into a technical explanation of his latest electronic worries.
Tressa could hear Holt drawing in a long, impatient breath as he stood stiffly on the sidelines, arms crossed, waiting for his chance to speak with her. Preoccupied with his glowering presence, Tressa found it almost impossible to follow Luke’s explanations. But when she heard Ted Johnson’s name come up, her gaze sharpened on Luke’s face.
“Every time I eavesdropped on the Operation,” Luke was saying. “I took the precaution of casting my activities from a different city in the U.S.” With a glance at Holt, Luke added, “Just like a ventriloquist casting his voice from different places around a room.”
Holt nodded curtly. “I see. But then why are you so concerned?”
Luke’s expression darkened. “Just this morning I figured out that Ted Johnson has more technical know-how than I realized. Yesterday, when my latest casting produced some stray effects, I didn’t think much of it. But now I realize that Ted must have been blocking my probe. He’s probably traced it back to England by now, too.”
The sensation of being hunted swept over Tressa. She couldn’t help glancing sidelong into the trees.
“Could he discover our location in Somerset?” asked Holt with a frown.
“No, he’d need to intercept more probes to follow the trail all the way back to the café in Wells where I’ve been doing my work. But it isn’t all bad news. This morning I came up with a better routine for casting, one that should fool him. I just need to work it from a new location, like Bath. Peter and I were planning to go there today until Tressa disappeared in the estate car.”
All eyes went to Tressa.
Luke spoke firmly. “Tressa, now that it’s likely we’ve been traced to England, you can’t draw any attention to yourself. No more driving around the countryside. Just stay put for once, will you?”
Even though Tressa knew he was right, she couldn’t help saying, “But Luke, you and Peter will be driving to Bath to do more casting.”
“We’re going to be wearing the new clothes that we bought yesterday, along with hats and sunglasses,” he assured her. “Peter’s got everything planned, down to the way we walk. He’s got a lot of stage experience, remember.”
She glanced at Peter, who nodded.
The tense discussion in the driveway suddenly ended when Hugh appeared in the kitchen doorway and called out that dinner was ready. Feeling grateful, Tressa allowed herself to be shepherded by her brothers inside Arbor Cottage. To her relief, Holt left them at the door to walk down the lane in the growing shadows of early evening.
After dinner, Peter and Luke sat hunched by the fireplace, discussing the Operation. Feeling too numbed by heartache to join them, Tressa curled up some distance away in an armchair and had just begun to silently rehearse her plan for leaving England the next morning when a movement at the edge of her vision captured her attention.
She turned to see that Holt had soundlessly entered the room. He was seated in another armchair, his long legs stretched out before him. How had he managed to move so quietly? she wondered distractedly. Obviously, there were going to be some things about him that would never change.
Seeing her gaze upon him, Holt reached for the platter of scones that rested on a nearby table. When he lifted a scone to his mouth and took a bite, she almost gasped.
That had changed. His appetite for normal food had finally returned.
Only Tressa had noted the action, for Peter and Luke were sti
ll busy talking. Holt raised an eyebrow at her amazement and then finished the scone. Both of his eyebrows then lifted in a query as he waited for her response.
At such a welcome sight, Tressa should have felt a rush of relief. But tonight, her feelings were too numb for her to respond with any display of enthusiasm. The most she could manage was a weak nod.
Holt’s eyes narrowed. He gave her a long, searching look.
She turned and pretended to listen to Luke and Peter after that. Later, when she turned back, Holt had disappeared.
As Tressa walked down the dark lane to Cup Cottage later that evening, she listened to Peter and Luke making plans to drive to Bath the next morning, soon after breakfast.
Her own secret plans for the morning were bound to succeed, she thought. Peter and Luke would leave on their trip to Bath, Jane would be sleeping upstairs at Arbor Cottage, and Hugh was sure to be as busy as ever repairing the rental cottages on the other side of the ridge. The living room of Arbor Cottage would be empty and no one would notice Tressa picking up the estate phone to call for a taxi.
The night air was very still as she walked with her brothers. Breathing in the scent of lilacs, Tressa was more aware than ever that this was the eve of her departure, and as they arrived at Cup Cottage, it seemed that a pregnant darkness hovered about the old dwelling.
Once inside, Tressa wearily climbed the stairs to her bedchamber while Peter and Luke lingered in the living room. Keeping up appearances had taken its toll, and she couldn’t wait to be done with her packing so that she could settle herself under the thick blankets of the high four-poster bed. Her mind skittered away from the fact that this would be her last night at Langley.
Entering the dark bedchamber, she switched on a lamp. Alarm zigzagged through her when she realized that someone else was already in the chamber, standing next to the bed.
Her startled cry was silenced as Holt stepped quickly forward and pressed his fingers against her lips.