by Linn Chapel
Luke chortled. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’re going to be working on that for a long time.”
Albert grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it across the room. Luke dodged the missile and threw it back.
When Peter entered the fray, the pillow began to fly through the air with increasing vigor and Tressa retreated to safety, coming to stand by Holt. He pulled her close and wrapped an arm about her shoulders.
She rested her head against his firm chest and sighed. Part of her was floating with happiness, but the rest of her was mired in dread.
Peter tossed his notes onto the sofa cushion and stared moodily up at the wooden beams than ran across the ceiling of the living room at Cup Cottage.
He’d been getting a lot of thinking work done on his latest project. There was no doubt that the peace and quiet of the English estate was helping him marshal his thoughts. In his humble opinion, Starbright was shaping up to be his best experimental video ever.
But too much thinking always made him feel puffy and tight, as if he were about to burst. If he didn’t channel his pent-up energy into something tangible, he’d drive everyone at Langley crazy with his frustration.
When he’d woken that morning, he’d already been grouchy and out-of-sorts, so he’d stayed behind when Luke and Albert had driven off in the estate car to Bath. He only hoped they’d uncover some fresh data when they wormed their way into the Operation’s accounts.
The soft light of a country evening filtered in through the ancient windows. His gaze traveled over the bookcases lining the walls, the generous fireplace, the old but comfortable furniture. Not a sound came to his ears.
This place was great, he decided, if you wanted to read a book.
But what about the net of surveillance closing in on Langley? They needed to test its extent, somehow. Maybe someone should make a trial run to London.
Maybe that someone should be him.
It didn’t help matters that he knew of a London recording studio where a number of chart-topping singers were asking for a movement coach to help them out with their music videos. But that would have to wait for later.
Tonight, he’d talk to Luke about making a short test run to London and back.
Rising abruptly from the sofa, he left the cottage. Outside, the air was cool and fresh after the recent rainstorm and the evening shadows were deepening.
When he heard the sound of the estate car returning to Langley, a pleasant sense of anticipation stole over him. Luke and Albert had promised to return with some take-out food from Bath, and Peter’s stomach rumbled as he opened the garden gate to walk up the lane.
The estate car came into sight. Instead of turning into its usual parking spot, it continued quickly down the lane to Peter and slid to a sudden stop.
Peter ran up to the driver’s window. His eyes darted past Albert’s anguished face to the empty passenger seat.
“It happened in Bath. They’ve got him, Peter!”
The sun was just setting when Tressa entered the old chapel in the manor house to assess its condition.
Holt had told her that they both needed to keep busy with plans for the future, and he’d been right, for working out the details of their wedding had been steadily raising Tressa’s spirits. She had started by making herself some notes at Cup Cottage that afternoon, and then she had walked to the manor house where she had let herself in with the key Holt had given her.
She had already inspected the Great Hall on her way to the chapel and had decided it would be the perfect setting for the reception. With some cleaning, the huge space would be much fresher, and while the stains on the walls couldn’t be fixed anytime soon, they could always be hidden behind some garlands.
She knew that Holt himself was busy forging a few more documents that would smooth the way to selling the parcel of land in the northern field.
As she stepped across the stone floor to the center of the old Langley chapel, she realized that it was in better condition than she had expected. The patches of gentle, late afternoon light that entered through the tall windows showed her a layer of dust on the floor, but no broken stones or moldering debris. The altar had survived the English Reformation and was still standing in the small, well-proportioned sanctuary, and the statues had not been smashed, either. In one corner of the chapel, Tressa could make out a timeworn statue of Our Lady wearing a crown and holding the Infant Jesus. A statue of St. Joseph stood in the opposite corner.
Closer to Tressa, a few old and fragile-looking wooden chairs had been stored against the back wall of the chapel. Bending over one of them, Tressa ran her hand across the worn seat. On the legs she glimpsed a number of marks that seemed to have been made with a knife. Bending even closer she could see that small letters and random shapes had been carved into the wood. Some of the letters were larger, and when she spotted the initials ‘JHL’, a little laugh emerged from her. Centuries-old graffiti! But Holt had already admitted that he’d been a hellion as a boy.
Straightening, Tressa noticed that the light coming from the tall, arched windows was dimming. It was time to make her way back to the cottages.
“Tressa!” It was Holt’s voice, coming from the hallway near the chapel. In a moment he appeared in the doorway.
“Holt! How did you find me here?” she asked.
“I had the strangest feeling you would be in the chapel,” he replied as he came to put his arms around her. “In my mind, I could see the stone walls and the altar.”
“That’s odd,” she said, for it sounded almost psychic to her. But aside from their link, Holt had no psychic power of his own.
Tressa was about to question him further, but Holt stepped away to inspect the stonework walls and the ceiling. “The chapel hasn’t changed a bit since I was a child,” he said thoughtfully. “The roof is in good repair, and the altar stands just as it was. Only the chairs have suffered from the passing of the years,” he said, walking past them.
“About the chairs,” said Tressa. “Holt, there’s one in particular I wanted to ask you about,” she said with a lift of her brows. She showed him the chair with his initials carved on one of the legs.
Holt gave a low laugh. “My sisters behaved like angels in the chapel, but my brother and I used to hide little knives in the pockets of our Sunday clothes and bring them out when no one was looking.”
“For shame, Holt. Making graffiti during mass!”
“Are you surprised? But you know that my belief in Providence has returned, Tressa, if it was ever truly gone. And I can promise not to carve any more graffiti in the years to come.”
Tressa wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. “I’ve been following your directive, by the way,” she murmured. “I came to the manor to work on the plans for our wedding.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding. “The chapel will be perfect.” He stroked her hair as she clung to him. “I never thought that you and I would be able to marry, Tressa,” he said softly. “I was determined to leave the country before you could discover my secret. But I made the most of the time we had together and I came to see you almost every night, despite my despair. Oh, I was resolved not to take your blood for it had been so long since I had found other means, but the urge rose up before I could stop it. It seemed the only way to be close to you, for the kind of bond I would have liked seemed out of reach. As time passed, the urge faded away and I prided myself upon becoming stronger, more in control, but it was probably just the transition coming over me.” A wry laugh emerged from him.
“I never thought we’d marry, either,” said Tressa quietly from within the circle of his arms. “Once the transition was over, I thought you’d resent me for all of the secrets I’d been keeping.” She added somberly, “I also thought that you’d meet lots of other human women. When you told me that you were leaving for London, I was crushed. I was sure that you’d stay and make your home in England after the transition. I was even more sure that you’d try to forget all about me and
your loss of self-control.”
Holt’s arms tightened about her. “Never has there lived a woman as blind and as foolish as you, Tressa.” He tipped her chin upward and kissed her firmly.
In a moment, she asked, “Holt, how do you feel about having a mortal life again?”
A soft growl came from Holt, the kind of sound he made when he was both laughing at himself and yet utterly serious. “The passage of time became something I feared, Tressa. I had too much time, and it was all spent in the dark,” he said. “A mortal life is better. A mortal life that’s shared with you.” He took her by the hand and led her to the door. “Come, my love, it’s almost time for dinner.”
There was something else she had wanted to ask him before they left the chapel. “Holt, about that picture that led you here.... What were you doing when it came into your thoughts?”
Holt turned back to her. “I was standing next to the dresser in your chamber,” he murmured in reply. He thought for a moment and added, “I remember now that I had picked up one of the clips you sometimes use for your hair. I was holding it in my hand while I wondered where to look for you next.”
Tressa felt a sudden burst of understanding come over her. “Holt, I don’t think that picture came to you by chance. First, you were holding something that belonged to me, and then you saw an image of my whereabouts. It’s just the kind of thing that would happen if you had a psychic ability of your own.”
“Do you mean the psychic link, Tressa?” he asked, puzzled.
“No, something in addition to that. Something that you could use apart from me. Why don’t you try to use it again? But this time you could hold an object that belongs to another person.” She glanced around the chapel, at a loss for any such item. “I wonder if there’s still a relic on the underside of the altar,” she said musingly.
Together they walked to the altar where Holt ran his hand along the underside of the stone. “Ah, here it is. When I was young, I was told that it was a relic of the Jesuit priest who was martyred with my ancestor all those centuries ago.” He closed his eyes and several moments passed in silence.
“Can you see anything?” whispered Tressa.
“Shapes are forming – yes, now I can see more,” he said in an undertone. “It’s the interior of a small church. No, a shrine. There are votive candles, all lit. A tomb. A bronze plaque with an inscription. It says – it says that the remains of a martyr are buried there.”
He opened his eyes and stared at Tressa, bewildered. “It can’t be true, can it?” he asked her. “Am I seeing places simply by touching something?”
Tressa nodded. “I think it’s true.”
Holt stepped back from the altar. He ran a hand over his face. “Apparently, the surprises are not over yet,” he said thoughtfully.
As they left the chapel and passed into the towering entrance hall, Holt turned to give her a speculative look. “Tressa, before we leave the manor, I dare you to hide in any of its chambers.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “Only give me something of yours, first, and I’ll wager I can find you with my new talent within two minutes.” He brought out his pocket watch.
Tressa laughed. She took a clip from her hair and handed it to him. “Five minutes. I’ll need that much time to hide,” she told him.
“Five minutes, then.” He gave her a cool smile and flipped open the cover of his watch.
Holt was always so confident, so utterly sure of himself! But Tressa had thought of way to trick him. Victory would be hers, and it would be sweet.
Running lightly down the hall, she passed into the Georgian west wing. There she went straight to a series of bedchambers she remembered from her tour with Holt. There were at least six of them that were exactly alike, down to the same shade of pale green paint on the walls and the fallen bits of ceiling plaster that lay scattered across the wooden floors.
Holt might be able to envision a green chamber in his mind, but he’d never be able to tell which one she had chosen. He’d have to open every door, just to be sure.
Most of the doors in the corridor were already closed. She hastily closed the rest of them, including the doors to all of the green chambers, save for the most distant one. She entered that last chamber and closed its door, too. Then she backed quietly up against the wall for good measure. Hardly daring to breathe, she waited.
Soon – much too soon – she heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. They stopped right outside the chamber in which she had hidden herself. The doorknob turned.
“Two minutes, seventeen seconds.” Holt strode into the room with the watch held up before him. Turning, he met her eyes with a look of triumph.
“How did you find me?” she cried out in defeat. “All the green rooms look the same!”
Holt returned his watch to his pocket in a leisurely way. “But they don’t. There are small differences of the sort that a small boy growing up at Langley would notice. This mantle, for instance,” he said, strolling over to the hearth, “has a large burn mark from a candle that once tipped over.” He ran his hands over a dark spot that marred the wood. “I could see it in my vision and I knew just where to look for you.”
Tressa shook her head and sighed. “You’re already too clever, Holt, and now you have a psychic ability, too.”
He walked up to her and took both of her hands in his. “And I shall enjoy exploring all its uses.” The look in his eye made Tressa feel a bit nervous. It’d be just like Holt to spring a surprise on her whenever he felt like it. “Now that my transition is over, it would seem that I’ve lost some things and gained others,” he added reflectively.
“You still seem very fast to me,” she said. “I can’t believe you could reach this room so quickly, even if you knew just where to go.”
He gave her hands a little squeeze. “I wasn’t aware of any extra speed. My notions of normal swiftness are somewhat dim after two centuries.”
“Your hands are warmer, too,” she added. Holt was still holding her hands, and it was easy to feel the difference.
“Only my hands?” he questioned softly.
The atmosphere within the room suddenly took on the quality of charged air in a lightning storm.
She whispered, “No, not only your hands.”
His arms came around her waist, then, and he pulled her closer. “I can feel you trembling. You’re not afraid to be alone with me here, are you?”
She gave him breezy laugh. “No, of course not.”
“My self-control was certainly lacking in the past, but I assure you that I have all of my human desires completely and utterly under control,” he told her. “The fact that we are quite alone together, in a bedchamber of all places, has no bearing upon the subject. No bearing at all.”
Tressa couldn’t help casting a quick, involuntary glance around the unfurnished room.
He tipped his head thoughtfully to one side. “Tressa, you should take more care in the way you dress. You’ve left several buttons undone. Here, let me help you with them.”
Tressa glanced downward. To her surprise, several of the buttons running down the front of her sundress were indeed undone. She was sure that she had buttoned them all this morning. How had Holt managed to play such a trick without her noticing?
He was making a show of diligent concentration as he worked away at restoring each button. “Oh, I suppose I shall have to get used to buttoning and unbuttoning your clothes if I am to fulfill my goal,” he said testily. “But I’m prepared to undergo any amount of toil and hardship for the sake of my cause.”
“Your cause,” she repeated a bit unsteadily. “What cause is that?”
“If I wish to repopulate Langley and see my own heirs running about, I shall have to bestir myself, don’t you agree? But I shall do my duty, no matter how odiously difficult.” He had finished with the buttons and now he drew her into his arms, inhaling deeply as he kissed her temple and then her lips.
Tressa forgot the retort she had been about to make as she clung to him, but
moments later she tensed as a voice called loudly from outside the manor.
Holt released her and strode to one of the windows. “It’s Peter,” he said shortly. “He looks unhinged. We must find out what has happened.”
Thirty-five
Albert gazed miserably around at the little group that had quickly gathered in the living room of Cup Cottage.
“After we finished our Internet snooping in Bath,” he said, “we stopped at a restaurant for a bite to eat. Halfway through the meal, Luke left our table to use the lavatory, but he never came back.”
“Did you find any message on the windshield of the car, or anywhere else?” Holt asked quickly.
“No.”
Peter muttered angrily, “They’re not wasting their time with writing notes. They know we’ll break cover to search for Luke. They don’t even need to keep him alive for that.”
Albert’s shoulders sagged and he dropped his forehead into his hands. “It’s all my fault,” he cried. “I should have stayed at Oxford. My best buddy could be dead, and all because of me.”
Tressa stared across the room, thinking hard. They had to find Luke before it was too late. But if his kidnappers only wanted to flush them out of hiding, they stood little chance of finding Luke himself. Searching for him in the city of Bath or the surrounding countryside would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. She tried to picture the kind of place where his captors would take him – if he were still alive – but her mind came up blank. Then, in the midst of her growing despair, a plan suddenly came to her.
“There might be a way to learn Luke’s whereabouts,” she cried out. Instantly all eyes were upon her. “Holt has gained a psychic ability of his own. He’s able to see a person’s location.”
Holt drew in a sharp breath and rose to his feet. “An excellent strategy, Tressa. Come with me upstairs and show me one of Luke’s possessions.”