A Darker Shade of Grey
SueEllen Holmes
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011
Smashword Edition, License Notes
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Urban Fantasy and Sci-Fi titles available so far:
The Crone's Stone
Dominion
Brink
Trouble with Angels
Kaleidoscopic
My commitment to teen fiction is made possible by my enduringly supportive husband, skilled co-editor daughters and son's brave honesty. For once, words cannot express my love and gratitude.
Chapter One
The whole place was gothic. It might have been pretty, the sort of journey city Sunday-trippers made wishing for a tree-change, an avenue of firs and rolling greenery, cute little cottages dotting water-colour meadows -- except for the relic feel of it. The few farmers in their fields leaned on pitch-forks to stare when they drove passed, as if the combustion engine was a recent development.
“They’re probably cannibals,” Jace’s brother, Reagan, declared. “Or zombies.”
Reagan slowed the truck to a crawl and waved snidely. At twenty, he was two-and-a-half years older, but that didn’t translate to more mature. They parked in front of ‘Elwood’s Corner Store and Fishing Supply’, the primary wood-slat structure announcing main street. It was also the Post Office. Jace couldn’t believe it when an actual bell rang on crossing the threshold. He looked up, tracing string to the source of the tinkling cascade.
“Christ! Have these people got an nineteenth century fetish or what?” Reagan said, a little too loud. He was always the wrong side of loud.
“Any chance we can make it out of here minus the social embarrassment?”
“Meh, meh, meh... Your mouth moves, but are you saying anything?” Reagan barged him.
Jace almost toppled a pyramid of washing powder, wondering if the muscle-bound tosser dabbled in steroids. He righted himself and gnashed his teeth. A couple of his mates actually professed to liking their brothers, but Jace found the claim suspect. Of course, most other people didn’t have crims for family, only recently released from the bar-and-cuff hospitality of the authorities. Just one week, one more lousy week! He’d counted down the days for over three of the longest months of his life. But he needed the money or he’d never afford to live on campus. At a far distant uni, he’d finally be liberated from the dregs of his family.
“I’ll get directions from the old boy guarding the register. You’d think he was nervous we’re thieves or something.” Reagan grinned and winked suggestively, Jace’s belly contracting.
“Don’t forget you’re on parole.”
“I don’t need the reminder,” his stony expression warned. “Check if there’s anything worth purchasing in the way of supplies. I told Reece to shop before we came out here. But nooo. The dickhead! Lucky I brought beer to this anus-end of the world.”
“Lucky,” Jace muttered. One. More. Week. “I’m asking nicely. Please don’t screw with him.”
“Aww, Jace. Whatever do you mean? Such consideration for a stranger. I may shed a tear.”
Reagan roughly scrubbed his head, before loping off to harass the unsuspecting elderly gent propped behind the glass counter. Jace was certain if the psycho-duo weren’t movie-star handsome, pouring on the charm at will to weasel coin from even the cheapest tight-arse, someone would have murdered them by now. He couldn’t help imagining the peace, before pushing such uncharitable thoughts deep where they belonged. In need of distraction, he collected a wire-basket and wandered aisles, shoving in articles without paying much attention. At the furthest reaches of the store, rifling refrigerated goods, the grocer’s voice pierced his abstraction.
“Been locked-up tight since its owner went missing. Relatives fighting over the spoils in court, as it were. Want presumption of death declared.”
“That’s interesting. I’m a History major, cataloguing the great stories you hear in lovely villages like this. I’m thinking of writing a book. So, big estate is it...?”
Jace vehemently wished the old guy would shut his trap. Reagan hadn’t thumbed pages other than ‘Alice’s Adventures in Whoreland’ for an extended period. And the notion he’d ever find his way to an institute of higher learning was laughable. In fact, Jace gagged on the hysteria.
He placed the basket on gleaming checkerboard linoleum to massage the back of his neck, an urgent tingle announcing the start of yet another migraine. He’d never had so many since temping for Bateman and Sons Landscape Gardening. Maybe if Bateman Senior hadn’t succumbed to bourbon-inspired cirrhosis, the sons in question might have evolved differently. Maybe, Jace reflected sourly, even worse. He never thought about the outcome if their mother stuck around. No point dwelling on that grief.
“Don’t...”
Jace wheeled in the direction of a strangled plea. Next to a doorway leading via colourful fly-strips to a gloomy parlour, television flickering within, stood a skinny girl in an old-fashioned flowing white dress, sleeveless and buttoned to her neck. He guessed she was about fourteen, but her face wrenched in a frozen grimace, a sheen of drool at the lopsided downward point of her lips, making it hard to tell. Her hands were fixed in crooked hooks and her bare feet made peculiar angles.
She moved nearer, jerking toes in an awkward struggle for momentum. She would have been very pretty, shiny cherry-chocolate curls framing an elfin face, were it not for the distorted mask. He realised he’d been gawking and it triggered shame. Pity help the girl if his brother made an appearance. He had to encourage her back out of sight. Somehow.
“Hi,” he said too brightly, trying to show he was cool and not one of those prejudiced types. Was it presumptious to help? “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Don’t go --” Her body rocked on forming the words, and he could see her tongue curl, jaw wide when the gurgle escaped. “Inside.”
The intensity of her ebony eyes as she worked to communicate hypnotised. He stepped closer.
“Sorry.” And he truly was, for forcing her to repeat herself. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Gggrrrrey manor. Don’t g-go inside.” She slumped on achieving her aim. It was not a suprise she knew of their destination: strangers stood out and news travelled fast.
“Here.” He took her gently by the arm, so lacking flesh it was skeletal, and assisted her back through flapped plastic, marvelling she’d exited so quietly. Hers was a brown-velvet squishy recliner divoted by a slight worn outline. This girl had been jailed in her body for a long while.
“Is it okay?” he inquired, miming where he’d put his hands.
She grimaced, although it could have been a smile. He lifted her in, positioning her legs, careful not to compromise modesty. Jace’s mother stressed, “decorum matters most when disease strips every other dignity.” The girl squirmed to get comfortable, surrounded by photos of exotic locales and knick-knacks, a posy of spring flowers wilting in a crystal-cut vase on the sideboard.
The walls were covered in vibrant artworks and he nearly made the stupid mistake of inquiring if she painted them. A cello case fuzzy with dust lay abandoned in a nook, her aged Maltese terrier lifting its head from a cushion to growl half-heartedly, medicinal tang permeating. Jace wasn’t sure of the etiquette, but had to offer.
“Would you like me to...?” He gestured, receiving a slight nod, the exhausted resignation of her lovely dark eyes infinitely clearer than speech. He found a box of tissues amongst a clutter of ventolin puffers and pills, and reached over to pat spittle from her chin.
“Thank,” she gasped, “oooh.”
“You don’t have to worry. We’re only fixing the gardens for auction.” He searched for a bin and leaned across her to deposit the wad. “We’ve no cause to go inside the house.” Light-fingered twins aside.
She grabbed his shirt in a steadfast claw, no mistaking the fear. “Don’t! No madder whaaa --”
“Okay,” he nodded like a lunatic, before curiosity won. “Why?”
“She’s still there.” Her words rang clearer than the shop bells.
“Who?”
“L-l-lady Grey.” Her hand fell away and she gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Handsmmm.”
“Are you hitting on me?” he laughed. “Cheeky!”
“Hey shit-head! Where the fuck are you? Must I do everything myself.”
Fabulous! Whingy self-righteous Reagan topped the list of all his crappy alter-egos. Jace brought his finger to his lips. “I promise,” he mouthed, not sure why. Maybe he pitied her condition and wanted to appease her. Or maybe it went deeper, a faint disturbing premonition. Jace peeked out the polyvinyl rainbow until his brother heaved the half-packed basket, steel-caps stomped on the way to unload.
After a brief goodbye to the girl, whose ominous message etched his mind, Jace ransacked the fridges, gathering an armful of dairy, deli-meats and cheese, then pursued his brother to the check-out. Those compelling eyes bored his brain. She appeared certain this Lady Grey was alive, but how? It didn’t look like she got out much. If at all.
“What?” He dumped his stash on the counter, feigning innocence in response to Reagan’s narrowed accusation.
The fellow with silver hair, cropped so short his pink scalp was visible, stared curiously from one to the other while packing their boxes. “You boys are spit from the same gland.”
Jace fought a furious objection, praying he was nothing at all like his deranged brothers. Reagan grabbed him in a choke hold, knuckling a noogie that aggravated his pounding head.
“Yep, that’s us. Peas in a pod. Mirror images. We’re almost the identical person.”
Digging his elbow into Reagan’s ribs, Jace broke free. “Pack the ute. I’ll pay,” he instructed through gritted teeth.
“Careful you don’t get overwhelmed by moths when you crack that wallet.” Reagan’s guffaw cut-off in a jangle, when the door blissfully closed.
“I met your daughter.”
“Laini’s my granddaughter.” Face grizzled by years of hard toil and the worry of an ailing child, the man sported whiskers his shaver neglected. Obviously, self-maintenance trailed the list. But the apron he wore over a polo shirt was spotless, the entire shop antiseptic clean. In the ultimate act of optmism, his tag read ‘Noel’. Jace doubted the tourist buses would make it any time soon and surely the locals already knew his name.
“Did you poke around in business that don’t concern you?”
“No!” Jace raised his palms in supplication.
“How then?”
“She came out and beckoned to me.”
“Are you on drugs, son?” Noel wheezed a mirthless chuckle. “Laini ain’t been out of that chair lest carried in over two years. She can’t walk.”
“But --”
“No! You foolin’ with me like that is cruel. Laini doesn’t walk. She can barely stand.”
Noel squared up in angry challenge, not so feeble-looking as first impressions, the faded green of a military tattoo on his age-mottled forearm. Jace bet he’d give robbers an ordeal, probably concealing a sawn-off beneath the bench. He frowned and thought better of arguing in the face of such ingrained misery.
Changing tack, he asked, “Who exactly is Lady Grey?”
“The owner of the mansion you boys are gussying for sale.” The voice calmed, but anger radiated in pinched features. Jace’s trespass wasn’t soon forgiven. Still, many hours deprived of company made chitchat too tempting.
“Ex-owner. Hasn’t been seen since the suicide of her third husband years ago. Caused a right scandal, did that marriage. So quick after the Major’s demise and all. The prim and proper Lady Grey taking up with a layabout artist forty years her junior. Poor bastard couldn’t stick it out though, no matter the money. Hung himself on wire from the attic window. Yardsman at the time gaped while he yanked headless-chicken style. Didn’t break his neck. Nasty way to go.” Noel shook his head. “By the time they got him down, boy’s neck was almost sheared clean in two.”
The story certainly made a change from the usual small town gossip. “Does anyone know what happened to Lady Grey?”
“Vanished like a puff of smoke. Rumours circulated. Some hereabouts claimed she was involved in her husbands’ deaths and took off to sip G and Ts on a beach elsewhere. The official ruling stated the Major died of natural causes. And there’s been no activity on her accounts. The Coroner is poised to rule Death in Absentia. You ask me, there’s no way that aging slip of a woman could get a noose about a strapping lad’s neck and tip him from the sash.” Just like there was apparently no way his granddaughter was capable of self propulsion. “Vultures are hovering. Especially considering a lost diamond-encrusted cameo worth two million in the mix. They say it’s hidden in the house somewhere.”
Oh, God. If mister corner-store-gossip had shared that tidbit with Reagan crook-of-the-century Bateman, two more vultures joined the throng. And these carrion birds made other bone-pickers amateurs by comparison.
“You’ve a job ahead. Used to be a grand old pile. Now its crumbling, riddled by bidu and lantana. Has a bad reputation. The family have never been able to keep repair-staff up there. Sooner they raze it to the ground, the better...”
Jace had stopped listening, so absorbed in the wretched possibilities he failed to note the choice of words and venom of their delivery. He threw down cash and turned to leave, worry boiling his gut.
“Thanks.”
“Son?” Jace swivelled, brows raised in query. “This is a quiet country town. Folks round here don’t welcome trouble.”
Where did folks ever? “Who says we’re looking for trouble?”
“If that brother of yours is a History major, I’ll eat this here apron. I recognise jailhouse stink when I smell it.” Jace breathed relief, hoping the guy was smart enough dealing with an ex-con to omit details of buried treasure. “And you keep away from Laini. She doesn’t need another thing she can’t have. And my guess, someone like you’d prove something she’d want pretty fast. She’s broken on the outside, sharp as a button inside.”
“Yeah, someone like me,” Jace muttered, heading for the exit. What a stupid saying. How were buttons sharp? People always assumed because of the way he looked, he occupied a life of perfection. “I realise the cover doesn’t always reflect what’s in the book. Nor do the volumes either side. Sir.”
He fantasised ripping the blasted bells from the wall, sick to the core of his brothers’ yoke dragging him under. Their truck rumbled at the curb in front. Reagan belted out a horrible Cold Chisel rendition of ‘Cheap Wine’. A couple scurried to the opposite side of the street with scowls of distaste. Jace hated Cold Chisel at the best of times. These times hardly qualified.
“You could at least roll the window up. You’re deafening the residents.”
“I got a top-notch feeling about this job,” Reagan smirked from across the cabin, revving the engine and dropping the clutch in blaze of rubberised smoke. They lurched off. With a sinking heart, Jace knew his promise to stay out of Grey Manor became a battle to stop his brothers’ insatiable greed and penchant for burglary.
***
Chapter Two
Circumstances did not improve on arrival at the site caravan, after an hour long grind through dense overgrown bush. Thorns punctured two tyres with several forays along the wrong track, as if the property actively hindered progress. Their home for the next five to seven days rested in a scant clearing, surrounded by tangled brambles endowed with the same spines that had so easily dispensed with four-wheel-drive treads.
“Charming,” Reagan grumbled.
Jace peered back over his shoulder, shaking the ridiculous feeling nature’s fortress sealed at their rear. Midday sunshine bleached to watery olive through the foliage. The dimness resembled early evening, foreshadowing inky nights. What really had him creeped out was the total absence of sound. No bird calls or insect buzz, no branches creaking in the forest. Reece’s huge red pick-up hunkered nearby, trailer carrying two ride-ons and other horticultural tackle.
“What the hell took you!” Reece’s bellow cleaved the silence.
The van door burst and he barelled into view. His cheeks flamed in temper, cigarette dangling the corner of his mouth a permanent attachment. He had an annoying habit of flicking his inheritance open and shut. Jace often wondered what kind of father left his son an engraved silver lighter, so symbolic of a habit that helped put him in a coffin. Of all of them, Reece was most like the old man.
“If you’ve been smoking inside, so help me, Reece!” Reagan loathed the practice. Twins really weren’t as identical as people claimed.
The newcomers alighted and commenced unloading luggage and food. There was no cause for celebration on sighting the cramped interior of the van, seats torn and layered by grime. Mould hung heavy and Jace’s eyes stung. Stale nicotine was preferable.
“I’m in the tent.” The twins snored like rutting walruses anyway. And the flimsy structure didn’t seem sound, groaning and rocking under their collective weight.
“Where did you scrounge this heap? Something die in here?” Reagan wrinkled his nose. “Smells like it hasn’t been aired-out since God was a kid.”
“Least of our problems. The generator’s blown, so forget about light. Problem with the gas, too. Getting this thing up here was an utter nightmare. Angus threatened to quit. He’s off sulking somewhere.”
“Angus threatens to quit at the first sign of work. The guy’s a tool.”
“Whatever, Reagan. Shotgun me shopping next time. We’re relying on an esky to keep perishables cold.”
“How?” Jace asked.
“I asked you to shop back in town, didn’t I?” Reagan said. “Do you ever listen? Any positive news?”
“We should have hired a bulldozer. This’ll take months, not under a week.”
“Get stuffed! We just ruined a thousand bucks worth of Coopers. And on top of it the generator’s buggered?”
Jace pined for the silence of the crypt, or even a Jimmy Barnes screech, quibbling twins his least favourite soundtrack. “How?” he repeated.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I dunno. Nothing I can see. Just won’t turn over.”
“How!”
“How what?” the twins hollered.
“How did Angus quit? Trucks are both here. So’s the bike. Did he hike out? It just took over an hour to slog up here in a four-wheel drive.”
“Who gives a shit? Our profit margin’s shrinking by the second,” Reagan said. “Jace?” He cleared his throat, shiftier than usual. “What about you take a machette and have at it. Carve us a path to the house. You know, so we can drive the mowers up there.”
A path to the house. What a loaded phrase. He was torn between the gift of privacy and awful certainty. Reagan hankered to blab the potential for richer pickings. Reece leaned against the van, glancing from one to the other with a knowing look. It was his brothers’ gift: sniffing illicit booty. Even with a cunning smile he resembled the model from a sporting catalogue, wavey brown hair streaked by the sun, singlet showcasing powerful tanned arms. And where in this god-awful swamp had Angus disappeared to?
It just couldn’t run smoothly, could it? Jace snatched a blade from the bed of their ute, a razor-sharp axe, and rucksack containing water and various necessities, departing without another word. He guessed the onus was on him to search.
“Good on you, bro!” Reagan called at his back, anticipation cause for benevolence.
Jace snorted softly to himself. One lousy week to go! He should have known: hope around them was inevitably futile. He pulled out his compass, a map of the property memorised, and hacked prickly undergrowth in the direction of the mansion. Thicker saplings required the axe. Failure to change into long pants was soon rewarded, the flesh above his boots a bloody lattice.
“Crap, crap and more crap!”
Heaven help him if he trod on a snake, ticks also a concern. He had no idea how to thwart dumb and dumber. And the cloying humidity in this dense copse made him sweat buckets. How the hell had Angus gotten through?
After half an hour, Jace was forced to stop and catch a breath, taking a long swig of water, head splitting. His hair was matted by burs that refused to come out, the rest of him covered in clippings that itched like mad. He paced a slow circle in a vain attempt to orient himself, hindered by a wall of vegetation. Had he strayed onto a different track? The house wasn’t that far. He rummaged the depths of the rucksack for heavy-duty prescription pills and chugged down three, forging on.
The afternoon dragged without noticable progress. It was difficult to focus in the swirling fog, as he tried to gauge how far he’d come. Fog? This migraine was a doozy. In retrospect, it was idiotic to drop tranquilisers in the middle of unfamiliar woods. Jace brought the compass to his face and jiggled it. The pointer spun lazily, settling on one route, only to turn for another. It made him dizzy.
“Excellent.”
Lost in a suburban jungle. How lame. The twins would never let him forget it. He blinked dazedly in the rolling white-out, pivoting back the way he came. But the mist was too solid, his compass useless. Confused, Jace broke into a trot, slashing as twigs and vines loomed to block his path.
“Hoy! Reagan.” Surely, the caravan was nearby? They’d have to hear him. “Reece!”
He crashed through shrubbery in the eerie twilight, cheeks whipped by branches, tee snagged and torn. It proved hard to keep balance. Suddenly, his boots found emptiness, shooting him headlong into the void. He yelled, arms flailing, somersaulting a rocky embankment of snarled nettles. Out-thrust hands crashed earth and he finally skidded to a halt in a steep-sided gully. He groggily shook his head and rolled onto his back. Hurt strafed Jace’s body.
The skin on his palms was raw and punctured by barbs. He prayed he hadn’t snapped his spinal cord and twisted experimentally, the result a shower of blinding sparks. Lucky he didn’t fall on the machette. Or the axe. Stifling heat made breathing a triumph, weights pressing down on his chest. Millimetre by agonising millimetre, Jace writhed from the pack to position it for a pillow. His lids drooped. He couldn’t fight the weariness and decided to rest until the worst of the pain faded.
***
Chapter Three
An indeterminate while later, Jace woke to a hazy afternoon glare. Cicadas shrieked and parrots chattered, the scents of lemon myrtle and eucalypt invigorating. He inspected the damage, surprised to discover himself in better condition than he’d feared. He rotated his shoulders and hauled upright. Less sinister light showed the wounds on his palms were superficial, just a couple of splinters. A dry streambed spanned either side, its banks scarcely the rocky cliffs he’d pictured. It seemed as though he’d tumbled forever.
Jace collected his gear, happy now it was simply a matter of choosing a bearing and trekking out. A peal of laughter echoed the trees. He strained to listen, voices raised in celebration and stringed instruments growing clearer. It didn’t make sense. The Grey property stood derelict for seven years. Could it be squatters?
Finally, Jace broke through foliage onto an immaculate expanse of spongy lawn. A huge stone manor with sharply peaked gables dominated, elegantly attired guests scattered about magnificent gardens. Food-laden tables draped in crisp white, tuxedo’d serving staff and a chamber orchestra completed the Gatsby-esque scene. He wondered if he should phone the Police, before recalling an absence of signal out here. Besides, the whole lot averaged the age of sixty. Unlikely for a bunch of prowlers. What to do? Stalling on the fringes, he spotted her.
It had to be her. She glided through the crowd like a white-pointer, regally extending her hand and air-kissing with a practised smile. Lady Grey dressed in lemon, tall, refined, with a pale-blonde coiff. Her jewels glittered discreetly in the sunlight. Jace frowned at the wrongness of what he was seeing, but couldn’t remember why.
And wherever she ventured, went a stunning broad, dark-haired youth -- her newly minted husband. Scrupulously attired in a beige suit and vest, he’d certainly managed to throw-off the bum-artist image. His artifice matched hers perfectly. Jace realised the hosts were in the act of bidding farewell. He fought to recall why the scene twisted his gut.
Patrons began to leave, Rolls Royces and Bentleys forming a dignified queue trundling the drive. An antique VW beetle abruptly hurtled towards the house, veering onto the lawn when prompted by horns, punk anthem blaring. It screamed to a dust-spewed halt in the turning circle. A girl leaped out with a swish of waist-length pitch hair, dark allure an exotic contrast to frothy pastels and genteel speech.
In a tight black-lace corset that highlighted teasing curves, leggings and boots, she looked familiar. Try as he might, Jace couldn’t place her. But he didn’t dare move closer, unsure of what he witnessed. Or of the outcome if he made his presence known.
All turned to stare, mouths tight with disapproval. She cut a dazzling trail to where the musicians dismantled equipment, an oblivious effervescent spirit to outshine any in her path. But she wasn’t what lasered Jace’s focus. In the orchestra’s adult midst, a dainty young girl in flowing white and shined Mary-Janes packed away her cello. She was no more than ten years old, but he identified her instantly. Laini. Whole and healthy. And her brilliance eclipsed the intruder, who was obviously her elder sister come to collect her after the recital. The pair traded a secret grin, which poked fun at stuffy band-mates, the intimacy of their bond tangible despite the age difference.
Across the divide, there was no mistaking the captivated gaze of the latest Mr Grey. Laini’s sister fidgeted in wait, eyes ceaselessly roving, until they settled at him. A smile danced on her full lips, attraction igniting a fire between them. Beside him, Lady Grey subtly tracked the exchange with a cool expression. She disengaged her arm from his to melt inside without another glance.
Mesmerised, Mr Grey barely noticed his wife’s departure. He stood alone in the grassy courtyard, rum punch in hand, while people drifted away. Laini’s sister shouldered the cello, available hand outstretched to lead her young sibling to their car. Mr Grey followed.
“I’m Blake Grey,” his mellow baritone wafted the void. “And you are?”
He hovered closer than polite, oggling lithe lines as she bent to pack the cello in the boot. She turned, startled by his proximity at her rear.
“Sienna.”
She pressed between him and the VW bonnet with nowhere to go. They flirted and giggled, a flush crawling her cheeks, unmindful of prying eyes. A curtain flickered in a high window to reveal a shadowy flash of Lady Grey’s arctic disappointment.
But Jace couldn’t tear attention from Laini. Across the expanse, her wide brown eyes pierced his hiding spot. She raised an arm and pointed at him in silent warning.
***
Chapter Four
Jace’s eyes flew open. How long had he been out? More importantly, where had he been out? How was it possible? He hauled vertical, disembodied grunts accompanying the effort. Every bone ached, muscles complaining, but it didn’t appear he’d broken anything. Jagged rocks added abrasions to bruises. He tried to gauge the damage to his hands in the murk and winced on uncurling tight fists. His palms were sticky with blood.
Evening had set in, many hours elapsed. Surely they’d come looking for him soon? Reagan and Reece were as sharp as circles, but they needed every able-bodied worker. Jace’s physical strength proved an exploitable commodity. It usually meant he was treated little better than a serf, but it might earn him rescue. He collected the gear, groping the bag for a torch to flick it on. The beam barely penetrated mist that writhed and swirled as if alive. Goosebumps trickled his spine, heart jumping erratically. He caught the rapid patter of feet.
“Who’s there?”
He waited, refusing to let panic win. Nothing. Jace swayed, consciousness blurred. In any case, accurate navigation in the horrid white-out was beyond the achievable. He pointed the flashlight at his boots, illuminating a ring of scree, and carefully took a step.
One agonisingly slow tread at a time, Jace proceeded up the sliding gravel slope, sometimes on all fours with the torch in his mouth. Hanging vines proved treacherous, giving way on the slightest tug. He ignored pain and rising desperation. The backpack hindered progress, but dumping expensive tools was not an option. The sound of running feet came again, rustling closer through the undergrowth then darting away. He thought he heard music. Maybe he was in shock.
“Guys, I’m hurt. This isn’t funny!”
Jace finally breached the rise, panting and sweating despite the chilled night air. Using the handle of the axe he gingerly prodded his way forward through waist-high grass, not caring which direction, so long as it was opposite to eerie Grey Manor. He decided he hated this place, the town and everyone in it, one week’s pay an easy sacrifice for less hassle. He was gone in the morning. If the twins hadn’t learned a lesson from their stint in jail, who was he to teach them otherwise?
It came again. A swish of motion like wind bending stalks to his epicentre accompanied by the mournful lilt of bowed strings. He wheeled about, cursing the fog and an inadequate flashlight. The darkness here weighed heavier than the bottom of the ocean where predators emerged too quick from the chasm. Jace took a hesitant step.
“Angus! You bastard. Show yourself!” A shattering otherworldly scream turned his flesh to ice. “Angus?” he yelled, doubtful his senses were trustworthy.
Another shriek split the night, so laden with despair and agony it shredded qualms. His mind could never manufacture such a sound. Jace burst into a sprint, tripping and stumbling, bag thudding his injured back with every stride. He had no instinct for direction, the haze disorienting in the extreme. As if in response to the thought, the curtain separated. A vista of star-spangled blackness and overgrown field stetched to the granite staircase of Lady Grey’s derelict house. He should have known: every path lead here.
It crouched in the gloom exuding malice with vacant windows for eyes, shutters broken and chipped, mouth an abyss where double-doors gaped. He delayed in the middle of what was once well-clipped lawn, fear gripping his bowels. A final cry stabbed the dark, fading to a thin, wet burble.
“Angus!”
A tunnel wormed its way ahead and if Jace wanted to save his friend, he had no choice but to follow. Laini’s message scorched awareness, “Don’t go inside, no matter what.” The argument raged. Angus might have fallen through rotted wood, bleeding out in a crumpled heap, while Jace gave cowardice full reign. Maybe the hesitation proved the difference between life and death.
Even as a child, he’d never believed in ghost stories. This was ludicrous! It was just a house, the former owner a mere silhouette on its walls. He hefted the axe and started to jog. A moan rippled the ground and sudden gusts whipped grass into a thrashing sea. It was like wading a bog. Angus slumped in the frame.
The boy’s stocky physique seemed less somehow, like a once plump fruit leeched of its innards til only a shrunken membrane. Yet Jace refused to consciously admit such a thing. It would send him to the asylum. Relieved, he waved and called frantically.
“I’m coming!”
Angus didn’t seem to register his saviour. There was something terribly wrong with his face. Jace battled onwards, squinting. What was wrong with Angus’ face? He wobbled and fell to his knees on the porch, fingers gouging his cheeks. Drawing determinedly closer, a foul odour met Jace’s nostrils. Wet dog and boiled pork, gone putrid in the heat. His gorge flipped and he cupped his mouth against nausea. And then he understood what he saw; Angus’ flesh hung loose, a gelatinous web of holes devoured by acid. With a sizzle, half his skull dissolved, a butcher’s knife protuding the intact orb, one eyball hanging free on stringy residue.
It couldn’t be. Jace blinked, straining for reason. The pills had never had such an hallucinogenic impact. Angus toppled to boards with a moist slap, body yanked back within, the only sign of his presence a glistening bloody swathe through the dust. The manor doors slammed credibly, fog dispelling to unleash an ordinary sky.
Jace found himself alone and trembling in the field, bladder threatening. Awareness crystalised: Grey Manor had claimed another victim. Its secrets were better left undisturbed.And now, compensation was demanded for his intrusion. There was no going back. He felt it in his very core.
And from a window on high, came a soft cackle. Compelled to look, he knew where to find her -- the gallows from which the last Mr Grey swung. In the cloudy reflection of a rising moon, Lady Grey spread a rictus leer. Jace was paralysed by the hunger of her bone-vacant sockets, digits shrinking the distance between them like scabrous bleached spider’s legs. He hefted the axe and swung.
***
Chapter Five
Jace lashed out wildly, caught in an iron grip. “ Hell! Grab the blade! Or your fat head’s saying goodbye to your neck.”
The axe wrenched from his hands. “He’s off his gord, Rea.”
“It’s the migraine meds. I oughta’ throttle that quack Doc.”
Alertness slowly re-established, and with it the awful knowledge something bad had happened. If Jace could only remember what. The fight deserted, still he refused to open his eyes lest clarity returned; that was a state to be avoided.
“Check him out. He’s a bleeding mess. Do you think he’s really hurt?” Even in his addled state, Jace was touched by Reece’s concern.
“Grab the gear, I’ll cart Jace.”
Memory congealed. “Angus,” he murmured.
“He said something.”
“Angus. We can’t leave him!” his tone grew hysterical and he wriggled to break free. “She killed him. Lady Grey’s still in there. She murdered him!”
“Dude! Get a grip.” The vice tightened across his chest. “You’re rambling. How many of those tabs did you gulp?”
“What do you reckon they’d be like with beer?” Reece asked.
“You dope! Does it look like he’s having any fun? He’s scared witless in the middle of a bad trip.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t have any beer.”
“I am surrounded by morons. Bring the gear.”
Jace felt himself hoisted aloft, too weak to complain. He cracked lids and peered about, shocked to discover they traversed a gulley, not open field. Where was the mansion? Misgivings churned. Could prescription drugs incite such vivid terror?
Reagan carried him like an infant, strain evident in puckered lips and a vein pulsing his temple. Reece lit their way from behind with a torch.
“I can walk,” he croaked.
“Get buggered. Waiting for you’d take all night. We’ve already wasted hours searching.”
“Anybody would think you cared. Big marshmallow.”
“Have you had a scan or something?” Reagan snapped.
“No need to get testy.”
“Bullshit! I can’t...” He shook his head, jaw bunched, glaring along the tree-lined path as though bark was to blame for all cosmic wrong.
Jace frowned, unaccustomed to Reagan’s reflective side. “Can’t what?”
“Watch another person I love die.” Jace was stunned speechless. “I know you think I’m an arsehole. And I deserve that because it’s true. Reece and I failed mum. We’ve done a shit job at looking after you --”
“Hoy!” Reece objected from their rear.
“Shut up! Keep the light straight. You’re hauling your sorry butt into town and arranging a head scan tomorrow. Am I clear, Jace?”
Who said anything about dying? “Only if you promise me something.”
“Oh yeah,” he laughed. “What?”
“Don’t go anywhere near Grey Manor. I mean, not under any circumstances, inside.”
“Sure little brother, whatever you say. If you can’t finish this week, we’ll pay you anyway.”
“We will?” Reece objected.
Reagan was not known for his generosity. No matter the time spent with them, Jace was always surprised by the twins’ easy capacity for lies. His brother probably wanted him out of the way to commit robbery in peace. But the mere thought of them going anywhere near that poisonous house splintered Jace’s nerves. Had Angus lost his life there or was it all the ghoulish figment of a narcotic nightmare? It didn’t matter. This place was tainted by evil. Even two million reasons weren’t enough to break Laini’s promise.
“Christ! You’re whiter than Reece’s backside in winter.”
“Now there’s an image.” Jace couldn’t get the shivers under control. They made the clearing, the remains of tinned beans clotted in a pan over a smouldering fire.
“That’s it! You’re out of here tomorrow.” Reagan broached the van, steps squeaking under their weight, to arrange him on the ratty bench in the kitchen nook, shaking out limbs and fumbling around for the first aid kit by candlelight.
“I know about the cameo.”
“Reece! Put Jace’s tent up,” he called out the door. “Get his sleeping bag ready.”
“What? The freak can do it himself.” The snap and fizz of a freshly opened beer can punctuated the reply. Then the irritating kerchink, kerchink of the lighter.
“You do it! I mean it, Reece, cut your shit. I’m gonna’ sort his hands or he’ll be useless tomorrow. And if you so much as touch one of those pills, I’ll have your tongue. And lay off the beer. Working with you’s bad enough without a fucking hang-over mood.”
“Geez, what’s got your dick in a clamp all of a sudden?” Reece appeared through the screen.
Reagan was unaccountably touchy. Jace wondered if this place contaminated all who dared enter. A zipper yanked outside, accompanied by a theatrical sigh and a stream of muttered obscenities as Reece erected the tent, pounding pegs aggressively.
“It’s all right, Rea. I can handle it.”
He snorted and sat to tend Jace’s hands. “I thought you could handle a machette.” The Betadine stung where thorns were tweezed. “It’s okay for you. You’re getting out, breaking the curse.”
“Curse?”
Did Reagan know about the house? Jace wanted to explain, but worried his brother’s already rocky faith in him might crumble. He was astonished to discover Reagan’s good opinion mattered.
“Bateman generations stuck in the rut of past losers. Reece and I are destined to prune old geezers’ roses, trim hedges and lick wealthy arses for the rest of our sorry lives. Even after all the sweat and back-breaking labour, we’ll barely scrape by. I’m not doing it.”
“If you hate it so much, find something else. Study, improve yourselves,” Jace said with a trace of desperation.
“Don’t have such a luxury. Our dear piss-head dad’s legacy is debt up to our tits. The bank owns everything. Besides, you’re the brains. It’s up to you to break the chain. Together, Reece and I barely make the grade of a chimp. I’m not even sure he can read.”
“I can hear you. And I bloody do read!”
“Form-guide doesn’t count.”
This was news to Jace and the knowledge smacked him hard. When their parents died, the twins left school early and worked odd jobs to keep them afloat. His brothers had sacrificed to give him the best education. He’d never considered the cost before, recognising his selfishness too late.
“You can’t go inside Grey Manor!”
Reagan stopped bandaging and frowned at him in the gloom. “What’s with you and this house all of a sudden?”
“Can’t you do as I ask, for once? I’m not visiting you in jail this time.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” He paused for a second. “Nope. It’s finders keepers, Jace. We’re going for that broach or whatever and you’ll keep out of the way. I meant what I said. First thing, you’re in town getting your head checked. Whether you come back, is your decision.” He scooched sideways and stood. “Get some sleep.”
Reagan’s posture ended the discussion. It was pointless to argue. He wedged the door open, features don’t-stuff-with-me. Hands throbbing, Jace crossed the clearing like a whipped dog.
“Your palace awaits, princess,” Reece sneered, lifting the flap with a game-show flourish.
“Thanks.” Jace tried to convey sincerity and earned a confused scowl.
“I’ve really gotta’ try a few of those pills. Just don’t inform the Sergeant.”
“I can hear you too,” came Reagan’s muffled call from the van.
Reece grinned and clapped Jace on the shoulder. “I’m getting you a GPS for Christmas, seeing as you couldn’t find a whore in a brothel. You’d get lost in a wardrobe.” He laughed uproarously at his own joke.
Any idea of leaving faded. Someone had to protect his idiotic siblings from themselves. Jace would make for town in the morning. But it was not an act of submission: he must speak with Laini whether Noel approved or else. She was the key to all of this. And another, more odious task awaited the dawn. Jace needed to locate Angus and no matter how unlikely, instinct screamed his missing friend’s whereabouts.
***
Chapter Six
The evening proved long and arduous. Every creaked bough and skitter through the undergrowth jerked him from a restless doze to full vigilance. He tried to forget, to put aside silly visions of vaporised flesh and speared orbs. Angus had simply given up and headed home. It was the smart thing to do; this job sucked in every way. Jace had taken a pharmaceutical dive into the pit. He was spooked by Laini and her creepy admonition. That was all.
But rythmic drips from a downpour soon after midnight echoed pattered feet. An awful smell lingered despite blowing his nose until it bled. And no matter how he tried, the eerie sawing of a cello would not let him forget. It was with bleary eyes and a tremulous grip on reality Jace exited his green-canvas cocoon to meet the day. He spent a fruitless hour combing the grounds of Grey Manor. And while he procrastinated, the house summoned like a chant in his brain.
He eventually cleared the forest. Washed golden by sunrise its shabby edifice appeared benign, overgrown gardens sparkling in a net of rain droplets. Jace stopped to stare, unconsciously picking at his bandaged palms until tackingess forced him to look at the mess he’d made re-opening wounds. Was Angus a mangled corpse inside? In stark daylight that conviction became a wispy, ephemeral thing.
The pile was simply a dilapidated testament to eras long passed. If it had been in the city, the stone would carry the layered residue of years of graffiti and not a single window would remain whole. Decay may have been less flamboyant in this lonely village, but ruin and neglect wrought their spell nonetheless. It was just a house. Except, the glass panes shone pristine, as if newly polished, not coated by abandonment for almost ten years. He blinked in the glare and ignored his fertile, over-stimulated imagination. Jace repeated the mantra. It. Was. Just. A. House.
Finally, he sucked a breath and braved the porch across a weed infested turning-circle. Moss burst several downpipes overhead and the stone beneath his boots was slimed in black fungus and lichen, giving way to a veranda of beams eaten by woodrot. The atmosphere reeked of mildew and ever-damp loam.
Jace cautiously trod unreliable boards. If setting foot on the house supposedly triggered ghostly vengeance, he was pleasantly disappointed. The only signs of life were muddied imprints of his soles. He squatted to examine the area in front of the door. Not a scrap of skin, fluid or tissue marred the entrance. It had all seemed so real. Maybe Reagan was right and those pills were dangerous. As soon as he made town, he’d call Angus, nail down his location.
Turning focus to the huge double doors, Jace supressed a shiver. The knockers were ornately rendered eagle heads, razored beaks clasping serpents in the act of swallowing their tails. Visitors were forced to fondle nasty-looking snakes to announce themselves.
“Nice,” he muttered. “Very welcoming.”
Jace stepped closer. His arm extended in readyness to check the knobs were locked. He fought reluctance. What if it was open? Would he break his promise so easily and enter to quench curiousity? He didn’t know Laini and didn’t owe her honesty. On reflection, his commitment to a stranger seemed out of proportion. It was just a house.
And what if the cameo truly existed? There for the first taker? This was no bank vault requiring a gun and balaclava. He didn’t need to mug a little old lady with a purse stuffed for the grandkids. He’d keep enough to deal with student fees and give the rest to the twins, appeasing his new-found guilt and burgeoning expenses in one simple deed. A distasteful notion popped to the fore. Could it be he was merely an opportunistic thief like his brothers? Another blameworthy victim of the Bateman family curse seeking an easy way out.
Laini’s wide earnest eyes plagued the deliberation. Damn it! She was nothing to him. His fingers stretched defiantly. A breeze whispered his hair, carrying with it the mournful resonance of a cello. Jace swivelled to check the impenetrable forest. Someone messed with him good and proper.
“Who’s there?” he shouted. “Angus, so help me. If that’s you, you’re fired!”
But how could he know about the cello? Jace opted for a hasty exit. It was the wind in the trees, he rationalised. Laini’s tune from the party stuck in his head. A fractured figment of his mind on loop. He refused to acknowledge the inexplicable familiarity with either. Nor that she’d managed, with exquisite timing, to prevent a foray inside Grey Manor without ever leaving her sick bed.
***
Chapter Seven
Jace killed the ignition of his dirt bike out the front of Elwood’s. Worry for Angus ticked him off; the inconsiderate wank whose mobile went to voicemail every time he’d hit redial. There’d be fifteen increasingly cranky messages queued on picking up. Jace was even less impressed to discover the store’s closed sign, which made no sense on a Monday.
He strode the terrace and thumped the door, hoping Noel’s bell tinkled in unison to the trembling frame. Jace was over six feet and well muscled from his time labouring. Silence greeted the effort. Noel’s viewpoint on his next act wasn’t difficult to guage, but Jace refused to leave without answers. He proceeded to the open end of the veranda and vaulted over the rail, landing in a slim space hemmed in by thick shrubbery. Murmured voices pulled him up short. Jace squinted and gingerly pushed through foliage. The angle of his viewpoint seemed strangely elevated. A melody jumped to awareness. Played on a cello and eerily familiar.
Abruptly, they were there. Right in front of him, impossilby highlighted in a green filter of early afternoon. Jace scrubbed his forehead and blinked against disequilibrium. He placed a bandaged hand on the side of the house to steady rubbery legs. Sienna sighed and arched her neck. Blake pleaded softly at her earlobe, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of her top.
“No. We can’t.” She clasped his hand, clearly fighting desire.
He groaned unahappily. “The old shrew won’t notice I’m missing. She naps after lunch. Doesn’t rise until three p.m.” Three p.m. It seemed significant, but Jace couldn’t for the life of him work out why.
“I don’t care about her. Grandad knows who you are, Blake. If he catches me, it’s back to Juvey. I can’t disappoint him like that. He’s been so good to Laini and me.”
“Okay, my love.” He leaned back and brushed a stray black strand from her cheek. “You are so exquisite.” He took a small box from his pocket.
She frowned. “Is the money really worth it, Blake? Leave her and we can be together without all this sneaking.”
“We can be together when she karks it.” Was it three p.m when the fog rolled in?
Sienna barked a bitter laugh. “Lady Grey will outlive us all. If you love me so much, why not just divorce her?”
He paused, flipping the lid and extracting a choker with an unusual diamond and black opal pendant. “How many rich artists do you know? We’re talented, Sen. We deserve an audience and you deserve nice things.” Yes. At three p.m yesterday afternoon, the fog rolled in.
“There’s something about her, Blake. Rumour has it she poisoned the Major for his fortune. Don’t get on her bad side, please.” She rose on tippytoes to stroke his face, stress crumpling her pretty features. He secured the necklace, hands lingering on her bare skin.
She shivered at his touch, then lifted the diamond. “It’s gorgeous.”
“See! Nice things.” Blake’s face was smug in profile, but it didn’t last long. Sienna reached around to remove the gift.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“The Major was a fat old bastard! A heart attack waiting to happen,” he said desperately.
“I think we underestimate her at our peril.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” he scoffed.
“I want a man for my own, Blake. Not someone who pretends to barely know me if we meet on the street! I’m done. If we were to get caught, the dishonesty would crush Noel. And we will get caught, eventually.”
“Okay, okay!” He gripped her palm and kissed the flesh there, lips murmuring up her wrist as he spoke. “I’ll get rid of her. I promise. Then it’s just you and me, Sienna. Please, keep the necklace.”
“Until otherwise, I can’t see you anymore.” A car stuttered through the garden. “They’re home. You have to go!”
He wrapped her in a tight embrace for a slow, passionate kiss, before slipping into the trees. Sienna stood breathless, fingertips tracing the memory of his mouth, a tear trickling her cheek. Then she too, vanished.
It was too late. The affair had been noted. Jace recognised in the present, he’d glimpsed history from Laini’s aspect, gaining the ill-deserved reward of a little spy. Sienna wasn’t the only one sneaking around.
***
Chapter Eight
He stalled on the fringes, undecided. Flee this toxic haunted town and never return or follow events to their inevitable conclusion? He had a very bad feeling staying would not end well. Perhaps he’d finally lost it: all the pressure and woeful family history doing his head in. It all sounded genuinely idiotic.
But he just couldn’t let it lie. What happened here, where phantasms roamed in broad sunshine, went beyond the mortal. He bet his life witching hour at the Manor occurred when Lady Grey stirred from slumber. Jace checked his watch. Ten. He still had plenty of time. At least a stint in the nut farm might relieve him of responsibility for the twins. Until then, preventing his brothers entering that house topped the list.
Shame spiked on recalling he’d almost done so himself. They’d be distracted now, hacking and mowing. He shoved branches from his path, rounding the back corner of Laini’s home, resolved to gain insight whatever the cost. The length of the building formed a long glassed-in conservatory, which offered an outlook across lawn bordered by lush firs. Three stairs lead up to the back entrance protected by a security grill he’d never breach without permission. The squeal of a lorikeet made him jump.
Withholding a curse, Jace knocked. A small stooped woman with tight grey curls and a keen bird-like manner blocked access. She wore a uniform of some description.
“May I help you?”
“I’d like to visit Laini. Please. We met yesterday.” He should have picked the patient some wildflowers to replace the dying ones.
“Oh!” she clapped her hands together. “How wonderful! A visitor for our special girl. Do come in.” She rattled keys and made a show of granting ingress. Her voice dropped conspirationally, “Just talk to her like you would normally.”
“Err,” Jace frowned as she herded him in. Her words were a cypher that made him uneasy. And before he could stop her, she called, “Noel. Noel! Laini has company. A lovely young man.”
Noel materialised, sharing buttered scone with a custard-coloured parrot on his shoulder. Even from across the room Jace could see he’d aged overnight, jowls sagged and unshaven, grey hollows beneath his eyes.
“What are you going on about, woman?” He sighted Jace, dropping the cake and moving so rapidly the bird took flight with an indignant shriek. “YOU!”
A fist shot out, colliding to split Jace’s lip. He spun, cognitive gears unable to connect the hostility with a motive, confusion making his reactions sluggish and doubly hampered by bandaged hands. Noel was far shorter than Jace, but nuggety and possessive of an iron grip that ringed his throat. He scrambled to prise throttling fingers apart. The brawling pair stumbled over a lounge chair, coming up hard against a window frame. Jace endeavoured to detangle himself without hurting his attacker.
“I oughta’ kill you!” Spittle flew from the old guy’s mouth. He sure was a tenacious bastard, clinging obstinately.
“Noel!” The woman cried. “What’s gotten into you? Silly old goat!” She flailed around at his rear. “Let the boy be! No-one’s to blame.”
“Blame for what?” Jace rasped. He finally got hold of Noel and wrenched him off, holding him at arm’s length by his bunched shirt. “I do not want to hurt you. For the record, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“See, you fool!”
Noel deflated, saying half-heartedly, “Shut up, Myra. Of course he’d deny it. Boys like him always do.”
“I’ll do no such thing. What a way to treat a guest! And look at his hands. The poor lad’s already an invalid,” she huffed. “Behave!” She waved a gnarled finger at Noel. “Come along with me... I’m Myra, Laini’s nurse.”
“I’m Jace.”
“He’s not to go near her!” Noel slumped into an armchair, grumbling, “I warned he was trouble. Another hotshot to turn life inside out.”
Jace knew precisely who the first hotshot was, but the puzzle pieces didn’t yet quite fit. Myra tutted and dragged him in her wake towards the furthest corner of the large space. It was characterised by ancient floral carpet, a winged settee of beige suede with lace doillies for headrests crowding a TV. She guided him around a screen that partitioned one length. For the second time, Jace halted as if hitting a wall.
“Oh no,” he breathed. “What happened to her?”
Laini stretched comatose on a high bed, white sheets tucked across her waist, arms resting atop. Her curls fanned the pillow, face relaxed and free of disfigurement.
“Took a fit last night,” Myra sniffed briskly, straightening bed-linen without cause. “Been out ever since.”
“She’s so,” Jace wanted to say beautiful, but didn’t think Noel could cope. “Peaceful.”
“Stress does that,” he said from behind. “You show up and next thing...”
“Rubbish!” Myra hooked an arm in Noel’s and tugged. “Don’t mind him, Jace. He’s just over-protective of his sixteen-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter.”
Sixteen? Jace gaped. “She’s so young-looking.”
“Been frozen in her body for seven years.” Seven years! A perfect coincidence. Too perfect. What went on here? “Seen all the specialists. Can’t find the problem. I think it was the trauma of losing her sister. Laini’s heart-broken.”
“Aren’t we all,” Myra sighed.
“Losing?” Jace turned to face the elderly pair, hovering at the end of the screen.
Noel glared back. “Missing seven years now.”
Myra cleared her throat uncomfortably and yanked harder. “He doesn’t need to hear the conspiracies, Noel. It’s not good to obsess. Serves no purpose. Let’s go have a nice cup of tea.”
Jace definitely needed to hear those conspiracies, but not as much as he wanted a moment alone with Laini. Not that she could tell him anything. He didn’t quite understand the impulse. Myra patted Noel’s arm and hustled him away. Jace pulled up a chair, chewing his lip and wondering if touching her breached protocol. He peeled the bandage and hesitantly took her fragile hand in his.
“Hello, Laini,” he murmured, lugging the chair as near as he could. “Tell me what you know. I can’t help otherwise. Tell me, please.” She was so warm. He gently squeezed her fingers. “Laini.”
“Find her.”
Had she spoken? Her eyes snapped open and she seized his wrist. “It’s too late. They’re inside! She’ll wake soon. Intruders never escape.”
“Wha --” Her body quivered violently, free hand clawing at her throat. Find Sienna? She threw her head back, tendons bulging, neck contorted. Jace leaped up and battled to keep her on the bed as she spasmed and writhed. He lay his chest across hers, pulling her nails from her cheeks. It looked to him like a war raged within, another entity fighting to steal control. Or maybe an engorged boa tightening coils about prey. Her teeth ground together and blood smeared her lips.
“Hold on, Laini! Noel!” he yelled. “Myra!”
With a brutal shudder, Laini went still. He looked down and found her gazing intently at him, calm and lucid. “You must go now.” Their faces almost touched, so close her breath ruffled his hair and he experienced the odd urge to kiss her. Laini touched his cut lip, an eerie mirror of her own. “Burn Grey Manor to the ground. Hurry!”
And then her fingers slid away and her eyes fluttered shut. Noel raced to the bedside, heaving Jace from his beloved granddaughter. He could only imagine how bad it appeared.
“What are you doing?” Noel shouted. “Get the hell away from her!” He bent low. “Laini? Laini!” He bawled, “What have you done? Get out! Get out of my house!”
Myra trundled in, toting a doctor’s bag. She barged Jace, giving him an icy scowl. “You’d better leave.”
He really didn’t need a second invitation, running from this surreal prison. There was a job to do and he was the only one left to do it.
***
Chapter Nine
Jace bled the engine of every drop of power, tearing through quiet country lanes, by a ponderous tractor, whose driver bellowed suprise, impatiently parting a tide of milkers returning to pasture with a hail of further abuse. It still wasn’t enough. Panic consumed him. Could Laini be right? Were the twins at this moment inside Grey Manor?
Noel’s howl of pain and loss rattled his mind. He couldn’t bear to think of Laini dead. At least she’d suffer no more. And wasn’t that the mystery: why did she suffer? There seemed no reliable medical explanation. The magnetism she exerted both surprised and appalled. Had he truly wanted to kiss an invalid?
The driveway to Grey Manor materialised at the end of a pitted dirt cul-de-sac, the merest suggestion of parting greenery. He opened the throttle until the motor screamed, airborne on the cusp of gravel. Riding unknown, rugged terrain flat-out, minus a helmet, leathers and wearing only his daggy mowing Volleys was the epitome of dumb. What for? Some half-baked intuition, encouraged by a damaged girl and her crack-pot granddad. He’d arrive maimed to find Reagan and Reece lounging on deck chairs, waiting for him to do all the work. They’d buy him a straight jacket.
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