A Fall of Silver (39 page)

“Kethan Hilliard. How did he explain it?”

He didn’t, but she’d seen the look in his eyes. He’d recognized the vampire before her head imploded. “It turned to ash too quickly,” she said, inventing excuses. “Neither of us knew what to think.”

“Oh, kiddo.” Her father shook his head. “You don’t believe that, do you? He knew.
They were lovers. He just didn’t want to tell you. Let us in; let us help you.”

Was it true
?
Quicksilver felt ill, the heavy beat of her heart like a fist pounding the walls of her chest as she struggled with fresh doubts. While she didn’t trust her parents, there was something about their words that rang true. She’d seen Kethan’s expression. He’d known that vampire.

Exactly what had he been planning before her parents killed his
lover and threw her head through the bathroom window?

T
he pressure in her skull increased, threatening to rupture her mind. She rubbed the knot at the nape of her neck. “All right! All right! Come in, just be quiet.”

“
This is all such a shock; you must be terrified. How does a nice, warm cup of tea sound?”

Her parents brushed past
her as she stood clutching the cold brass doorknob with shaky fingers. Her vision blurred under an influx of tears as she desperately tried to regain her strength and sense of who she was.

“Fine. Whatever
.” The tempo of pain abated slightly.

“
We haven’t seen you in so long. We miss our little girl, kiddo,” her father said. “Come on, let’s have a cup of tea and sit down. Talk.”

“Just
—just go in there. Sit.” Quicksilver massaged her temple. “Who was…that woman? That vampire?”

“
Vampire? Don’t be silly. Come on.” Her mother sat and patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Sit here by me. You look terrible.”

Quicksilver
stared at their smiling faces and felt icy with panic. What had she done? How could she let them in? She didn’t even remember saying the words.

“
Just stay away from me!” Quicksilver slammed the front door, shutting out the cold night air and shutting her in with her parents.

Her pulse
hummed wildly. Her rage flared.

Kill them!

I can’t,
a little-girl’s voice cried inside her.
I can’t do it.

“Come on, kiddo. Sit next to
Mom. Let us explain.”

“No!”
She stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom.

She
made it to the commode before she was violently ill. The thought of killing her parents, seeing them vanish in a shower of ash and smoke, made her retch. She clung to the cold porcelain as she rocked back and forth. Her skin flushed in hot, prickly waves, each one more intense and leaving behind a cold rush of sweaty nausea.

C
ontrol yourself! You’ve got to find out about that head and about Kethan.

But h
er parents were the very creatures she most feared. A laugh teetered on the edge of hysteria.

She
was a psychiatrist’s dream come true.

She really did hate her parents.

Standing on shaky legs, she rinsed her mouth with mouthwash while casting furtive glances at the door. The whips were upstairs. She was defenseless, and she’d stupidly invited her parents into Kethan’s townhouse. His house was no longer a safe haven for him or her. She took a deep breath, willing herself to regain the strength deep inside her. She’d survived before, and she could do it again.

“Allison
?” her father’s voice called. He knocked on the door.

Panicked
, she opened the bathroom window. She crawled onto the narrow sill. A cool breeze blew over her and fluttered through her hair and thin shirt.

S
he eased over to the edge and let her legs dangle. She despised herself for sneaking out like some disobedient teenager, but she couldn’t stay in there—with them. In the silence, she heard the creak of the door as her father opened it. She jumped to the ground, rolling over the damp grass. Springing to her feet, she gazed up at the bathroom window. The dark outline of her father’s head was silhouetted against the light.

“Allison!” he called.

She spun on her toes. Which way?

Across th
e street, the church stood like a silent, gothic sanctuary. She sprinted across the road, vulnerable and brightly lit by the streetlights. She could almost feel her parents heading for the door, following her, hunting her.

“Allison
!” her mother called. “Come back!”

She
ran faster, leaping up the steps and slamming into the heavy, carved door with her shoulder. Behind her, she saw the front door to Kethan’s house open. Two pale shapes streamed out, flowing with unnatural grace.

She twisted the doorknob and sl
ipped inside, shutting the thick door behind her. She stared around, her breath coming in shallow spurts as she leaned against the door.

T
he church was dark, filled with shadows redolent with the rich scents of candle wax and smoky incense. Lights from small candles glowed from a tiered table set against the wall nearby. At the opposite end of the church stood the altar, covered with a heavily embellished cloth that glinted with gold. In an alcove by the door, a blue-robed Madonna stood on a pedestal. Some lost soul had laid a pink rose and a small candle at the base and the forlorn offerings nestled like mute orphans at her bare feet.

The place seemed forei
gn to her. The sense of sanctuary slowly faded as if the slender statue of Mary was sadly and quietly telling her she didn’t belong there, no one couldn’t help her. Nonetheless, Quicksilver moved down the aisle, her gaze moving from shadow to shadow.

There were statues everywhere, imbued with artificial
, restless life as candles wavered in drafts slipping in from under doors and swirling around the columns. The stone and plaster figures moved when she wasn’t looking directly at them, their eyes following her. Even the long rows of wooden pews appeared menacing, their depths filled with blackness. Anything could be lurking in the dark corners, watching her.

“Hello?” she called
.

A noise
scraped near the door. She spun, clutching the back of the nearest pew. Nothing.

“Hello?
May I help you?” a voice asked.

She jumped. A
man in a plain white shirt and black slacks stood just a few feet away.

“I’m looking for someone
.” She swallowed. “Kethan Hilliard.”

“Father Hilliard
?”

“No—I mean—h
e used to be Father Hilliard. He left the church.”

“Ah, yes.
I apologize. I’d forgotten he left.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Perhaps I can help you?”

“I—no.
I don’t think so. Did you know him? Or Father Donatello?”

“Yes, I work with
Father Donatello occasionally, but I never met Father, that is, Mr. Hilliard.”

“Have you see
n him tonight? Father Donatello?”

“No.
May I ask what this is about?” His long face assumed a pious expression. “Are you in trouble?”

If only.
She laughed, the sound raw in her throat. “Not me, no. I’ve been doing some…work with them, that’s all. You don’t know where they are, do you?”

“
No. However, if you’d like to stay or pray? Or if you wish to talk?” His voice drifted upward into a mild question as he gestured toward the bench on her right.

His hesitancy annoyed her
, as if he were afraid to probe too deeply. A direct question wasn’t going to frightened her away. She had other things to worry about.

“What time is it?”
she asked.

“Near midnight
, I should think. I arose to pray. If you’d care to join me?”

“Is there someone
else here who knows Kethan? Knows about his work with the church? Or where he is?”

Th
e priest’s pious expression gave way to aggravation. She prayed it meant he was finally going to give her information he didn’t want to divulge.

“The Cardinal is here
,” he said. “However, he’s preparing to leave for the day.”

“Can I speak to him?
Just for a few minutes?”

“I—”

“Please? It’s important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“F
ollow me,” he replied ungraciously. He walked away, his fingers tapping the edge of each pew as he progressed toward the apse. When he reached the crossing in front of the chancel, he turned right toward a shadowy hallway.

A few yards further along, he motioned for
her to stop. “Let me speak with him. He may be too busy to see you.”

“Tell him it’s important.”

His mouth pulled down to the left as if he suspected that her idea of important might not agree with his; however, he didn’t refuse.

When
he finally allowed her inside the Cardinal’s sanctum, she was more than a little disappointed. The short, plumpish man had gray hair and instead of his traditional robes, he wore a plain, dark suit. Except for the lack of a necktie, he looked like a bank clerk getting ready for work.

“Please, sit down
. Miss?”

“Miss Bankes
. I’m sorry to intrude—”

He waved aside
her words. “Please, sit. Father Morris indicated you wished to discuss an important matter with me.”

“Yes.”
She hovered for a few seconds near the straight-backed chair across from him. A low table containing a bible, a few religious tracts, and magazines separated the two chairs. It all looked so mundane. “It’s about Kethan Hilliard.”

The Cardinal stiffen
ed, his hazel eyes growing muddy. “Mr. Hilliard is no longer associated with this institution.”

“I know
. That is, I know he left the Church. But he’s a contractor, right? He’s conducting negotiations for you?”

“
No. He’s independent of this institution.”

“What do you mean? He was working with Father Donatello—I thought they were working together.
”

“It was a
complex arrangement and one that doesn’t concern you. Is there anything else you wish to know, Miss Bankes?” the Cardinal asked, clearly deciding that the Church’s affairs were no business of hers.

“I’m looking for Mr. Hilliard, and
I need to know what’s going on. Surely you must have some idea?”

“It
would be inappropriate for me to discuss Mr. Hilliard or his activities with you.” He smiled, although there was no amusement in his cold eyes. “I apologize but I’m sure you understand.”

“You
can’t just cut him off just because things weren’t going well—I mean, I was at one of the negotiations. It wasn’t his fault that they went to shi—that is—that they hit a rough patch.”

“
Well, that hardly changes our present circumstances.”

“
What happened to Father Donatello wasn’t Kethan’s fault! Blame me if you need a scapegoat. You can’t blame Kethan. He got Father Donatello released.”

“
Father Donatello was not missing.”

“He was
.”

He rose.
“I sympathize with your desire to find Mr. Hilliard, however this is unproductive. There’s nothing more to say.”

“
Then can I talk to Father Donatello?”

“
That would be inappropriate. Let me assure you, there’s no reason for your concern.”

“Please? Just let me talk to
see Father Donatello, to see that he’s okay.”

“Miss Bankes, I assure you he’
s quite well—”

“Please!
I won’t stay long.”

“Very well.”
He circled around his desk and picked up the phone, speaking briefly into the handset. “Father Morris will escort you to the rectory.”

“Thank you
.” She bit her tongue to prevent more questions from tumbling out.

From her perspective, t
he Cardinal was the most arrogant fool in existence. He’d cut Kethan loose without bothering to find out what had happened. She wanted to scream that she was the one who caused all the trouble, not Kethan, but the quiet confines of the incense-scented room made her hesitate. It occurred to her that the Cardinal might be one of those who refused to believe that evil, or vampires, existed.

Father Morris
must have been nearby listening, because he opened the door before the silence in the small study became uncomfortable. Motioning for her to join him, he stepped aside so she could walk ahead of him into the hallway.