A Grave Inheritance (38 page)

The alley opened into what appeared to be a large square. Tall wooden buildings bordered the space on all sides with a handful of lanes leading back into the maze from which I had just emerged. Deri had ceased singing the dreadful verses. The soggy patter of her footsteps had also stopped. The tenements were deathly still other than the repetitive drip of rainwater that rolled from the roofs and gutters.

Holding the lantern straight out, I slowed my gait to a cautious pace. A stone well came into view, the foundation circled by tufts of grass and weeds. Thick brown rope trailed down from a rickety windlass to the slated bucket that sat upright on the rough stone ledge. A shadow shifted from behind the well, moved toward me with an eerie lightness of step. The air turned frigid, and my skin prickled with cold.

Deri stopped just out of reach. The threadbare shawl had slipped from one shoulder, and the loose end trailed in the mud behind her. “There yeh be Biddie girl,” she chirruped. “Did yeh like our skip along? Poor Deri had to creep like a tortoise for yeh to keep up.”

Poor Deri was a cold-blooded killer, and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to wrap the shawl around her scrawny neck till the pale skin turned dark as a plum. And I may have regardless of the inevitable burns if the girl weren’t so quick on her feet, and almost sure to escape.

“Can’t recall when I’ve had a pleasanter time,” I said, matching her tone in an attempt to buy more time. “Do you often skip through the rookeries? Or is tonight a special occasion?”

She shrugged and twisted a toe in the mud. “The folks in here is weak from need, and little Deri likes to play with the children.”

“Like you played with Jenny?”

A malignant grin curled on her mouth. “Aye, she be the most fun of all.”

Hatred twisted in my gut. So far as I cared, every last layer of skin could burn from my hands if it meant ridding the world of this devil. Leaning a bit closer, I waited for the opportunity to pounce. “You’ve a powerful gift. Why not go after the healthy and strong? Surely they would offer more sport for someone like you.”

“Oh, I’ve longed to get yeh, Biddie girl, to muddle yehr brain or give yeh the plague.” She made to snatch at me, only to withdraw her hand at the last moment. “But yeh know the rules—yeh get what yeh give between us. Ain’t no sense plucking a hair from yehr pretty head if it means losing one of me own.”

I moved back with a jerk.
You get what you give...
The meaning struck hard—to stop her heart would have stopped mine.
Merciful heavens!
A few more seconds and we both would have been dead.

Frustrated by this new barrier, I opted to stall for time. “Why are we here, Deri? You’ve obviously gone to a great deal of effort to get me alone.”

She twisted her toe deeper into the mud. “Mam needs something, and sent me to fetch it.”

“Why not come herself if it’s so important?”

Her face tightened to a pout. “Didn’t say it were important.” One hand remained at chest level, and the fingers moved with nervous agitation. “‘Em hounds want yeh, too, Biddie girl,” she said, almost wistfully. “For all Mam knows, yeh could be dead already. No one can blame little Deri then—”

“What does your mam want from me?” I interrupted.

The lantern light glinted from her pale blue eyes. “King Bres locked her under the trees but she’s ready to come out now, and I’m to bring the key.”

“And you think I have it?” The girl was crazy as a loon. I had no key and King Bres hadn’t locked anyone up since his reign ended over three thousand years ago.

Deri gave a burst of laughter. “Not in yehr pocket. This key—” Henry’s voice came from the alleyway, drawing her gaze over my shoulder. “This key be carried deep in the heart.” She flexed her fingers and gazed at me longingly. “Oh, how I wish to kill yeh. Me fingers itch for it.”

My face turned to stone. “You’ve no idea.”

A chill ran straight to my hairline. The night air turned to ice and I shivered as a low growl passed over me. A hound stepped into the light, and brushed up against the girl’s side. “Maybe I can’t kill yeh, Biddie girl,” she said, gently stroking the sleek white fur. “But he can. And he shan’t tell Mam I’ve been naughty.” She patted the hound’s head one last time before turning to skip away, accompanied by the lines of a new verse. “Little Biddie girl, no bigger than a squirrel. He tore her apart, and ate out her heart...”

The hound lifted its muzzle and sniffed the air. I dropped to a crouch to keep him from lunging, and waited for the first opportunity to strike. Footsteps pounded across the muddy ground behind me. The hound moved closer, a low growl vibrating in its throat. Teeth snapped in hungry anticipation, and a puff of foul breath froze my cheeks. We were almost nose-to-nose when I slammed a hand into the white fur, sending an inferno straight to its heart.

A sword flashed overhead just as the beast dropped to the ground. The metal blade sliced the air in front of my face, coming to a sudden stop mere inches from the thick white neck. I looked up to find Henry towering above me, breath ragged and a warrior’s lust blazing in his eyes.

With grim satisfaction, I nudged the blade away. “This one was mine.”

A flood of emotion crossed his face.
Surprise...anger...fear...pride...
Sheathing the sword, he pulled me to my feet, and together we watched the hound vanish beneath a blanket of blue flames.

Chapter Eighteen

Madness and Mayhem

Cate didn’t return home until late afternoon. She came directly into the drawing room looking tired and more worried than I had seen her since arriving in London almost two weeks before. Tom had accompanied her to the rookery, and the stress showed equally on his face. Cate sank into the corner of the sofa opposite Henry and me and stared into the fire.

“Did you find him?” Henry asked, jumping straight to the point. His arm rested protectively along the back of the sofa behind me. I leaned into his side, my hand on his knee, and a raging curiosity that begged for answers.

Tom sighed and sat beside Cate. “We found him all right, for all the good it did.”

My expectations fizzled, though what expectations I couldn’t rightly say. Had I hoped Deri incapable of besting Cate’s abilities? Or, that once healed, the man would simply walk away from Jenny’s murder? The child had died at his hands, and culpable or not, they were stained with her blood so far as the crown was concerned.

“Sorry for the wild goose chase,” I said. “Deri’s power must be stronger than any of us suspected. I couldn’t even touch the man without being pulled into the private hell she had created.”

Cate looked at me for the first time since entering the room. “I did heal him. The man was perfectly restored before Tom and I left his lodging.”

I frowned in confusion. “But Tom said it didn’t do any good.”

Henry ducked his head down to press a kiss into my hair. “I presume he spoke of the inevitable death sentence for murder.”

“Too late for that now,” Tom said. “Once his mind was set to right, Cate and I went to speak with some of the other tenants about Cailleach’s wretch and what they may have seen last night.” He gave a derisive snort. “Damn pack of fools. Not a one would own up to ever seeing the girl or even being awake during Henry’s encounter with the hounds, as though just acknowledging their presence would bring bad luck. We had given up on getting any information from a woman who lived across the lane when the next thing we know, the man’s thrown himself out of an upper story window, tied to a short rope.” The blacksmith snapped his fingers, making me jump. “The fall nearly ripped his head clear off.”

“Good gracious!” I cried. “Why would he do that?”

Cate didn’t hesitate to explain. “Because the poor man couldn’t bear to live a moment longer after what happened to his niece.” Bitterness underscored her otherwise calm voice. “Deri may have split his mind in two, but she did nothing to suppress the memories or the subsequent guilt. Under the circumstances, no one can fault him for acting so rashly. I, on the other hand, carry the lion’s share of blame.”

“He murdered a child,” Henry reminded her. “Like it or not, he was a dead man before you stepped foot in the room.”

Cate released an exasperated breath. “His hanging today isn’t what troubles me. It’s that I could have saved them both months ago if I’d only bothered to look inside his head just once during the many visits I made to Jenny. But it never occurred to me that a man who by all accounts had been a loving uncle could have been turned mad by a twelve year old girl.” She sniffed in an unusual display of emotion. “You would think that after 1500 years, I’d have learned enough to not be so easily fooled. Instead, I allowed myself to be blinded by hatred and refused even an ounce of compassion to the one who needed it the most.” Her voice broke on the last words, and she clamped her mouth tight to keep from crying.

Tom took her hand in his and pressed it gently. “You can’t blame yourself, Caitria. Cailleach’s descendants don’t have the power to cause that sort of madness. The girl must be carrying more than the old hag’s blood.” He looked at me. “Did she give any hints of her parentage?”

“All stuff and nonsense,” I snorted. “She’s under the delusion that King Bres has locked her mother away beneath the trees, and that she has been sent to fetch the key from me.” I gave a small laugh. “That girl’s completely insane. You should have heard how she referred to herself with ‘little Deri’ this and ‘poor Deri’ that. Whatever madness she caused must have leaked from her own brain.” I started to laugh again, when I saw the look exchanged between Cate and Tom.

Henry stirred beside me. “Is there another Bres besides your first sire?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I said nervously. Only one Irish king had gone by that name, and he had married Brigid more than three thousand years ago.

Cate and Tom continued to look at each other. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Cate said at last. “That story is just a myth.”

Tom let out a slow breath. “According to most folks the Tuatha Dé never existed, which would make us myths as well. Could be there’s some truth in it after all.”

“Then Carman would be dead,” Cate persisted. “And incapable of sending a young girl to fetch a key. I tell you, Tom, no matter how you look at it, the chit’s story doesn’t line up. She must be insane like Selah said.”

“Think about it, Cate, the girl goes by Deri. Does that remind you of anything?”

Cate thought for a moment, her mouth moving silently over the word. Her eyes grew suddenly round. “It can’t be!”

Tom nodded. “An English nickname for our Gaelic
Adare.
”

“Áth Dara,” Cate said, breaking the name apart as I had done days ago with Chubais. “Ford of the Oak.”

“Aye, if her name be true, the girl came from the oak grove.”

I hung on every word, hearing everything, but understanding nothing. My grip tightened on Henry’s knee.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could share the story. Then we can decide together what is real or not.”

This drew them from their private conversation. “Forgive us,” Cate said. “It seems so absurd, I can hardly believe it to be true. Carman is thought to have lived during the time of King Bres. Some say she was a goddess of black magic, others that she was a powerful witch from Athens who invaded Ireland with her three sons.”

These last words brought a curt, mirthless laugh from Tom. “Her progeny were named Dub, Dother and Dian.”

“Darkness, Evil and Violence?” I asked, translating the Gaelic names.

“That’s right,” Tom said. “And together, the lovely family laid waste to Ireland. How I’ve heard the story told, they were a force to be reckoned with. It took four Tuatha Dé to put an end to their mayhem. The sons were eventually banished from Ireland, and Carman died of a broken heart. Our sire, King Bres is rumored to have buried her in Wexford among the oak trees. If the girl Deri has the slightest grasp on reality, Carman may not just have been real—”

“She may still be alive,” Cate interrupted, a little breathless. “Which means instead of being buried, she was actually imprisoned by Bres. But there’s no record of a daughter.”

“Assuming Deri is correct about this part of her history,” Tom said, “it stands to reason that one of Cailleach’s sons found Carman.”

“Why not release her then?” I asked. “If the man found his way in, surely he knew how to get out.”

Tom tapped a finger on his thigh in thought. “The man and their child perhaps, but not necessarily Carman. Since Bres created the prison, it might take his blood to open it for her.”

“Selah,” Cate said, grabbing my attention. “You mentioned a key. Did Deri give any more clues about what this could be?”

I bit my lip, trying to remember Deri’s exact words, how she had mocked me when I assumed it was an actual key. “Not so much, just that it was found deep in the heart. I thought she meant my heart at the time, but then she skipped off none too worried that the hound had come to kill me.”

Cate studied me intently. “Did she say or do anything else?”

With all eyes upon me, I examined the memory once more. The girl had laughed, then glanced over my shoulder in the direction of Henry’s voice before adding the cryptic part about the heart.
This key is found deep in the heart...

I inhaled sharply. “Good gracious! I think she meant Henry.”

Henry started at my side. “You can’t be serious. How could I be the key to a prison set up by your first sire?”

Cate’s gaze never wavered. “Are you sure about this, Selah?”

I thought for a moment, then nodded. “It didn’t make sense at the time, but I’m positive she was speaking of Henry.” Who else was so deep in my heart?

Tom stared at Henry as though attempting to see straight inside his head. “The Fitzalans are an old English line. Any chance some Irish blood was mixed in along the way?”

“The duke told me that Henry’s great grandmother was Irish,” I interjected. “It’s a closely guarded secret. Henry didn’t even know until I told him last night.”

Cate and Tom exchanged a quick look. “How very interesting,” she said. “Did the duke happen to mention a surname?”