Books by Maggie Shayne (194 page)

Rachel.
 
She'd grown into the name.
 
A name as untamed and tempting as the woman she'd become.

She tilted her head to one side.
 
"He already knows," she ventured, studying me, watching my every reaction.

"How can you be sure?"
 
I asked her.
 
"Tell me, Rachel.
 
What is this legend that seems to make everyone here so I nervous?
 
Everyone... but you, that is."

She recovered quickly, regaining the bounce in her step | as she snatched two steins of ale from the bar, and brought them to the table.
 
One, she thumped to the table before me.
 
The other, she drank from deeply, before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and leaning back in the chair she'd taken.

Behind her the fire snapped and danced.
 
"Long ago Donovan O'Roark, a farmer's son loved by all, was walking home from the fields.
 
Alone, he walked, and well after dark, on the Eve of All Hallows."

I got a chill up my spine, and was reminded, briefly and vividly of my gram, and the way she'd spun her tales before the fire at night.
 
Tales I'd never believed in.

"But poor Donovan never made it home unscathed that night, for a creature attacked him."
 
She paused, looking around the room.
 
I did likewise, seeing the rapt attention on every face—though they'd likely all heard the tale a hundred times by now.
 
"A vampire," she said in a long, whispery breath.

I lifted my brows high, an attempt to show them my skepticism.
 
"A vampire," I repeated.

"Indeed.
 
The young man died that night, but he didn't stay dead long.
 
He rose from his casket at his own funeral!
 
No longer mortal, but a creature like the one who'd created him.
 
The villagers tried to kill him, but he was too strong, and he escaped into the night and vanished."

I lifted the mug to my mouth, pretending to sip the beer, and licking the taste of it from my lips when I set the glass down again.
 
"I still don't see what this has to do with the castle."

"Ah, so you're an impatient one, are you?"

I only shrugged and let her continue.

"Donovan wasn't seen again.
 
Not for a hundred years.
 
But everyone knew his tale.
 
Then, something happened.
 
The lord of that castle—" here she pointed in the castle's general direction, "—was a rich Italian man, some said a nobleman.
 
His name was Dante.
 
Now how do you suppose his castle ended up in the hands of the family O'Roark?"
 
I smiled and said nothing.
 
Rachel went on.
 
"No one had ever suspected Dante of anything evil.
 
He simply kept to himself, and that was the way the villagers liked it."

"He being an outsider, and all," I put in.

She gave me a curious glance.
 
"One night a young girl, who'd been hired to work sometimes at the castle, came running down from the cliffs, hysterical.
 
Screaming and crying, she was.
 
With blood runnin' down her neck in twin streams, and two tiny punctures in her pretty throat."

I didn't interrupt her, though the words near choked me trying to escape.
 
Dante had never harmed the girl.
 
He'd adored her, loved her to distraction, and in the end, done the one thing he'd warned me over and over never to do.

He'd trusted her.

Rachel sipped her beer.
 
"The girl said Dante was a monster who slept in a coffin by day, and fed on livin' blood by night.
 
He'd attacked her, tried to drain her dry, but she'd got away."

"Did anyone wonder," I asked, unable to keep still any longer, 'how a young thing like that could get away from a creature like him?"

She frowned at me.
 
"You want to hear the rest or not?"

I nodded.
 
She spoke.
 
"The girl said Dante wasn't alone up there.
 
She said he had another with him, and that companion was none other than Donovan O'Roark."

Around the room everyone nodded, muttering in agreement.

"The villagers discussed what needed to be done, while young Laura begged them to destroy the monsters.
 
Finally,
  
they agreed.
 
At just before dawn they marched to the castle armed with torches and oil, and they set the place alight."
 
When she said it, I thought she suppressed a shudder.

I remembered it all too well.
 
The flames, the sickening realization that the woman Dante had loved had betrayed him in the worst possible way.
 
His pained expression as he realized it, too.
 
I knew that pain so well, because I'd felt it when my own family, and the girl I'd loved, had done the same to me.

"The vampires were forced to flee, and when they did, the sun was already coming up.
 
And the castle has been owned by an O'Roark ever since."
 
She stopped.
 
I felt her hand on my arm.
 
"Mister O'Roark?"

I opened my eyes, just realizing I had squeezed them shut.
 

"Are you all right?"

"It... it's a frightening tale.
 
Gruesome."

"But just a tale, as I've been trying to tell these good people."

I nodded.
 
"Go on, finish it.
 
What became of the two victims?"

She tilted her head.
 
"Victims?"
 
Lowering her gaze, her voice softer, she said, "I never thought anyone else would see them that way.
 
But you're right, 'tis exactly what they were."
 
She met my eyes again, her voice more normal.
 
"At any rate, they ran off in separate directions, but smoke could be seen curling from their clothes as they went.
 
The villagers believed they both died, burned to cinders by the sun."
 
She shook her head, almost sadly.
 
"But not long after that, a crew of men arrived to begin working on the castle, and when they were questioned they would only say a man named O'Roark had hired them.
 
The villagers believed it was Donovan, back from the dead a second time.
 
They all said he'd return one day to seek vengeance on the people of Dunkinny for the murder of his friend."

She sighed deeply, and for a long moment no one spoke, still under the spell of her story.
 
But Rachel broke the silence a moment later.
 
"I'm sure most of the locals are speculating as to whether you be him.
 
Tell them your given name, O'Roark.
 
Ease their superstitious minds."

I smiled very gently, and laid money on the table to pay for my unfinished beer.
 
Then got to my feet and turned for the door.
 
"My given name," I said softly, "is Donovan."
 
And then I stepped into the night, away from all of them and the dread on their faces.

Someone was following me.

I slowed my pace slightly, keeping to the shadows, moving in utter silence.
 
My mind open, probing, tracking the curious fool.
 
Only one.
 
No threat to me.

I never should've done it; taunted them the way I did.
 
I knew better, and to this day I've no idea what possessed me to tell them my name, watch them go pale, and then walk away.
 
I'd frightened the fools, deliberately frightened them.
 
But it was no less than they deserved.
 
They'd built themselves up a hefty debt over the generations.
 
Turning on one of their own the way they'd turned on me so long ago.
 
Murdering Dante...

I paused along the roadside where the heather bloomed its last and its scent was heavy in the air, lowered my head as the pain swept over me along with the autumn wind.
 
They'd surrounded the castle, and brutally put their torches to our home, our sanctuary, forcing us to run for our lives.
 
But we'd only found the rising sun awaiting our desperate flight.
 
Its golden rays, so beautiful, so deadly.
 
I remember the searing, the blistering of my flesh, the horror that surged within me as I saw thin tendrils of smoke rising up from my own body.

I'd been the lucky one that cold morn.
 
By burrowing deep into a haystack in a field—a field I'd once worked at my father's side—I found shelter.
 
But for Dante...
 
I knew him to be dead.
 
For I never saw him again after that day, and I've no doubt he'd have contacted me somehow if he'd survived.

Lifting my head, I sent my senses out, realizing that in the flood of memories this place evoked, I'd lost track of my follower.

But the stalker had stopped as well, and stood now several yards away, just watching, and thinking herself protected by the darkness.
 
I almost smiled at her innocence, turned, and began walking again, wondering how far her courage would take her.

I'd left this place after the attack.
 
Traveled, saw the world, lived in so many places I barely remember them all.
 
But of people, of others like myself and mortals the same, I saw little.
 
I can list the name of every person I've ever had words with in the past two hundred years, and that's how few they've been.

Dante drilled it into me, again and again.
 
"Trust no one, Donovan.
 
No one.
 
And most especially, no mortal."

I could hear the sea in the distance now, and the road ran away from the farmers' fields and began to slope sharply upward, among rises too steep, and far too rocky, to be tilled.
 
She was still following.

So long as we'd lived by Dante's words, we'd been fine.
 
A lonely life, it was.
 
But safe, peaceful.
 
Satisfying in so many other ways.
 
The time we had, endless time—or so we believed then—to learn of music and art, to read and to write, to experience and to savor the things our mortal lifetimes would never have given us time to know.

But then Dante had fallen in love, and it had all ended.
 
He'd told the girl the truth, and it seemed to me she must have run all the way back to that ignorant mass of villagers, so eager was she to tell our secret and see us destroyed.

Dante had been right from the start.
 
Trust no one, and particularly, no mortal.

As I crested the hill, the wind blew in from the sea more fiercely, and I loved the feel of it.
 
My wind, my sea.
 
So familiar despite the bitterness I'd known here.
 
I sat down amid a small outcropping of boulders along the roadside... not because I was tired.

The castle towered before me, no sign of the fire that had nearly killed me a century ago.
 
Dante had willed the place to me, and I'd had it restored, or partially so.
 
I kept it up, always, ready for his return.
 
I'd long ago given up hope he'd ever come back... but somehow I couldn't let go of this place.

My good friend was gone, and I was alone in the world.
 
There was no room to doubt that.
 
And yet some foolish sentimental urge had drawn me back here to the very place where he'd been brutally murdered.
 
Back to this place, to the castle, to my ancestral home—to her.
 
I'd been drawn to see her again, to assure myself she was still safe and well.

She was nearly upon me now, the wind whipping her hair into wild chaos.
 
Her eyes narrowing as she squinted into the darkness, trying to see where I'd gone.
 
She thought she was stepping lightly, but I heard every footfall.
 
Not that it would have mattered.
 
She had a scent about her, one that was sharply different from the others—from any other mortal I'd encountered.
 
Dante had told me that some did, and he'd told me what it meant.

Among other things, vital things, it meant that I was forbidden to harm her.
 
By whose decree, I never knew.
 
Never asked.
 
Besides, I never was much for rules.
 
But I couldn't have harmed her if I'd tried.

She came closer.
 
Her long skirt snapped in the sea wind, whipping her ankles.
 
Her blouse... sinfully snug-fitting, and molding to her breasts as if trying to squeeze them.
 
She stood there a moment, so close I could feel her there.
 
And after a fruitless search for me, she lowered her head in defeat.
 
But still she remained, letting the wind buffet her body, and I do believe she was thoroughly enjoying its vicious embrace.
 
But then she turned to go.

I stood slowly, silently.
 
"Are you looking for someone?"

She sucked in a loud, violent gasp, spinning toward me, her hands flying to her chest as if to keep her heart from leaping out.
 
Then she paused, blinking at me in the darkness, drawing several open mouthed breaths.
 
"Lordy, you near scared the life out of me!"

I smiled then.
 
Her accent was no longer as pronounced as it used to be, and I knew that was because she'd been away for a time.
 
But it remained enchanting to me.
 
My own had faded until it was barely discernible anymore.

"I was beginning to think," I told her, "that nothing frightened you."

She gave a tilt of her head and a shrug.
 
"Well, it takes a good deal more than an old folktale and a stranger showin' up in the village, claimin' to be a ghost."

"I never claimed to be a ghost."

"You said you were Donovan O'Roark."

"Because I am."

She narrowed her emerald eyes on me.
 
She had witch's eyes, Rachel Sullivan did.
 
"Can you prove it?"

My gaze dipped to the pale, slender column of her throat, and impulsively, I put my fingers there and felt the blood churning beneath her skin.
 
"I could..."

 
Her eyes sparkled.
 
It was true, nothing frightened her.
 
She smiled at me, and it took my breath away.
 
"Going' to bite my neck, are you?" she asked.

"If I did, would you run screaming to the villagers, and return with a mob bent on doing me in?"

Tipping her head back, she laughed softly, a deep husky sound.
 
Her neck... so close, so smooth...

She brought her gaze level with mine, obviously amused.
 
"I'd be more likely to bite you back, Donovan O'Roark, and don't you forget it."

I could say nothing.
 
She robbed me of words, of the power of speech, of coherent thought, with that flippant reply.

"But the proof I had in mind," she went on, "was running more along the lines of paperwork.
 
A driver's license, you know, or something of that sort."

Swallowing hard, I retrieved my wallet from my back pocket, extracted my identification and showed it to her.
 
A man in my position did well to keep things such as these up-to-date, and there were many ways of doing so, none too complex.
 
She took it, her fingers brushing mine, perhaps deliberately.
 
She had to squint and finally pulled a cigarette lighter from her deep pocket and, turning her back to the wind, used it to see by.

Nodding sagely, she handed it back to me.
 
"So you really are a descendant—named for your most infamous ancestor, no less."
 
She bit her lower lip.
 
"Is this your first visit to Dunkinny, then?"

She asked it as if trying to hide the question's importance to her.
 
I thought it best not to answer.
 
"Why were you following me, Rachel—it is Rachel, isn't it?"

"Indeed, Rachel Sullivan, with a few notorious ancestors of my own."

The back of my neck prickled to life at the mention of her ancestors.
 
Treacherous women, women I'd known too well.

She went on.
 
"The Sullivan women are somewhat known for scandals.
 
Perhaps I ought to warn you of that right off.
 
'Twas one of my own who four generations ago screamed accusations against Lord Dante, and got him killed, or so the legends have it."

It was true, Laura Sullivan had been her name.
 
My throat went dry.

"An' they say another Sullivan woman was promised to marry Donovan O'Roark himself--the first one, that is.
 
But when he rose from his coffin, she cried for his blood."

"Yes," I said softly, hearing her shrill voice again in my mind, shouting,
"Kill it!
 
Kill it before it destroys us all!"
 
 
"Alicia," I muttered.

"Really?
 
I never heard her given name before."

I only shrugged.
 
"So have you come to pick up where your forebears left off, Rachel?
 
To destroy me?"

She slipped her arm through mine, and turned us toward the castle, walking slowly.
 
"You're a funny man, Donovan.
 
But you know as well as I those are only silly tales.
 
No truth to 'em, or at least, so little 'tis barely recognizable anymore.
 
No, I have a far different mission.
 
But I'll be needin' your help."

"My help?"
 
She had my curiosity piqued.
 
And yet I feared her.
 
It was too uncanny to be mere coincidence, and a shiver worked up my spine as I wondered if perhaps it was the destiny of the Sullivan women to destroy me—if they'd keep coming, generation after generation of them—until they saw the task completed.

And now I was thinking as foolishly and superstitiously as my people.

"Tell me of this mission, then.
 
What is it?"

She looked up at me and smiled, eyes wide and green as the sea, full of innocence and mischief like the eyes of the child I remembered.

"I've come to learn all your secrets, Donovan.
 
All the secrets of Castle Dante, and the truth behind the legend."

My heart tripped to a stop in my chest.
 
My voice hoarse, I said, "If I told you all of that, pretty Rachel, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you."

Pressing closer to my side, clapping her hand to my arm and leaning her head on my shoulder, she laughed.
 
A husky, deep sound, genuine amusement ringing in its voice.
 
"I do love a man with a sense of humor," she said.
 
"I can tell we're going to get along, Donovan.
 
Why, we'll be best friends 'fore we're done."

She was warm at my side, and far too close to me.
 
And I relished her nearness... for the lack of human companionship wears a man down over the years.

She was here to destroy me.
 
I had no doubt of that.
 
And yet I couldn't bring myself to send her away.
 
She couldn't force me to tell her anything, I told myself.
 
She couldn't learn anything I didn't wish her to know.
 
What harm would it do to let her accompany me to the castle?

Inside me, I heard Dante's dire warnings:
 
Don't do it, Donovan.
 
Don't spend another second with her.
 
She's dangerous!
 
She's a Sullivan, dammit.
 
Send her away, or kill her now and be done with it.

We stopped, the wind blocked now by the towering mass of the castle itself.
 
Before us two massive doors made of broad beams, and held together by black iron bands, stood like sentries awaiting the password.

"Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to see inside this castle," she said, so softly it was as if she were that little girl again, right now.
 
"But my parents forbade it, and filled my head with so many foolish old tales that for a time I was frightened to death of sneaking up here the way the older ones did."

"For a time?"

"Aye.
 
Later I changed my mind.
 
He was no monster, the man who lived here.
 
I crept around this place often, once I'd made up my mind to that.
 
So childish, hopin' for a glimpse of a man long dead."