Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (35 page)

As soon as the words slipped past Josephine’s lips, the world zoomed into focus, startling Grace. Devlin stood several feet away, his expression both cold and bleak. She strode to him and cradled his face, moved by the tears glistening in his crystal-blue eyes. The hairs along her neck prickled.

“I can see you, my love,” she said, with a tremulous smile curving up the corner of her mouth. “You’re handsome, even more so than my vision.”

Tears clogged her throat as he gathered her hands in his and kissed them tenderly. “Forgive me, Grace. I should’ve listened when you first begged me to kneel before God and repent. But I was blind. You helped me see, and I’ll die happy knowing you’ll find your place in Heaven.”

“You’ll be there by my side,” she said, squeezing his hands. “God forgives those who pray for His guidance and open their hearts to His love.”

He grunted and doubled over in pain. Grace’s eyes widened as her gaze fell on Josephine’s wild glare, the white bolts pulsing in her red irises. It was only then that she realized Josephine held Devlin captive in a death grip.

“No!” Grace screamed. She whirled around, searching for someone … anyone. “Victor, help!”

But it was an empty plea, unanswered as the noise in the ballroom vanished—the glass panels held and the guests froze—suspended in space and time at the gatekeeper’s whim. Only Josephine, Devlin, and Grace continued to breathe, to react.

“Run, Grace, get out,” Devlin rasped.

“No.” She strode to him. “If we die, then we’ll die together.”

“Isn’t that sweet?” Josephine said as she threaded her fingers through Devlin’s hair and yanked hard, forcing him to look at her. “If not for your selfishness, Grace could’ve lived for eternity by my side. There are worse fates. I would’ve loved and cherished her. Restored her sight. Instead, she’ll watch you die, secure in the knowledge you’re rotting in Hell.”

“You fucking bitch,” he spat, straining his muscles to break free of her hold.

Bitter anger burned like acid in Grace’s veins as she watched him writhe in Josephine’s clutches. Blood trickled out of the gatekeeper’s mouth and over her chin. She wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. A sparkling light caught Grace’s eye, and she gaped at Devlin’s dagger lying within inches of his feet. If she could distract Josephine …

“I may be a bitch,” Josephine cooed in his ear, “but I’m not your bitch.” She squeezed her body tighter around his, compressing out his air supply. His face contorted in pain. “I sssssmell fear. But you’re braver than Marcus Deveraux. He was a sniveling swine and begged for mercy, begged me not to kill his precious daughter.”

“You’ll not hear me beg,” he gasped, growing red in the face.

Josephine’s impossibly long, forked tongue slithered out to lap at the delicate skin beneath Devlin’s ear, sending a shudder of repulsion through Grace.

“Marcus almost got his wish,” Josephine said, bracing her hands on either side of his face and forcing him to stare into her blood-red eyes as she increased the pressure around his body. “Good-bye, Rosalie, my love.”

Grace screamed and dove for the knife, intent on bringing her enemy down, even if she must thrust the blade through Josephine’s heart. In the same moment, Devlin directed all of his energy into his upper body and smashed his head forward, slamming hard into Josephine’s forehead. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell limp to the floor, releasing her hold. He tore his dagger from Grace’s hands and drove it into Josephine’s temple. A last breath pulsed through her lips, and he stood, stepping cautiously away from her dead form.

Everyone suddenly came to life and continued their frantic escape, as if time had not stopped. Devlin hauled Grace into his arms.

“You’re safe,” she whispered. She held him at arm’s length, checking every inch of him for injuries. A tear rolled down his cheek, and she asked, “Are you injured?”

He shook his head. “No, my love.”

“Then why are you crying?”

He gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Because you can still see me.”

She blinked. And then blinked again. A sob caught in her throat as she peered around the ballroom. Guests shoved and jostled for position, trying to exit as quickly as possible. She gazed up and stared at the glass dome, awed by the light of the chandelier twinkling against the black water. She gazed down, splaying her hands across the emerald satin of her gown, bewitched by the delicate lace trim.

“How is this even possible?” she asked.

Devlin shrugged. “Josephine died before she reversed her magic. It’s the only explanation I can imagine.”

The walls suddenly groaned and belched. Panicked screams rent the air anew.

Grace’s eyes widened. “Oh, goodness, the ceiling. It’s not going to hold.” She swallowed and grasped his arm, twisting this way and that, scanning the room. “Where’s Brother Anselm? He can’t swim. Where is he?” she cried, each word higher in pitch, fueled by panic. She had to find him before the ceiling crumbled, or he would surely die. A sob wrenched through her. “Brother Anselm!”

“Here!” the monk called, striding toward them.

• • •

When Brother Anselm reached them, Devlin grabbed Grace’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him. He glanced at the monk. “Listen to me, both of you. If this ceiling blows, the water will rush in. Probably knock you on your arse, kick you around a bit. It’ll be dark. You won’t know up from down. Don’t panic. Sink to the floor and then push with all your strength upward. Follow the bubbles of your breath. The lake isn’t very deep.” He bit his bottom lip, a pained expression appearing as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Forgive me, love.”

She cocked her head sideways and stared at him questioningly. “For what?”

“This,” he said, ripping off the overskirt of her dress. “It’ll weigh you down.” He ordered the monk to kick off his shoes just as another ominous crackling noise sounded all around. But it was too late. “Deep breath, everyone! Brother, I’ve got you. Don’t struggle.”

The glass panels finally burst under the pressure of the lake. Devlin grabbed hold of Brother Anselm’s belt, praying he’d tied the rope securely. The roar of water pounded in his ears, and he dragged in a lungful of air moments before the frigid lake water crashed over them, knocking him back and flipping them over. The darkness was overwhelming, and he could not get his bearings. Brother Anselm flailed about, and Devlin squeezed his shoulder, signaling him to relax. He let the weight of his clothes and shoes drag him down to the marble floor, and then with one strong thrust of his legs, he pushed off, seeking fresh air. The monk kicked feebly, and Devlin powered toward the top, using his free arm to slice through the water. His lungs burned as he burst through the surface. Shouts of panic surrounded them.

“I’ve got you, Brother,” he said, thrashing around in a circle, the water still turbulent and wavy. “Grace, where are you? Grace!”

Hands clawed at his arms and back as another man fought his way to the surface. Devlin shoved him away, screaming for Grace. His shoes were dead weights, dragging him down, and he kicked them off.

“Grace!” he shouted again, panic rearing in his breast.

“I’m here,” she panted.

He caught sight of her head, dipping below the surface, and she gurgled. Swimming toward her in two long strokes of his right arm, he kicked furiously to stay afloat and pulled her to the surface with his free hand. Fear clawed at his gut. She’d said Brother Anselm couldn’t swim, but what about the level of her own ability?

“Can you make it?” Devlin asked, his breathing labored.

“Yes, go, go,” she cried.

Every instinct in him screamed to release Brother Anselm and save his fiancée, but in his heart he knew she would never forgive him if her mentor died.

“Don’t be a fool,” the monk cried, prying Devlin’s hand off the rope belt. “She’ll not make it. Let me die.”

“Don’t you dare!” Grace screamed. “Go, now. Go.”

Devlin growled and turned onto his back, holding Brother Anselm up as best he could while he used his free arm to stroke closer and closer to the edge of the lake. Every muscle in his body burned with the effort. When they reached the bank, he pushed the monk onto the grassy surface. Brother Anselm coughed and spit water before falling onto his back in surrender. He would live. Devlin turned back in search of Grace.

The lawn around the lake was soon littered with bodies. More and more people surfaced, swimming desperately to safety, but none of them were Grace. He shouted her name again and launched himself back into the water, ignoring the chattering of his teeth and the bone-deep chill permeating his body.

“Devlin.” Her head popped up for an instant and then was lost again, no more than twenty feet away. But if he didn’t make it to her side before she lost the fight, he may not find her in the inky depths of the lake until morning.

His heart constricted as he plowed through the water. “Grace!”

She should be there. Diving beneath the surface, he swam about in a circle. She should be there. He broke through the surface again and heaved a deep breath, preparing to dive further, until Victor’s voice halted him.

“I have her!” Victor shouted.

A choked sob escaped Devlin’s lips, and he silently praised God for watching over her as he sliced through the water with clean, smooth strokes. They reached land together, and he pulled himself out of the water then dragged her into his embrace.

He found her lips, kissing her with tender passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. Her teeth began to chatter violently, and she smiled against his lips.

“I’ve never been so happy to be freezing in all my life,” she whispered.

“Nor I.”

He raised himself up on his elbow and surveyed the lake. Several people still treaded water, but the majority had already gained land, or had perished trying. With any luck, his staff had evacuated most of the guests before the dome shattered. There had seemed to be an impossibly large number of guests still in the ballroom, but in the chaos, he might have misjudged.

“Get Brother Anselm and as many others as you can into the mansion,” he said, caressing Grace’s face. “Change into dry clothes. The servants will know where to find blankets. Stoke the fires in every room. Lord knows we have enough of them. Victor and I will help the last of the survivors to shore and then meet you inside.”

She clasped her hand over his forearm, trembling. “Where is Emma? Hatchet? Have you seen either of them? She’s a poor swimmer. You must find Emma and Hatchet. Oh, please!”

He sucked in a breath, her words pummeling him in the gut. Their friends were not accounted for, and he couldn’t recall hearing either of them while thrashing in the lake.

“I’ll find them,” Devlin said, desperate to reassure her, though in truth the odds were against it.

Grace buttered a slice of toast, scraping the knife over the surface repeatedly until all traces of the golden cream disappeared. Her mind felt numb, her heart even more so. She locked her tattered emotions in a dank cell buried deep within her soul to be visited later, after she nursed her mentor back to full health. She could not wallow in her pain while Brother Anselm teetered precariously on the edge of life.

A blazing fire in the hearth raised the room temperature to an almost unbearable level. But after the bone-chilling experience of the evening before, she wouldn’t complain, even if the heat did make her feel dreadfully tired. Her mouth stretched wide in an unladylike yawn, and she buried it against her shoulder.

“Pardon me, Brother,” she said, handing him the toast. “It’s been a long night, and I’m afraid I haven’t much coal left in the oven.”

He patted her hand and broke into a coughing fit. Phlegm crackled in his lungs with a deafening roar, sending another spark of fear through Grace’s gut. Her mentor wasn’t equipped for withstanding the brutal cold of a lake in late fall.

“Go to bed, my dear,” he wheezed after his cough abated. “Pardon me, but you look absolutely dreadful, as though you’ve been crying for hours. You mustn’t fuss over me this way. After a spot of hot tea and a solid day’s rest, I’ll be good as new.”

“Nonsense.” She rubbed his arm and settled back in the bedside chair. “The tables are turned for once, and I plan to take care of you. I’ve completed my rounds with the others; they’re getting along fine.”

The quiet hum of Brother Anselm’s chewing filled the space between them, and Grace clung to the familiar sound, staring into space. He’d given her quite a fright in the freezing water. For more than a couple of minutes, she believed they would both meet their Maker. She could not recall life without Brother Anselm and shuddered just thinking on it.

“What are you staring at?” he suddenly asked.

Nothing at all. But she wouldn’t burden him with her melancholy mood, so she said instead, “Your bald head. I’ve always wondered what it looked like, and now I know.”

“A miracle, that,” her mentor said with a glimmer of awe twinkling in his eyes. “Josephine may have restored your sight out of spite, but I choose to believe the grace of God allowed you to keep it. You’ve been an ever-faithful servant.”

She held her tongue rather than hurt his feelings with a thoughtless response, as she was unable at the moment to share in Brother Anselm’s unwavering faith in God.

Victor had claimed it a miracle, too, and vowed to visit the chapel with more regularity. Grace ought to be filled with joy, but too much had happened within the last twelve hours to dampen her spirits. She clasped her hands and looked away.

“Any news of Emma?” he asked softly, always attuned to her moods.

A sob wrenched out of her chest, and she shook her head, unable to find her voice for several minutes. She had spent the entire morning crying after Devlin broke the news to her at dawn. Hatchet had surfaced shortly after Grace assisted Brother Anselm into the mansion, but there was still no sign of Emma. The pain written on Hatchet’s face tore Grace’s heart to shreds, for as surely as she loved Devlin, Hatchet had loved Emma, and he hadn’t been able to save her. Grace prayed that the force of the water had rendered her friend unconscious, because the thought of Emma drowning was more than she could bear.