House of Dreams (50 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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And as they hit the ground, Antonio seized her wrist and hand—the one holding the knife. Instantly he was met with a force far greater than his own. And he recalled, belatedly, that Tracey was not Tracey, that she was superhuman now, and her strength far surpassed his own.
She snarled at him and tore her hand free from his, raising the knife with the obvious intention of plunging it down into his face.
Antonio jerked aside and the knife sliced past his ear and neck, into the hard stone floor beneath them.
And he looked up into a pair of the most hate-filled, vicious eyes he had ever seen. Eyes that held no compromise whatsoever.
He found her small throat with both of his large hands and he began to squeeze.
Her eyes went wide with surprise.
Satisfaction the likes of which he had never before felt filled him. Rage fueled him. He would strangle her to death and love every minute of the horrific deed.
She dropped the knife, gripped his wrists, and tore his hands away from her neck.
Antonio was again shocked by her strength. Shocked—and afraid.
She smiled at him once, briefly, savagely, and the next thing he knew was that she had a rock in her hand and was about to smash it down on his head.
Antonio reached for her wrist as he tried to roll away. A moment later he felt the blow, the pain, and then there was only darkness.
 
 
Cass beat out the last of the fire with the last of the pillows, and when the only flames left in the room were the ones dancing in the hearth, she collapsed to the floor in a heap. She was shaking with utter exhaustion. Every muscle in her body felt limp and useless, her back burned, and her lungs were raw and hurting from the smoke. She lay on the warm wood floor, eyes closed, incapable of movement.
But there was no time to rest.
Antonio was downstairs with his brother, the both of them defenseless,
Tracey and Isabel had to be stopped, and dear God, the children had to be found.
Cass somehow sat up. She continued to tremble with exhaustion.
But she had at least put out the fire, saving the house.
Cass got to her feet, gulping down air, continuing to tremble. She did not know what, exactly, awaited her downstairs. But before she went down to fight Isabel, she needed a weapon.
Tears filled her eyes. How was she going to fight Tracey—who was Isabel? Even if she killed her very own sister, that would not stop Isabel.
Cass couldn't stop shaking. She could not kill her own sister. Even knowing that Isabel intended to kill her—using Tracey to do so—she could not kill her own sister.
Cass didn't know what to do.
If only she could reach Tracey, somehow.
She went to the door, then realized it was locked and that she could not get out that way. Grim, she found the first object at hand—a small, heavy brass clock—and she threw it at one of the windows, which opened over the courtyard. The glass broke.
Trying not to think now, she wrapped a pillow around her arm and cleared the window frame of all remaining glass. Tracey had to be stopped. Cass felt tears sliding down her cheeks.
Oh, God.
She glanced over the sill. The first thing she saw was a series of drainage pipes, running perpendicular to one another. One ran parallel to the ground, and Cass wondered if it would hold her weight; the other was vertical, and ended maybe eight feet above the ground.
Cass's heart skipped a beat as her gaze went from where the drainage pipe ended to the floor of the courtyard below. It was a long way down, but even from where she stood, she could see the two crumpled forms below, and there was no mistaking Gregory and Antonio.
Cass's heart lurched with dread, and then she acted.
Furious, she swung herself over the windowsill, and gripping hard, she lowered herself until her feet touched the parallel drainage pipe. As her weight intensified on the pipe, she felt it buckle. But Cass had no choice.
She let go of the sill, the pipe cracked, but Cass was launching herself at the perpendicular section, and somehow she was hugging it, and even as that sagged dangerously, she was sliding down hard and fast, and then the pipe broke, taking her with it.
Cass landed hard on her rear and back, and for one moment, lay still.
But there was no time to lose.
She rolled over, lunged forward, and before she reached Antonio, she saw the blood pooling below his head. Her heart stopped.
I will die if he dies.
“No!” Cass sobbed, reaching him. She cradled him in her lap, gasping for breath through her tears and the fear and the shock.
The fear was a fire inside her, burning its way out, destroying her from the inside out—and the anguish was unbearable.
Cass thought she was going to die, too.
And then she heard a child's voice.
The children.
Cass was immobilized, straining to hear above her own pulse and her own breathing. Had she heard a child's voice?
Suddenly she was on her feet. That sound—which she had not imagined, damn it—had come from inside the house, not far from the great hall.
The children. She had to save the children. Cass ran into the house, into the hall, mindless of the glass at her feet. She did not pause, racing back toward the grand salon and the corridor leading to her bedroom upstairs. She had just turned the corner when she saw Tracey. Cass halted in her tracks.
The hidden door was open now, in the middle of the corridor, but it was made of the same stone as the walls, and Cass never would have realized it existed in a million years. Tracey's back was to her, but Cass heard her say, “You can come out now.”
Cass's knees began to buckle with relief; she realized that Tracey, under Isabel's control, had hidden the children, and now was letting them out. But why? And then she saw Alyssa emerging from whatever was behind that door, dirty and disheveled and clutching one arm, but very much alive. Tears blinded her.
Eduardo was hobbling out, too.
“Aunt Cass!” Alyssa shrieked, spotting Cass and racing pell-mell to her.
Cass caught her in her arms, holding her tightly, so tightly, knowing she had never loved anyone or anything this way—except Antonio, who was dead. She wept, for whatever Alyssa had gone through, for Gregory, and for Antonio. And she wept for Tracey, too.
“Don't cry, Aunt Cass, I'm fine, I really am fine,” Alyssa whispered, her own tone thick with unshed tears.
Suddenly the hairs rose on every inch of Cass's body and she froze,
Alyssa in her arms, her face against her soft, dark hair. Slowly Cass looked up.
Tracey stood before her, beside Eduardo, staring at her with that unblinking, demonic gaze.
Cass pulled Alyssa behind her. “Eduardo, come here,” she said softly, her heart pumping furiously.
Eduardo did not hesitate. He hopped past Tracey, who did not move, coming to stand behind Cass, beside Alyssa.
“I would not hurt the children,” Tracey said.
Cass breathed hard, with difficulty. “Tracey, can you talk to me?”
“I am speaking to you,” she said.
“No. Isabel is talking to me. I want to talk to Tracey—my sister.”
She smiled. “I am your sister now.”
“No. You are not my sister, and I want my sister back,” Cass said, her pulse pumping even more furiously now. Her cheeks felt hot, burningly so. “I want my sister back.”
“You are alive,” Tracey said, her eyes glowing.
“I am alive. Why do you want to kill me? Haven't you done enough?” Cass cried.
“You killed me,” Tracey said, with anger. “All of you.”
“No. I did not kill you. I had nothing to do with those who betrayed you. Was it Sussex? He was a powerful man, surely he could have prevented your death. Was it your husband? Was he the one who accused you of heresy—was he the one who wanted to see you suffer that way? Or was it even Rob? Was it your own lover and the father of your child who truly betrayed you?” Cass cried, drenched with sweat, the odor of her fear thick and heavy about her.
“They all betrayed me, Sussex, Rob, de la Barca, may God damn them forever,” Tracey said, her eyes cold and unblinking.
Cass absorbed that even as she said, “Tracey! Where are you? Why aren't you fighting her? She going to kill us both if you don't fight her, damn it!”
“I am Tracey,” she said, and she raised the knife.
“Run!” Cass shouted without turning to the children, and as the knife came down, Cass dodged it, miraculously.
Tracey's expression hardened with rage and she gripped Cass's arm, her strength shocking and unbelievable. Cass knew she could never overpower her sister while she was in Isabel's control. As Cass struggled to wrench free Tracey raised the knife again, and it was poised to plunge into Cass's throat.
Their gazes met.
“Don't, Tracey, don't!” Cass cried.
Tracey smiled.
The shot sounded just as a hole blossomed red on Tracey's arm. Cass gasped, stunned, as Tracey let her go, staggering backward, the blossom growing rapidly, and then she fell back, against the marble table on the wall.
Cass turned and saw Antonio reeling on the opposite threshold, holding a small gun, his face and chest covered with blood.
He was alive
. Cass was overcome with relief. But it was short-lived.
“You cannot … kill me,” Tracey gasped, clutching her arm and leaning against the table.
Cass stared, her dazed brain trying to function. They could physically kill Tracey, but that would not destroy Isabel. Suddenly instinct made her whirl; Antonio had raised the gun and he was pointing it at Tracey. “No!” she shouted. “Don't shoot her!”
His gaze veered to hers, filled with rage, hatred, and fear, and then his eyes softened and he lowered the gun.
Cass leapt to face her sister. “Tracey,” she said urgently, rapidly. “You have to talk to me. Talk to me, your sister! I love you! Please, Tracey, get rid of her!”
“You cannot … kill me,” Tracey gasped, hunched over, her arm continuing to bleed, the blood seeping through her fingertips.
“Tracey, I know you're there,” Cass cried, daring to step closer to her. Tracey was physically hurt, so maybe she would no longer be useful as a vessel for Isabel. Cass prayed. “Tracey, remember when Mommy died? And we found Dad asleep in his favorite chair—crying in his sleep? Remember? We went upstairs and hugged each other and cried, too. We were so scared.”
Tracey met her gaze. And Cass thought she'd reached her, because there was something startled in her eyes, but then she said, “You cannot … kill me.”
“I don't want to kill you,” Cass cried, frustrated, desperate, despairing. “I love you, you're my sister!”
“No,” Tracey panted, looking at her. “No.
I
am your sister now.”
Cass knew she was failing. “I love you and I want you back!” she cried.
“I love you.”
There was an eternity of silence. Then, “No … don't … love me,” Tracey whispered raggedly, her eyes closing.
For one heartbeat, Cass froze. Then she said, “I know I was jealous
of you, because of your beauty, all the guys, and then, damn it, I'll admit it, I was jealous because you're Alyssa's mother and I'm only her aunt, but I'm human, okay?” Cass realized she was crying. But she prayed—hoped—she was finally getting through to her sister. “But that doesn't mean I don't love you. I don't want you to die!”
“No. Don't … love … me …” Tracey said, a harsh cry, as she slumped to the floor, clutching her wounded arm.
Cass inhaled hard. She had somehow reached her sister after all. “I do love you,” she said hoarsely. “I love you so much that I won't let Tonio kill you. And I won't let Isabel destroy you, either.”
Tracey sagged against the wall. “So … much … pain,” she whispered.
Was her sister coming out of Isabel's power? “Tracey?”
“Two … of … me …” she gasped.
“Fight her,” Cass screamed, rushing to her and helping support her so she could stand upright.
“Cassandra, don't go any closer!” Antonio shouted from the other side of the hall.
But Cass ignored him, her arm around Tracey. “Fight her. For me, for Alyssa, we all love you so much.”
“Two … of … me …” she said, opening her eyes, her gaze meeting Cass's. And briefly it was lucid, and it was Tracey.
“Fight! Fight that bitch,” Cass ground out.

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