Serpent's Gate Read online

  “Against what?” The more they talked, the more Stephen had to fight the urge to rush back to the library and check on the hidden book. He was sure that was the item Roark sought—he just wasn’t saying so. Maybe he was telling the truth that he didn’t know what it looked like.

  “I’m sorry, Roark.” He chose the words carefully, keeping his voice level and his face absolutely still. He was amazed how easily the lie rose to his lips. “I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  Roark still seemed annoyed with him when they trudged back out to the car. Too exhausted to process the strange things Roark had told him, Stephen made no attempt at further conversation. They drove home in silence.

  Leo was waiting by the gates to let them through. While he moved the heavy iron bars, his slab-like shoulders heaving with effort, Roark sighed and tapped his fists on the steering wheel.

  “Listen, Stephen, I’m sorry I got so…tense back at the restaurant. It isn’t you. I’m just on edge lately. My family problems overwhelm me sometimes.”

  “It’s okay.” Stephen stared at Istharios’s twisted coils and snarling mouth as they swung slowly past the car window. “I guess everyone has them.”

  “Not like we do. No one in his right mind would believe most of what goes on behind this gate. That includes you, I’m afraid.”

  Stephen didn’t answer, deciding that Roark was probably right. He considered asking about a hotel room in town, but quickly realized that wasn’t practical. After all, Uncle Vernon’s car was still at Fairbourne House. And how exactly would Stephen pay for something like that? It seemed he was more or less trapped.

  When they drove up to the house, Justin hurried out to meet them. “We got all your stuff moved to the guest room while you were gone,” he told Stephen. “Don’t worry. I had Ivy do it, and she knows better than to damage or misplace anything. We’ve packed up your uncle’s things, too, and left them at the cottage for now. He can get them later.”

  Stephen didn’t like the idea of virtual strangers pawing through his things, but then again he hadn’t bothered to unpack most of his suitcase, so at most Ivy would have stuffed a few things inside. Besides, he didn’t want to appear ungrateful. The Fairbournes were doing their best to make things easier for him. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me,” he said to both brothers.

  “Happy to help,” Roark said. “And I’m glad your uncle’s doing okay. He’s quite a character. Strong, too.”

  “Yes. He is.” Remembering Uncle Vernon helpless in his hospital bed almost made Stephen tear up again.

  “Try not to worry,” Justin urged. “He’s getting the best care. Malcolm and I made sure of that before we left.”

  Stephen nodded. “I know you’re right. I appreciate it. Really.”

  “The whole thing was a freak accident,” Justin assured him. “A little bed rest, a few weeks in a cast, and some mind-blowing painkillers will have Unc back to normal in no time. Why don’t Roark and I show you to your new room? You’ll like the house much better than the cottage, I’ll bet. No butt-ugly cupids or anything.”

  Justin accompanied him and Roark upstairs, giving Stephen no chance to return to the library and check on the book he’d hidden. Hopefully he could sneak back down after the rest of them had gone to bed. For reasons he couldn’t fully articulate, even in his own mind, he was desperate to see that book, with its undecipherable language and weird drawings, again.

  Chapter 10

  Roark led the way up the stairs to a wing of the house that appeared to contain nothing but bedrooms, most of them standing open and unoccupied. Stephen supposed people had bigger families when the house had originally been built. Now they held guests, assuming any turned up. Presumably Uncle Malcolm had crashed in one of them when he’d drunk too much the night before. Stephen wondered if he was still in the house now.

  He also wondered where he had been when Uncle Vernon had fallen.

  “My room is the last one on the left,” Roark told him, pointing to it as they walked along. “Justin’s is on the right, two doors down from yours. We’re the only ones in this wing. My dad had his own set of rooms on the other side of the staircase. We never go there now.”

  “What about Mrs. Mulgrave and her children? Is there a separate area for the servants, like in old movies?”

  “In a way.” Justin laughed. “They’re downstairs by the kitchen. Leo stays in the gatehouse, which is similar to the cottage you and your uncle stayed in. It works out better for everyone that way.”

  “More privacy, you mean.”

  “I guess that’s one way to look at it. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not run into Leo shuffling down the hall in his pajamas first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t want him using my toothbrush, either.”

  “Here we are. The best guest room.” Roark turned the knob on the next door he came to, pushed it open, and froze. “Hey! What are you doing in here?”

  Inside the room, Ivy stood in front of a four-poster bed big enough to fit three people. In the middle of the mattress, Stephen’s suitcase lay open and Ivy bent over it, apparently rummaging through its contents.

  “I was going to put his things in the drawers,” she snapped at Roark. “Didn’t you tell me to get the room ready? I can’t very well do that without coming inside.”

  “It’s okay, Ivy,” Stephen said quickly. “I can organize the clothes and things later. There’s no need for you to go to any trouble.”

  “You call it trouble, I call it my regular routine.” Ivy threw her hands up in exasperation. “It might help if everyone could agree on what I’m supposed to do and when. My day would go a lot more smoothly, I can tell you.”

  “We’ll take it from here,” Roark said. “Maybe you should go and see if your mother needs a hand with dinner.”

  “I doubt it. There’ll be just the four of you tonight, I assume.”

  “I really don’t want anything,” Stephen protested. “It’s been such a long day. I’d rather take a shower and crash. I need to call my parents, too.”

  “In that case, Ivy’s mother can prepare a tray.” Roark never shifted his withering gaze from Ivy, who didn’t appear fazed in the least. Stephen began to wish they would all leave. “Why don’t you get right on that, Ivy?”

  “As you wish, sir.” Ivy feigned a British accent and gave a small curtsey before she pushed past them and disappeared down the staircase.

  “I see Ivy’s her usual sunshiny self,” Justin remarked. “How lucky we are to have such a cooperative worker in our household.”

  Roark ignored his brother. “I never told her to unpack your suitcase, Stephen. Ivy had no reason to be up here.”

  “I guess she misunderstood. It’s not a big deal.” Stephen made a mental note to check if anything was missing from his luggage.

  “Justin and I will give you some peace and quiet now. I’ll make sure Mrs. Mulgrave brings your dinner—not Ivy.”

  “Please—I meant what I said about not needing to eat again. Just pretend I’m not here and do what you usually would on Sunday evening.”

  “By the time dinner’s ready, you may feel different,” Roark said. “Anyhow, you don’t have to eat all of what’s on the tray. Just leave the leftovers outside the door and someone will pick it up later. And if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to come downstairs.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Roark stepped out, but Justin lingered.

  “Be right with you, bro. I just want to talk to Stephen for a minute.”

  Roark wasn’t happy about leaving them alone, Stephen could tell, but since he had no real reason to object, he simply made a huffing sound and left.

  “Just wanted to make sure you were really doing okay,” Justin said, stepping closer. He took both of Stephen’s hands into his. “You’ve really had one hell of a day.”

  “This might sound awful, but I’m glad it wasn’t you that fell off that ladder,” he said. “I’d hate to think of you getting hurt, especially over a pile
of dusty old books.”

  In spite of everything, Stephen smiled. Justin had a way of making him feel better just by being his usual brash self, as if nothing in the world was really worth getting stressed about. Most of the time, that was probably true, even now. After all, it did look like Uncle Vernon would be okay. Ironically, he felt a little sorry for Justin. Whatever Stephen’s real feelings about old books, working for his uncle really had taught him plenty about honesty, responsibility, and the value of earned money. Justin might never learn those things, thanks to his carefree life and inherited wealth.

  “So how was the drive with Roark? Did he spend the whole time yelling at you for leaving your uncle alone in the library?”

  “Not exactly.” Stephen decided not to mention the way Justin himself had factored into their conversation. It would just cause more trouble between the brothers and would serve no purpose besides making his own stay here more difficult. “He spent most of the time asking me if I liked my job and that sort of thing.”

  “Just like I said. Trying to gather intel he can use against you later.” Justin’s mood darkened. “Then again, I’m not surprised he asked about the bookstore, considering what happened. I’d feel better if you quit, too.”

  “I can’t quit—not yet, anyway. My uncle needs me, at least until he’s better. Besides—” Once again Stephen stopped himself before getting into something he definitely wasn’t ready to talk or think about yet.

  “Okay, forget the books for awhile.” Justin’s smile returned as he gave Stephen’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “If you could do any job in the world, what would it be?”

  Stephen smiled. He appreciated Justin’s efforts to cheer him up, even if they were bound to fail. He decided to play along, thankful for the distraction. “I’m not sure. Cubicle farms don’t appeal to me, though a lot of business students say they’d be happy to sit behind a desk all day long. I guess I could use what I know about antiques to work in a museum or maybe a place that insures artwork and stuff like that. I could even try decorating—I mean, don’t most gay guys have a knack for that kind of thing?”

  Justin laughed. “Maybe some do. Not me. At least, I don’t think so. I can barely keep my room cleaned up. Thanks to Ivy, I don’t have to.”

  “Taking care of beautiful things does appeal to me,” Stephen said with a sigh. “I can’t deny that.”

  Justin’s face grew serious and he nodded thoughtfully. “The same goes for me,” he admitted. “But I’m not talking about antiques and artwork.”

  Stephen felt a rush of heat speed straight to his heart. “Thanks for saying that,” he muttered, suddenly self-conscious. He didn’t dare to say more for fear of ruining the moment the way he always seemed to.

  “So what could you see me doing for work? If I ever had to, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. Cruise ship captain? Hotel manager?”

  “I would never take a job that involved making people happy. I’ve always thought it should be the other way around—even if I am the second son.”

  “I think you’d be a very good host. You made me feel welcome at Fairbourne House, after all.”

  “I did that because I like you. You must know that by now. There aren’t many people I’d go to so much trouble for.”

  “I realize that. In fact…” Stephen paused as a sudden, unwelcome thought flitted through his mind. “I remember you saying just this morning how eager you were for me to stay on. You went to talk to Malcolm and Roark about it. I was wondering…did you ever have that discussion? Before Uncle Vernon got hurt, I mean?”

  Justin’s good mood faded abruptly. He fixed Stephen with a chilly stare. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “I…I just wondered what they had to say about us cataloging the books—if anything. It means a lot to my uncle. He might recover faster if he has something to look forward to.”

  Justin slid his hands away and dropped them to his sides. “Actually, I never got to speak to Malcolm. He didn’t stick around after he finished talking to your uncle. I couldn’t find Roark either. I went up to my room instead.”

  “Oh. Okay. I just wondered.”

  “Roark was right about one thing, at least. I need to let you rest. You know where my room is. Just knock if you need anything. See you later.”

  He left, and Stephen wanted to kick himself for wrecking things yet again. He really was a hopeless case. Luckily he was too wrung out to dwell on it. Alone at last, he locked the door, closed the curtains to the room’s single window, and reached for the suitcase Ivy had been looking through. If she’d been hoping to filch money, she would have been sorely disappointed. His wallet had less than forty bucks in it, along with a single credit card he kept on hand for emergencies. Thankfully everything seemed intact.

  While he closed it up, his foot brushed something and he looked down in surprise. His laptop case was there, leaning against the footboard. Unzipping it revealed the computer itself, the power cord rolled up and tucked into its mesh compartment. Someone had gone into the library to retrieve it for him.

  Geoffrey wasn’t in, or wasn’t answering his phone, so he left a brief message explaining what had happened and assuring Geoffrey there was no cause for panic. He had better luck reaching his parents, only to find that Malcolm Argyle had already apprised them of Uncle Vernon’s condition. Stephen wondered how he’d found the number, but then again Malcolm was a lawyer and presumably had access to databases that could help with such matters. His parents agreed to Stephen’s staying on at the house until Uncle Vernon recovered, though the hospital hadn’t been able to predict a discharge date.

  “This just confirms what we’ve been saying all along,” his father said sternly. “Stephen, we can’t wait until he’s discharged. You’ve got to convince him to sell that damned shop and retire. It’s going to kill him.”

  “I don’t think this is a good time to discuss that,” Stephen hedged. “The bookstore is everything to him. He just needs some time to get over his heart attack—and maybe someone to help him full-time.”

  “Well, we both know how unlikely that is. You know it as well as I do. Please—try to talk some sense into him when you find the right moment.”

  Stephen disconnected the call with relief. A few minutes later, the dinner tray arrived, thankfully delivered by Mrs. Mulgrave and not her insolent daughter. Though Stephen had honestly doubted he could force down a single bite, another round of the housekeeper’s mouth-watering concoctions lured him. He ended up finishing everything from the warm, buttery rolls to the cinnamon apples supplied for dessert.

  The now-empty dinner tray lying on the nightstand sparked an idea. Though his laptop was back, removing his most convenient justification for returning to the library, he was determined to peek at that strange little book at least once more. He was now convinced that the book was what Roark was looking for, even if he didn’t know it yet, and Stephen hadn’t given up on trying to decode its peculiar contents.

  The family, along with Ivy and Mrs. Mulgrave, were most likely still in the dining room. If he could find his way to the library, he could slip in and grab the book. Then he could sneak it back up here and look through it after everyone went to bed. What would be the harm? The book wouldn’t technically be leaving the house, and no one had forbidden him to read the items he catalogued.

  Dropping the tray outside the door, as Roark had suggested, gave him the perfect excuse to venture into the hallway and make sure no one had returned from their meal. After looking around and peeking through a few open doorways, Stephen started for the staircase.

  The moment he placed his hand on the banister, he realized his mistake. Ivy was already halfway up and heading straight toward him. A nasty smile split her freshly glossed lips.

  “Well, here comes our favorite houseguest, creeping around like a ghost. And here we thought you were too overwhelmed to do anything but go to bed early. I was coming up to get your tray. Full of surprises, Mr. Carlyle the Younger, aren’t you?”


  “I wasn’t creeping anywhere,” Stephen retorted. Ivy’s snide remarks had begun to offend him. She obviously considered her position in the household secure enough that she could treat her employers and their friends any way she pleased. “No one said I couldn’t leave the guest room. I’m not under house arrest, you know.”

  “Of course you’re not. You have every right to make yourself at home. Feel free to poke around and spy on the Fairbournes as much as you want.”

  “You mean like you were doing in my room earlier?” To Stephen’s satisfaction, Ivy frowned and her cheeks reddened. “Anyway, I was looking for Justin,” he improvised. “I knocked on his door, but I guess he hasn’t come up yet. I thought I might find him downstairs.”

  “He’ll be sorry he missed you. But don’t worry. They’ll be back from dinner soon. Then you can sneak into his room all you want. He’d probably enjoy that very much.”

  “Thanks. Now that you mention it, I think I will just lie down for a while. It’s been a stressful day.”

  “No kidding. Well, don’t let me stop you.”

  When Ivy bent to retrieve the tray, making a production of her efforts as usual, Stephen slipped back into his room and closed the door. Humiliated at being caught, he decided to hibernate for a while and kicked off his shoes. Unsurprisingly, the pillows and mattress were comfortable beyond belief, and in no time he was asleep.

  Despite the softness of the bed, his dreams turned out to be anything but comforting. The worst one featured the strange characters in the book from the library. Six hooded figures, hideous and breathing hard, gathered slowly around the guest room bed. In the dim light, he could see long red serpents’ tongues flicking in and out of their shadowed muzzles. They leered down at him, swaying and chanting, but made no move to touch him. They seemed to be waiting for something—or for someone else to join them. Paralyzed with fear, and still half-aware that he was dreaming, Stephen waited with them.

  Finally another black-robed figure stepped forward. His hood shifted as he reached out for Stephen, and Roark’s face appeared under the cowl. Without speaking, he guided Stephen to his feet and led him from the guestroom. The rest of the monstrous figures, grunting and drooling with anticipation, stepped aside to let them pass.