Serpent's Gate Page 14

  Roark held their clasped hands high in the air, as if they were promenading through a fancy ball at a royal court. “This way, my love,” he said. “Everyone is waiting for us. We mustn’t disappoint them.”

  “Yes,” Stephen heard himself say in a distant, dreamy voice. At the same time, he found Roark’s choice of words confusing. It was Justin he was falling in love with, not Roark. But his dream-self only said, “I know.”

  The next thing he knew, they took their places in front of the Serpent’s Gate. Beside it stood a low stone structure he had never seen before. It wasn’t like a normal building, but more resembled a storage bunker…or a tomb. Roark tugged on his hand, and they passed through the low doorway. From there they descended a long, winding flight of granite steps. It seemed to go on forever, sinking deep into the earth.

  Eventually they entered a low-ceilinged room, also made entirely of stone. The hooded figures had reassembled here, convening in that same tight circle. In the center of the room sat a long stone table. A figure lay on it, covered from head to toe with a black cloth that shimmered in the candlelight. Roark scanned the group of hooded figures, placed one hand briefly on what Stephen supposed was the sheeted figure’s head, and raised his arms to the ceiling.

  Slowly, everyone except Stephen and the figure on the slab began to chant. He struggled to understand their words, but their language was odd-sounding and elusive—nothing he could make sense of. It wasn’t Latin, he didn’t think, and it definitely wasn’t French or German. It didn’t really sound like any human language he had ever heard before. It seemed to consist of a series of moans, wails, and hisses.

  Finally Roark lowered both arms, reached out, and tugged at the cloth covering the figure on the altar. It slid down and Stephen gasped. Justin lay there, beautifully naked and eerily still, his eyes wide open and his skin as colorless as the stone walls that enclosed them. Slowly, his lips began to move in time with the chant. The hooded figures moved in slowly. One of them raised a huge antique book directly over Justin’s head.

  He snapped awake a moment later, safe in the middle of the guestroom bed. Everything around him remained quiet and still. Not even the shadows were moving. No summer insects droned outside the window. “Only a dream,” he reminded himself.

  The display on his cell phone told him it was just past one in the morning. Everyone in the house would be fast asleep by now. At least, he hoped that was the case.

  Careful not to make noise, he padded across the room, not bothering with shoes, and slipped into the hallway once again. He left the door to the guest room ajar so he wouldn’t have to worry about it locking behind him or squeaking when he let himself back in.

  In the hall, he paused. A strange, acrid smell assaulted his nose. Moments later, he heard a muffled popping sound, like a radio left tuned to static. Above that rose a faint moaning sound that gradually rose to a scream for help. The voice belonged to Justin.

  Stephen ran for Justin’s room just as the other doors around him began to fly open. Roark emerged from one, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, while Malcolm burst from another, shirtless in pajama pants.

  “What’s going on?” Malcolm demanded of him. “I heard a scream.”

  “I don’t know,” Stephen stammered as Roark charged ahead of him.

  “I think Justin’s room is on fire!”

  He tried the knob, which didn’t give. Turning sideways, he began ramming it with his shoulder. Malcolm and Stephen rushed over to help, the three of them pounding and kicking until at last the lock gave in and the door swung open. While they stood gaping at a sea of flame covering almost the entire floor, Mrs. Mulgrave appeared with Ivy in tow. The housekeeper looked almost comical in her padded housecoat and hair curlers.

  “Go and get Leo,” she ordered her daughter at once. Without arguing this time, Ivy turned and ran.

  “Justin! Are you in there?” Roark charged ahead, only to be forced back when the flames leaped at him. Frantic, Stephen scanned the room, alert for any sign of movement. The rising smoke made it difficult to see anything, but he thought he heard Justin calling over the growing roar of the flames.

  “Everyone get out of the house!” Roark ordered, again taking a step forward and two back as a massive wave of heat rolled through the room. “Go, now!”

  “Not without Justin!” Stephen cried, shaking off Malcolm, who grabbed him and tried to steer him back down the hall. “Let me help! I can get him.”

  “No!” Roark shouted. “It’s too dangerous. Get back, Stephen! I’m going in!”

  Stephen tried to fight as Malcolm held him back, but Malcolm was bigger and stronger. He couldn’t reach Justin. Roark wasn’t moving toward him, either. As far as Stephen was concerned, he just wasn’t trying hard enough.

  “Justin!” Stephen screamed over Roark’s shoulder. “Where are you? You’ve got to get out of there!”

  “I see him,” Malcolm said, lifting one hand off Stephen’s shoulder to point. “Behind the bed.”

  Stephen looked too, and sure enough, he caught sight of Justin’s head and shoulder. He was cowering behind the bed, using the frame as a shield against the fire. The bed wouldn’t outlast the flames, though, and the smoke was rapidly filling the room.

  “Justin, we’ve got to get you out!” Roark called to him. “Can you get to the door?”

  “He can’t cross the floor,” Mrs. Mulgrave pointed out sensibly. “It’s too hot, and his clothes will catch fire.”

  “Help me!” Justin cried pitifully. He started coughing violently.

  Finally Stephen heard heavy footsteps thundering up the hall. Everyone turned as Leo rushed toward them, carrying a large canister. Ivy was right behind him, her nightdress and disheveled hair trailing behind her.

  “Stand back,” Leo bellowed, and Stephen felt Roark and Malcolm sweep him to one side and press him flat against the wall. Leo’s broad shoulders seemed to fill Justin’s doorway as he raised the fire extinguisher and blasted the room with life-saving foam. Malcolm and Roark moved closer, sheltering Stephen from the blowback and preventing him from seeing more than Leo’s big silhouette moving back and forth in Justin’s doorway.

  Then, just like that, it was all over and Stephen was staggering toward Justin’s room, his eyes burning and his throat raspy from smoke. Everyone else was already in Justin’s room, helping him out and asking if he was all right.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he sputtered after a few more minutes of coughing and hacking. “Not a mark on me.”

  “Did anyone call 911?” Ivy asked, but Justin waved her off.

  “Don’t! There’s no need. It looked way worse than it was. Leo put it out, anyway. What more could they do?”

  “Looks like he’s right,” Malcolm said, moving to the center of the room and looking around. “The rug’s gone, and the floor will need replacing, but other than that it’s just property damage. Looks like your stereo’s toast, Justin. Sorry about that.”

  “No matter,” Justin said with a dismissive sweep of his arm. “Probably time to upgrade anyway.” He turned, noticed Stephen hurrying toward him, and swept him up in a quick, triumphant hug. “Gave you a little scare, didn’t I? Sorry about that. Don’t count me out just yet, though. I’m made of tougher stuff than people think.”

  “We need to get you checked for smoke inhalation,” Roark insisted, shepherding everyone away from the room while Leo, extinguisher in hand, moved along each wall to check for any lingering embers. “I still think we should call an ambulance.”

  “No way,” Justin insisted. “What are you thinking, Roark? They were just here this morning. Can you imagine what kind of gossip a second run will cause in town? Besides, I told you—I’m perfectly fine. Just want some cold water to clear out my throat.” He smacked his lips. “Bad taste in my mouth.”

  His reasoning seemed to convince Roark. He gave up arguing about summoning outside help as the group made its way down the stairs. Mrs. Mulgave hurried ahead, promising to take care of everything.
Ivy stayed behind, presumably to talk to her brother. Maybe, Stephen mused, she would take a moment to thank him for saving Justin’s room, and possibly also his life. No one else seemed much inclined to recognize his bravery.

  On their way to the dining room, they passed the short hallway that led to the library. While everyone else moved forward, still talking about Justin’s narrow escape and asking him how the fire had started, Stephen deliberately dropped behind.

  The door to the library yielded to the slightest touch, meaning no one had locked the place up after the paramedics had left with Uncle Vernon…or perhaps someone else had recently opened it again.

  Easing one bare foot in front of the other, Stephen slipped inside. He closed the door all the way before he turned on the light, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. The first thing he noticed was the bag containing his wet shirt, forgotten in the chaos that had followed his dropping it on the floor.

  Cautiously he poked his way to the table where he’d arranged the pile of books earlier. The fly-fishing tome was still where he’d placed it, with the small square of newspaper clippings inside it, untouched. The rest seemed exactly the way he had left them.

  With one exception. Even without moving the others, he could already see that the book he had come for was gone.

  Chapter 11

  Stephen awoke to find his windowpanes silvered with rain. No one had suggested any particular time for him to come downstairs, and his cell phone showed no messages from either the hospital or his family. Just the same, he had the sense he’d overslept. After his trip to the library, he’d joined the rest of the family in the dining room and listened to Justin insist he had no idea what could possibly have caused the fire. It represented, in his view, a case of spontaneous combustion. Needless to say, Roark and Malcolm weren’t buying that explanation.

  For his part, Stephen said nothing, too stunned by the disappearance of the book to take in much of the conversation, let alone respond to it. Luckily, everyone assumed he was still too shaken up to participate. They left him alone until they finished the tea and snacks Mrs. Mulgrave provided and headed back to bed. Justin, apparently unfazed by his brush with serious injury or even death, cheerily selected another of the guest rooms for himself and turned in for what was left of the night. Roark and Malcolm conferred quietly in the hall and then did likewise. Ivy and Leo continued to lurk in Stephen’s damaged room until their mother called them both downstairs.

  Against all odds, Stephen managed to drift off the moment he’d slipped back into bed. Whatever dreams he had afterward had vanished from his mind once they had ended. Now it was morning again, and someone was rapping on his door. Pulling a robe around himself, he opened it to find Ivy in the hall, tapping her foot.

  “Breakfast is ready. Come down as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Thanks,” Stephen muttered, still disoriented. “Be there in a few minutes.” He started to shut the door in Ivy’s face, but something made him hesitate as the events of the night before came crowding back into his mind. “Is Justin okay? I mean, he never did go to the hospital after he swallowed all that smoke.”

  “He’s fine. Downstairs chowing down on my mom’s cooking, as usual. He was probably right that it looked a lot worse than it was.”

  “Did anyone figure out how it started?”

  “Another mystery. Justin still says he has no idea, though my mother is convinced it was either a candle or incense. Whatever it was, it either burned up or Justin got rid of it before he called for help. There might have been a good reason for that, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh.” He assumed she meant Justin had been dabbling in illicit substances. It wasn’t exactly rare among people their age, but he suspected Justin wouldn’t appreciate him talking about that with Ivy. “Still, it had to be an accident. No one would burn up their own bedroom on purpose.”

  “No one ever said it wasn’t.” Ivy sounded bored now.

  “It was probably like you said before—incense or a candle.”

  Ivy shrugged again. “I didn’t say that’s what it was. I said that was what my mother suspected. See you downstairs,” she said and turned her back on him.

  After a quick shower, Stephen pulled on his favorite black jeans and a button-down shirt. Hastily he dried his hair and started downstairs.

  A few steps from his door, he paused and changed direction. Justin’s door was closed, but no one had bothered to lock it. Gently Stephen pushed it open and peered inside.

  The entire room reeked of smoke and the chemical from the extinguisher. A fine dusting of soot covered almost everything, including some crumpled cloth sticking out from under Justin’s bed. It looked like it had once been a hooded sweatshirt of indeterminate color, but a blanket of ash had turned it a foul gray. The exact center of the room displayed a huge black circle where the floorboards had burned. This, he assumed, was where the conflagration had begun. He shuddered when he imagined the tragedy that might have resulted.

  Closing the door again, he made his way to the dining room and found the brothers, plus Malcolm, at the table waiting for him. Naturally they were all still talking about the events of the night before—or early morning, if one wanted to be technical about it. Justin had been eating the scones again. A crumb-strewn plate sat in front of him.

  “You should have woken me earlier.” He took the empty seat facing Malcolm and Justin. “I had no idea what time it was.”

  “We thought you needed some rest after yesterday,” Roark said from the head of the table. Even at breakfast, apparently, he felt the need to assert his authority. “Ivy better not have jarred you out of a sound sleep.”

  “Not at all. I was about to come down and look for everybody.”

  “I offered to fetch you, but my brother and Malcolm preferred to send Ivy,” Justin said as he poured Stephen some coffee and refilled his own cup. “Apparently they still think I’m about to keel over and asphyxiate. Either that, or it’s unseemly for the host to show up at a guest’s bedroom first thing in the morning.”

  “Don’t joke about what almost happened to you,” Roark snapped. Justin ignored him and Malcolm gave him a cautioning look.

  Stephen sipped his coffee. He’d never been much of a java drinker, but the stuff was tasting better every day he stayed at Fairbourne House. He expected to return home with a raging caffeine addiction.

  “I take it you slept well.” Malcolm said. “Not too traumatized by the unfortunate events of yesterday, I hope?”

  “I was comfortable enough.” After thinking things over on his way down the stairs, Stephen had no intention of mentioning the missing book. For now, its whereabouts would remain a mystery, though one of the people at the table with him might very well know what had become of it. “Obviously I’m so glad that Justin’s okay. And thank you again for inviting me to stay while my uncle recovers.”

  “Fine hosts we are, torching the place on your very first night here,” Justin muttered.

  “And again, I assure you it’s no problem,” Roark said without acknowledging the remark. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve already called the hospital, and your uncle’s doing fine. You can see him this morning. Malcolm has offered to drive you. You can visit with your uncle while he conducts some business in town. He’ll run you back here afterward.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you.” Stephen turned to Malcolm. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. One of my tasks is to make sure every nickel of your uncle’s medical expenses will be covered,” Malcolm said. “Neither you nor the rest of your family should have any worries on that score.”

  Stephen hardly knew what to say, though he still suspected at least some of the Fairbournes’ generosity sprang from their desire to avoid a lawsuit. He was spared from expressing his gratitude yet again by Ivy’s arrival with eggs, potatoes, and toast for everyone.

  “About time,” Justin grumbled.

  Conversation slowed while they got busy with
their meals. Malcolm enjoyed his breakfast immensely and made sure to publicize that fact.

  “You’ve been lucky to retain Mrs. Mulgrave all these years,” he told Roark. “She’s not only a talented and discreet housekeeper, but she understands our way of life here. That, I think, is the key to her success and ours as a family.”

  “We know it, believe me,” Justin said while he happily stuffed his face.

  “As I’ve said before, anytime you want to give her up, she’ll have a place with me. So what are you boys planning to do with yourselves this week, besides entertaining Stephen? Something meaningful, I hope.”

  “I’ve set aside some time for reading.” Roark kept his eyes down while he spread strawberry jam on his toast. “I want to be on top of things before my classes begin in the fall. Luckily some of the book lists were posted online. I’ve been gathering up the ones I can find.”

  “Good thinking. I suspect you’ll be a little crunched for time, like everyone else.” Malcolm winked at him. “Lots of distractions that first year. Trust me, I remember it well.”

  Stephen paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. Had Roark’s quest for law-related texts taken him into his family’s library recently? Last night, for example?

  “Sounds thrilling,” Justin said, clearing his plate in two bites.

  Roark set down his knife and fixed his brother with that piercing stare of his. “Actually, I’ve already found one volume I’m planning to read just for pleasure. The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Great stuff. You should check it out, Justin. You might end up enjoying it as much as comic books and video games.”

  “Poetry? Not a chance.” Justin snorted. “I’ve got better things to do. And for your information, Professor Fairbourne, they’re called graphic novels and not comic books. Fifty years from now, everyone will be reading those online, and the musty leather-bound monstrosities poor Stephen’s been peddling will be found only in monasteries, museums, and stuffy old houses like ours. I’ll bet he’ll be as relieved as anyone.”