Serpent's Gate Page 26

  “Stephen, stop distracting him!” Mrs. Mulgrave lowered the knife long enough to strike him across the face. Though Stephen’s ears rang with the force of the blow, the jolt caused the twine to scrape against the rock altar in way that noticeably frayed it. “Justin, hold him down. Leo, start reading. We’ve wasted enough time on this little wretch and his manipulative ways. He’s craftier than I expected—I’ll give him that much.”

  Justin made a half-hearted effort to push down Stephen’s shoulder while Leo began the incantation again. His mother had prepared him well. From the first line, he sounded more confident than Justin had. He kept his voice loud, yet even, almost like an actor in some grotesque Shakespearean play.

  While he read, Justin’s gaze riveted on Stephen. Fear flickered over his face.

  “They already tried to kill you once—at the gate,” Stephen whispered. “Mrs. Mulgrave just admitted it. She sent Leo and Ivy to kill you by the gate so they could take the book. Instead they agreed to teach you how to read it. They were lying to you, though. You can see that now, can’t you?”

  “Enough,” Mrs. Mulgrave warned. Her fingers tightened on the dagger, and the blade again nudged Stephen’s throat. Stephen willed Roark, still hidden, to notice that their attention had shifted from Leo.

  “I suspect they’re the ones who drove your mother away, too. Not Roark and not you. They set you two against each other to cover their own tracks.”

  “That’s…that’s crazy,” Justin muttered.

  “Is it? Even considering what we found out today? Who had the most to gain—in both cases? You and Ivy set up that phony seduction in Roark’s room to make me hate him—yet Ivy had other plans all along. Those plans involved getting rid of you once she’d used you for her own purposes. She just didn’t realize you’d already marked her for death, and Leo would switch his allegiance to you. At least temporarily.”

  “Not to Justin” Leo snarled, pausing to lower the book for a moment. His eyes took on that same glassy sheen Justin’s had held before. “To Istharios. Always.”

  “Leo, read!” Mrs. Mulgrave ordered. Speaking more softly now, Leo started the incantation again. His pronunciation sounded shakier this time.

  “I…I can’t do this.” Justin moaned. The hand on Stephen’s shoulder relaxed enough that he suspected a simple tug would free him. He moved his wrists and felt the twine binding the left one snap loose. “I may not care about Stephen’s life, but I can’t let you take the house from me.”

  “Good to know,” Stephen said, careful to keep his now-free arm perfectly still. “Thanks for the support, Justin.”

  On the other side of the roof, a dark blur flashed near the open tower door. Roark was on the move. To Stephen’s chagrin, this time Justin and Mrs. Mulgrave noticed, too.

  “Hey! Over there!” Justin let go of Stephen long enough to point behind Leo, who stopped the incantation and looked up. Snarling, Mrs. Mulgrave turned and raised the knife to shoulder height. When she lunged toward Roark in a murderous frenzy, Stephen rolled toward her and gave her a shove that sent her stumbling sideways.

  Leo fell hard with Roark’s weight on top of him, the weathered slate cracking under them. His head struck one of the serpent’s iron coils, smearing the dark metal with blood. Roark, still clinging to his half-brother’s back, kicked out just in time to trip Mrs. Mulgrave, who bore down on him with the knife in the air. She sprawled on her hands and knees while the knife skidded across the roof tiles toward the rail and lay moaning. Leo, looking stunned, began to crawl toward her with slow, awkward movement that reminded Stephen of a drunken crocodile.

  “Grab it, Stephen!” Roark shouted. Stephen writhed, fighting to free his right hands from the second length of twine. Justin was already racing toward it, his sneakers slipping and skidding in Leo’s blood as it flooded the base of the statue. At the exact moment when he too lost his balance and went down, Stephen managed to slide his wrist through the stretched-out loop. Poor Leo—using garden twine might have been convenient, but far from the best choice to restrain a captive.

  This time, flat on his stomach and smeared with Leo’s blood, Justin didn’t make even a half-hearted attempt to intervene as Stephen rolled to his feet and dove for the knife. He ended up on his knees, dirtied but unharmed, the knife safely in his possession. As he held it, he looked down at the hilt in disgust and amazement. The representation of Istharios was even more intricate than he’d noticed before, with the carved scales raised so the user could maintain a strong grip during various ceremonial activities. One of those ceremonies, he was sure, had involved Olive Simmons.

  Nearby, Roark scrambled to his feet and crouched next to him. They hunkered down together, Stephen holding the knife out in front of them, ready to use if he had to.

  “Why do you always get in the way, Roark?” Justin demanded.

  “How did you find us?” Stephen whispered to him.

  “Believe it or not, I spotted you from the ground. Malcolm’s on the way, too, by the way. He called me from the hospital, stunned that Mrs. Mulgrave had apparently resorted to grand theft auto. He was waiting for a taxi at the time, but he suggested I get up to your room and guard you.” He laughed wryly. “You had other plans, unfortunately.”

  “Roark, I’m so sorry about that. I thought…well, I’m ashamed to say what I thought. I can’t imagine what was wrong with me.”

  “It’s all right. I understand exactly what happened. Let’s just say that Leo and Mrs. Mulgrave aren’t the only inhabitants of this house who have mastered the art of treachery.” He flashed Justin an accusing look and then turned back to Stephen. The brief nod he offered sent a warm sensation fluttering in Stephen’s chest, as comforting as a toasty blanket on a chilly night. “Thanks for saving my sorry butt just now, by the way.”

  Hot tears prickled at the corners of Stephen’s eyes, and he found himself strangling a sob. The only reason Roark’s life had been in danger in the first place was because he wanted to save Stephen. And Stephen, like Roark, understood everything now.

  Roark hadn’t been lying when he had told Malcolm he loved him. Better still, he had shown it and lived it. Now, at last, Stephen wanted to accept and share that love. If only his own stupidity and rash actions hadn’t destroyed any chance of them having a future together. Assuming they survived today’s adventure, Stephen would go home to Carlyle Antiques and their lives would continue. But Stephen knew he would never forget Roark, any more than Roark would forget how Stephen had accused him of murder and tried to push him down the stairs.

  Mrs. Mulgrave summed up his thoughts perfectly when she recovered enough to sit up, cradling Leo’s wounded head in her lap. “You’ve ruined everything!” she shouted at Stephen. The front of her robe was smeared with dirt and her son’s blood, her gray hair spiking in several directions. Two especially wayward strands curved outward to resemble devil horns. “All I planned for and promised to Owen’s and my son. This house is his birthright! I’ll never forgive you for this, either, Roark. Never!”

  “Don’t give up so easily, Ma.” With a grunt, Leo slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position. The gash on his head looked deep and still bled profusely. If any of them survived this hellish morning, Stephen thought, he would need more stitches than Frankenstein’s monster.

  “You shouldn’t move, Leo,” Roark cautioned. “You’re badly hurt. Stay still and let us get first aid for you.”

  “Leo, maybe he’s right,” Mrs. Mulgrave soothed him. “You’re bleeding. Perhaps you ought to stay still.”

  Stephen caught Roark’s eye, and they exchanged a weary glance. Mrs. Mulgrave had displayed no emotion toward her daughter, lying half-dead in the hospital thanks to her schemes, but a gash on Leo’s forehead sent her into Florence Nightingale mode. She must have loved Owen Fairbourne a great deal more than she had ever cared for her own husband.

  “Shut up, all of you,” Leo blazed as a fresh stream of blood spurted into his eyes. “I should have slashed your throat when I had the c
hance.” Clinging to his mother, who made no attempt to stop him, he staggered upright and tried to stanch the blood with his right hand. With his other, he pointed to the book, still lying near the altar. It had come to rest in a puddle of blood when Roark had knocked him to the ground. “We still have one thing left, Ma. If we get the book back, we can try again.”

  He took a hesitant step toward it, but winced in pain and staggered. In a flash, Justin darted from behind the altar and snatched the book up. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m the one who went to all the trouble of swiping this from Vernon and Stephen in the first place! It’s rightfully mine, and I’m prepared to fight for it.”

  “Trouble? You mean like knocking that pathetic old man off his ladder so he didn’t see you take it?” Twin rivulets of blood framed Leo’s grimace. “Not much risk or courage in that. If it had been me, I’d have taken a more direct action. There wouldn’t have been any witnesses left to notice it was gone.” He flicked a lethal glance at Stephen. “I would have taken it straight to my mother. And Istharios would be among us now.”

  “I doubt he’d ever appear to you,” Justin shot back. “You might be part of our family in some warped genetic sense, but Istharios can tell a pure-blooded Fairbourne from the cloddish result of a dalliance with a servant. That’s all you’ll ever be in this house, Leo—a half-wit bastard my father was ashamed to acknowledge.”

  Leo’s bloodied head snapped up in fury. Though still unsteady on his feet, he charged Justin, grasping for the book with sausage-shaped fingers that looked like they’d been dipped in red paint.. Justin pulled it away, and for several minutes the two wrestled, clawed, and punched one another. When Mrs. Mulgrave inched forward, planning to join the battle, Roark and Stephen seized her arms and pulled her back.

  “You’re staying right here, Mrs. Mulgrave,” Roark ordered her. “This has gone far enough. Can you watch her, Stephen?”

  “Sure can,” Stephen agreed, tightening his grip on the knife.

  Roark got to his feet as the fight moved around the perimeter of the roof, with first Justin and then Leo smashing into various sections of the iron rail. Every contact with the pickets convinced Stephen they would give way and send Leo or Justin plunging down the same trajectory as Ivy and her father. Every time, though, they bounced back, still locked together, and continued their battle. Leo’s injury had left him disorientated and even more clumsy than usual, but by virtue of his size he gradually seemed to gain the advantage.

  Finally, Justin managed to twist himself free and deliver a fierce kick to Leo’s right shin. Howling in pain, Leo began swinging blindly at the air. Laughing, Justin held the book at arm’s length and extended it over the edge of the rail.

  “Is this what you want?” he teased. “Sorry, but I don’t plan to give it up, Leo. Maybe it’s better that no one has it. Maybe I should let it smash against the bricks, just like Ivy did, and finish this once and for all. Then Uncle Malcolm can gather up the shreds and burn them, just like my ancestor Bartholomew planned to do.”

  “You won’t,” Leo growled, holding himself back from the rail with a visible effort. “You just said yourself—you’ll do anything to keep it.”

  “True—but I’d rather destroy it than let Fairbourne House fall into the hands of a cretin like you. Back in Grandfather Silas’s day, they understood who was meant to serve whom. They would have hanged a servant who betrayed his master—maybe even burned him at the stake. And you know what? That would still be too kind a fate for the likes of you.”

  “Just stop, Leo,” Roark called, approaching him slowly from behind. Justin, still poised at the rail with the book hanging over the edge, remained silent. “Forget about the book, and the fight, and everything that happened today. It’s all right—we’ll get some help for you. But first, step away from the rail and lie down. The pain will start to fade once you do. We’ll get bandages and medicine for you.”

  Leo’s only response was a low, feral growl. He swayed as his big hands dropped to his sides and curled into bloodied fists.

  “Hey,” Roark tried again. “Did you hear me? Get away from the edge, Leo! Justin, push him back.”

  “Not a chance,” Justin said. “I’m not going near that thug.”

  “Leo, don’t!” Mrs. Mulgrave’s voice rose in panic. “Let it go! It’s over!”

  The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion. Ignoring their cries, Leo launched himself at Justin. One enormous hand fanned open, aiming for the dangling book. Just as Leo was about to seize it, Justin pulled it back against his bloodied robe and ducked. Leo’s fingers closed around empty air as sheer momentum vaulted him over the rail.

  He sailed forward in an incongruously graceful arc and then, while Justin stared in disbelief, plunged to the ground headfirst. Unlike Ivy, he didn’t have enough time even to scream. When he hit the ground, the jolt seemed to shake Fairbourne House all the way up to the tower.

  Then the world around them went silent.

  Chapter 20

  “So the police decided that Leo went insane with grief over his sister’s accident. He put on a monk’s robe and went up to the roof to hurl himself from the same spot. Some kind of weird atonement ritual, they said.” Stephen made sure to keep his voice neutral while he relayed the official version of Leo’s demise. Uncle Vernon was set to be released later that afternoon, provided he avoided any further stress and agitation. He didn’t know that Justin and Leo had purposely disabled his car to keep Stephen on the estate’s grounds, either. Now that it was repaired and sitting in the hospital parking lot waiting to take them home, Stephen had no intention of telling him.

  “What an exceedingly odd turn of events,” Vernon said, shaking his head in wonder. “A case of religious mania, I expect. Not uncommon in young people faced with inexplicable tragedy. The poor fellow must have blamed himself for Ivy’s mishap. Failed to protect her and that sort of thing.”

  “Exactly,” Stephen agreed, mentally crossing his fingers. “Of course, all this only happened yesterday, so that’s just the preliminary conclusion. Nothing will be definite until the final report comes out later.”

  “Well, I feel sure the authorities got it right,” Uncle Vernon said. “Are the Fairbourne brothers taking it very badly?”

  “Justin’s already gone again—back to Europe, I suppose.” Stephen bit back a grimace. After all the dust had settled—or maybe a more accurate way to put it would be after the blood dried—Justin had taken off without a word of farewell. He didn’t even wait for his car to be repaired. Malcolm and Roark agreed that nothing could be done about him legally. Stephen only hoped Justin wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

  “I can’t say I’m terribly surprised to hear that.” Uncle Vernon shrugged. “I am sorry for you, though, Stephen. I am well aware you liked him. And what of Roark?”

  “I didn’t have much time to talk to him before I left.” Stephen swallowed, finding the next words difficult to say. He tried to keep his tone light and almost indifferent. “Roark is sad to lose his housekeeper, of course, but I think he and Malcolm both understood that she couldn’t continue working there under the circumstances. She did give the place a thorough scrubbing before she packed her bags and left, though.” That, at least, was the absolute truth. The first place Mrs. Mulgrave had applied her considerable cleaning skill had been the roof. By the time the police arrived to investigate Leo’s death, the slate tiles and the unusual Victorian sculpture that sat atop Fairbourne House had been free of either bloodstains or occult paraphernalia. And a troubled young man’s suicide had prompted no forensic investigation to speak of.

  “Well, no doubt she’ll land on her feet somewhere. An absolute treasure, that woman. Wish we could hire her to care for my own house and meals.”

  Stephen felt the back of his neck prickle. “Oh, not a good idea, Uncle Vernon. I think you’d go crazy having such a perfectionist hovering around you.”

  “True enough, I suppose. And Roark Fairbourne will manage somehow. Now there’s a young m
an one can count on to take care of business. He’ll make the most of his considerable advantages in life, I suspect.”

  “Yes,” Stephen said with a sigh. “I’ve come to realize that over the past few days.”

  “Have you? I’m glad to hear it. I knew that deep inside you lived a good judge of character. I’m seldom mistaken about such things.”

  Stephen seized on the perfect opportunity to change the subject. “And speaking of missed opportunities, where’s Geoffrey today? I understand he’d been here to visit you.”

  “Yes, he was here.” Sighing, Uncle Vernon looked down at his hands and his voice seemed to wobble. “I will not reveal all that was said, but I’m sorry to say that Geoffrey made a most impractical declaration—not entirely unexpected, I admit, and not exactly unwelcome, but one that I could not in good conscience respond to.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that. Why, Uncle Vernon? It seems to me you two would be perfect for each other. Geoffrey’s a nice, trustworthy guy. He’s smart enough to give you the kind of intellectual stimulation you want. Plus he knows every inch the store and could help you with it after I leave. What’s stopping you from giving him a chance?”

  Uncle Vernon stuck out in his jaw in a mulish way that signaled a lost cause. “Stephen, my private life is not something I intend to discuss with you now or ever. Suffice to say that I would prefer not to re-enact some acute and rather painful losses of the past.”

  “Oh, admit, Uncle Vernon. You missed him terribly while we were at the house.”

  “I have no intention of admitting or denying any such thing,” Uncle Vernon insisted. “And that is all I have to say on the subject. Besides, it would be unseemly. It appears I have another visitor.”

  He lifted his chin to indicate someone standing behind Stephen. When Stephen turned to follow his gaze, he almost fell out of the visitor’s chair. Roark Fairbourne stood there, holding a potted plant in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in the other.