Serpent's Gate Page 27
“Roark,” he whispered.
“I’m glad I got here before you were discharged, Mr. Carlyle,” Roark said cheerfully, setting the plant down on Vernon’s bedside table. Stephen wasn’t surprised when Roark didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. “A lot going on at home, as you’ve probably heard.”
“Yes, Stephen’s been filling me in. Most distressing. May I inquire about poor Ivy Mulgrave? I do hope she isn’t…”
“Not dead, no. Somehow, the same fall that killed Leo spared Ivy. She’s not in good shape, and she might be disabled for the rest of her life, but Malcolm is setting her up in a special nursing home where she’ll get the best care and treatment. If there’s any chance of her walking again, the doctors there will find it.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, though it is assuredly not an ideal situation. Still, if anyone could handle it appropriately, I have no doubt it’s you, Mr. Fairbourne. Now, if I may prevail upon you to do one thing for me?”
“Of course, sir. What is it?”
“Will you and Stephen find my nurse and tell her I’ve been waiting over an hour for my lunch tray? Considering what they probably charge in this place, I want the meal I’m entitled to before we drive home this afternoon. Easier not to stop along the way, as I’m eager to check on my store.”
“But Uncle Vernon, I thought you hated the food here,” Stephen blurted. “And why not just call the nurse with the buzzer on the bedrail?”
Uncle Vernon sighed, and he and Roark exchanged an amused look that made Stephen blush all the way down to his knees.
“We’ll be happy to do that for you,” Roark said, laughing. He took Stephen’s arm and steered him out of the room. They moved down the hall to a nurse’s station, where Roark relayed Uncle Vernon’s message to an exasperated woman behind a desk. Then he kept walking, gesturing for Stephen to follow.
“I’ll bet she’s looking forward to Uncle Vernon’s discharge even more than he is,” Stephen said as they strolled along at a casual pace. He didn’t quite dare to believe that Roark’s mood was really as light as it seemed. He was pretending for Uncle Vernon’s sake, no doubt. But why show up here at all? “I don’t envy her catering to his whims for the past few days. Been there, done that.”
“And let’s hope she wasn’t terribly good at it,” Roark said. “Otherwise you’ll have a very high bar to clear when you do get him home.”
“I’m already dreading the comparisons to Mrs. Mulgrave’s cooking.” Thanks to his nervousness around Roark, Stephen had blurted the words without thinking. Horrified, he stopped walking and blinked. “I’m sorry, Roark. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right. I’m still adjusting to that particular loss, too, though for different reasons.” Roark shrugged and they started walking again, slowly. “At least Ivy’s finally free of her. And all along I thought my mother was difficult to deal with.”
“I was wondering about Mrs. Mulgrave. Surely someone can find something to charge her with.”
“You mean to send her to prison? I’ve talked to the police—for hours, in fact. The bottom line is that convicting her is about as likely as sending Justin to prison, I’m afraid. There isn’t much proof that she did anything wrong, besides browbeat her children, and sadly that’s not a crime. Heck, these days being a demon priestess isn’t illegal, either—but I can assure you, I’ll keep trying. In any case, that woman will never come back to Fairbourne House as long as I’m alive to keep her out. Malcolm has suggested we hire a new housekeeper from some service he found out about in Switzerland. They cook just as well as Mrs. Mulgrave and barely speak a word of English, he says. It’s unlikely they’ll be translating nineteenth-century grimoires in the kitchen between meals.”
In spite of his determination to appear serious and mature, Stephen felt himself smiling at that. In fact, he felt almost giddy at the way conversation seemed to flow between them, almost as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them. But it had, and they both knew it.
All too soon, the moment passed and left them both uncertain again. Roark shook his head.
“I still can’t believe Leo was my half-brother. I admit I’m in no real rush to claim him as my brother. I sure lucked out in the sibling department, didn’t I? One turned out to be a demon-worshiping, homicidal maniac—and the other one just aspired to be. I must have accumulated some terrible karma in a past life or something.”
“If it’s any consolation, Roark, I can’t imagine you did anything to bring retribution down on yourself—in this life or any other. I admit I’m no expert on reincarnation, though we probably have a book or two on the subject in my uncle’s store. I just don’t think that’s the sort of person you are.”
“Do you mean it?” Roark exhaled in relief when Stephen nodded. “Listen…I came here today because I was hoping we could start over. I know I made some terrible mistakes when it came to our relationship—or is that the wrong word to use?”
Stephen felt his heartbeat quicken, just a little. “I-I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But since I can’t think of a more accurate one, we might as well go with it for now.”
“Fair enough.” Roark made a cutting motion in the air. “I know now that I should have come clean with you from the very beginning. The first time I came to the store, I should have told you about Fairbourne House. You should have had all the facts before you ever stepped inside. That house is dangerous—both in the ways you saw for yourself, and on another, deeper level.”
“Maybe with Justin and the Mulgraves gone, things will get better. I can’t bring myself to accept that there’s really a demon sleeping on the grounds of your house, Roark. Whatever evil exists there was generated by people. Now it’s up to different people to generate some good.”
“Maybe. In some ways that idea doesn’t comfort me, though. You know why?” Agitated, he dragged his hand through his hair. “I come from a long line of outwardly respectable people who have done terrible things, Stephen. What if every one of them—or even one out of every two, or three, started out with the same good intentions? Then, as time went on, and the atmosphere in that house got to them…well, they ended up doing things like pulling on black robes, chanting bad poetry on the roof, and writing crazy demon books in code.”
“It won’t happen to you, Roark. The fact that you’re so determined to fight against what you perceive as evil tells me you have as good a chance as anyone at escaping it. It’s not just about knowing right from wrong, is it? It’s about knowing yourself—and what your own limits are.”
They had reached a small lounge area at the end of the hall, thankfully empty of visitors just now. On a whim, Stephen held out a hand toward Roark. When he took it, they stepped inside the small room together.
“I wish you hadn’t run from me on the stairs.” Roark’s voice grew husky. When Stephen started to protest, he shook his head to silence him. “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t blame you one bit. It was my fault. I didn’t want to say too much for fear of getting Justin into trouble. I didn’t take Leo seriously as a threat—he made sure we underestimated him, and he used our own denial against us. My biggest mistake was not trusting you enough to tell you everything I knew and suspected at that point. When Malcolm called me from the hospital and told me Mrs. Mulgrave had stolen his car, I realized they were going to hurt you. Instead of taking the time to explain, I grabbed for you like some testosterone-drunk brute. I’m so sorry, Stephen. It would have served me right if you’d pushed me down the stairs and cracked my stubborn head open.”
“No, no, Roark. I was the one being stupid. I realize that now. I let Justin poison my mind against you. I didn’t give you a chance. Whenever you tried to talk to me, I cut you off and insulted you. I’m amazed you didn’t turn your back on me for good.”
“That wasn’t going to happen. And what you did wasn’t stupid at all. It would have been the smartest course of action under different conditions. You couldn’t know whom to trust—and I didn’t do enough to help you figure it out.”
“That’s a pretty generous interpretation, but I’ll take it. And all the same, I hope you can forgive me.”
“Only if you’ll agree to do the same,” he said.
“Of course I do.” Stephen paused, watching his face, almost not daring to ask the question that still nagged at his mind. But it was time to be honest and open. That was the only way to make sure the evil didn’t come back and push them apart again. “Roark…is it possible your mother really does have some kind of power? After all, she seemed to talk to me in that dream I had…she told me about the book, and predicted that we’d find the answers on the roof.”
He scoffed. “No. Mom doesn’t have real powers. She just thinks she does, along with a few other naïve souls like Malcolm. This witchcraft thing is a delusion. A fantasy. Just like Istharios.”
“You don’t think it’s possible she found…you know…some way to communicate with me?”
“No, I don’t. Not at all. The dream you had is easily explained by looking at what had been going on around you combined with the stress you felt. We talked about it at the time, remember? The rest was just coincidence.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He could see that the conversation was upsetting Roark, so he decided not to pursue the topic further. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his mother’s voice, and her presence in the house that day, had been more than just a phantasm inside his head. He would never convince Roark of that, though. And his explanation did make sense.
“Never mind all that right now. We’ve got other things to talk about. Real things. My life is about to get pretty hectic. Before you know it, I’ll be off to my law school orientation. Along with school, I’ll still have my duties to Fairbourne House. Finding time for other stuff—like a social life, for example—is going to present a real challenge.”
“Yes. I can see how it would.” Stephen offered him a cautious nod. Was he about to give his the brush-off after all? Maybe he shouldn’t have asked about his mother. Roark wanted to move on, and Stephen wouldn’t let him. That might be enough to send him away for good.
Stephen gasped as Roark leaned closer and wrapped both arms tightly around him.
“Luckily, I’ve always been a determined sort of guy—comes with being the scion of a prominent family. I have to set my priorities and stick to them. It’s become kind of a habit after all these years.”
“I…um…I understand.”
“Do you? What I’m trying to say is that the law school isn’t really such a long drive from your uncle’s store. And who knows—maybe in another year, you’d like to apply there yourself. They have all kinds of graduate programs in art, literature, maybe even pricing antiques for all I know. Having a contact on campus can make the transition a lot easier, they say.”
“I-I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“No? Well, that’s kind of too bad. I was hoping to surprise you today. Let me try again.”
With that, Roark bent down leaned in for a blistering kiss that seared through every inch of Stephen’s body. After a few moments, Roark pulled back and grinned as he watched Stephen gasp for air.
“Did I go too far?” he asked playfully.
“Not a chance,” Stephen said when he found his voice again. His pulse was racing so fast he wondered if he might be having a heart attack. Then again, no better place for that than in a hospital, he supposed. So it was probably okay if they did it again.
They did. This time, when Roark pulled him close, he felt something bang against his shoulder. He looked over at the plastic shopping bag Roark held.
“What’s that?”
“Ah. I almost forgot. But I’m glad you brought it up. I have a small dilemma I was hoping you could help me with.”
Stephen frowned, puzzled, as Roark reached inside the bag and pulled something out.
The Coleridge book.
“So, I bought this book a while back. You remember, I hope?” Roark addressed him as he would any random, slightly-less-than-helpful sales clerk.
Stephen nodded warily. “Of course I do.”
“Good. The thing is, I noticed a slight defect I hoped you could remedy.”
“A defect? Like what?”
Roark shrugged. “It doesn’t have a happy ending—or any ending, as it happens. Coleridge never finished ‘Christabel.’ I came back because I was hoping you could provide one.”
“I’ll do my best,” Stephen promised.
“Glad to hear it. Actually, it seems we’re almost halfway there now.”
They didn’t talk again for quite a while.
When they got back to Uncle Vernon’s room, the door stood open a crack. Stephen started to walk in, but Roark held out a hand to stop him. Stephen started to ask why, but stopped when he noticed none other than Geoffrey in the room. To his surprise, Geoffrey was leaning over Uncle Vernon’s bed, holding him by both hands. The two of them seemed to be speaking urgently, their heads bent close together. The freshly arrived lunch tray sat untouched beside Uncle Vernon’s bed.
“But I thought Uncle Vernon sent him away,” Stephen said in wonder.
“Forget what I said about the book.” Roark’s hand curled around Stephen’s when Uncle Vernon suddenly sat up, opened his arms, and let Geoffrey give him a kiss that looked every bit as passionate as the one he and Stephen had just shared. “I think we found that happy ending.”
MORE BY JADE ASTOR:
AVAILABLE NOW
Kiss of the Dark Prince
by Jade Astor
Available now on Kindle!
Please enjoy this sneak peek at Chapter 1!
At a British university, American exchange student Luke Martin meets Boris von Schatten, who claims to be a member of the royal family of Shattenberg, a small principality wedged between Austria and Hungary. Though Luke is skeptical, Boris ignites his curiosity with tales of the family castle and his half-brother, Prince Georg, now ruler of Schattenberg after the recent death of their father. Intrigued, Luke jumps at the chance when Boris offers to fly him to Schattenberg for the approaching summer break.
Once Luke arrives, though, the enigmatic but undeniably handsome Georg tells him that Boris has disappeared. Soon mysterious events begin to occur, including two deaths and increasing evidence suggesting that Georg murdered Boris along with a few others who got in his way. Luke finds it hard to believe that Georg is as demonic as people say—he even hears rumors that he drinks human blood—at least until some of Boris’s possessions are found covered with blood in a nearby ravine.
When he confronts Georg about his suspicions, Georg confesses that he is the victim of a curse and is powerless to stop it, though he denies murdering anyone. Luke longs to believe him—until attempts on Luke’s own life begin.
Kiss of the Dark Prince
by
Jade Astor
Chapter 1
A tolling bell over the city shattered what little concentration he’d mustered. Two solid hours of sitting in the empty chapel with his notebook balanced on his knees, and all he had to show for it was a jumble of scribbles and a few disconnected jottings. Cursing, Luke slammed his pencil against the mostly blank page. Only afterward did he remember where he was. Did swearing in a church count if no one else was around to hear it?
Then he realized someone had.
“Best be careful.” The deep voice, salted with a European accent he couldn’t quite place, came from the shadows. “As I crossed the street, I saw a few clouds gathering overhead. We wouldn’t want to provoke a strike of lightning.”
Luke watched as the man who had spoken stepped into view. Tall and well-dressed in a black silk shirt, knee-length leather jacket, and tailored black slacks, he carried what appeared to be an oversized sketchbook under one arm.
A moment passed before Luke found his voice. “Sorry about that. I let my frustration get the better of me.” He squinted into the filtered light provided by the stained glass windows. The man seemed too old to be a student but too young to be a professor or
—luckily for him—the vicar. A graduate student, perhaps, though his carefully tousled dark hair and perfect cheekbones suggested something more along the lines of an actor or a male model. Luke doubted he would be that lucky, however. “You don’t think lightning would strike indoors because of what I said, do you? I mean—that’s impossible.”
The man inclined his head to the left, a smile tilting the corner of his soft-lipped mouth. “Why is it impossible? I have seen much stranger things—things many others might hesitate to believe.”
“Okay,” Luke conceded. How could he argue with that? Given the choice between their own perceptions and cold logic, most people went with what they believed, irrational or not. Besides, even he had given in to a touch of superstition a moment earlier. Maybe being in a church reputed to be more than a thousand years old had an effect on people’s imaginations. “I guess it never hurts to be careful.”
“That is true in most cases. Not all.” His grin widening, the man came closer. His eyes dropped to the notebook and pencil in Luke’s lap. “Are you a writer?”
Up close and in better light, he seemed to grow even more handsome—definitely the reverse of what Luke had experienced in the bars and clubs he’d visited both at home and here in England. Generally the ones he spotted from far away didn’t hold up to a closer inspection.
“Hardly.” Luke laughed. “My tutor’s making me write an essay about this place. As you can see, I don’t have a clue where to begin.” He tilted the notebook to show his pathetic collection of scribbling.
“You’re a student, then. And you’re American.”
“Yeah. My parents wanted the prestige of sending me to a British college. It kind of ticks me off, though, to think I could get the same degree by hanging out at the back of some huge auditorium and pretending to take notes. Instead, I have to sit here all day and try to come up with five hundred words about how the architecture of Saint Whoever’s cathedral symbolizes Anglican spirituality, or whatever the f… whatever my professor said.”