Mistress of the Stone (24 page)

Izabel shrieked with rage, hunting through her vials of foul potions, searching for an antidote. There wasn’t one. Not for this. Not in time.

When she opened her eyes again, Shadrach had her in his warm wide arms.

“I’m here, my love. Can you hear me?”

She nodded weakly. It was getting harder to breathe. And it was so dark. She could barely see him anymore.

“How could you leave me again?”

Sound faded. Touch. Smell. Taste. Gone. She had taken this road before. She was dying.

Shadrach wept. With her last strength, she touched his face, then closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, it didn’t surprise her to know she was still here. The dead never leave the
Isla de Sempiterno
.

Shadrach held her body tight, but it disappeared, and in its place was her ghost. His hands went right through her.

“Sibyl!”

Sibyl rematerialized and reached up to touch his face. Izabel’s spell didn’t miss its mark entirely. The left side of his face appeared sunken and soft, looking more like the remains of a lava flow. Shadrach’s mouth had deformed and she wasn’t sure if he could even see out of that left eye.

“I’m sorry, Shadrach. I wanted to give you time to escape.”

“I would’ve never left you.”

“You must leave me now, my love. You cannot let my death be in vain.”

Shadrach glanced at the old crone still grumbling for her loss. “It won’t be in vain.” He stood up and approached his mistress with dangerous intentions.
What was he doing?
Sibyl tugged at his arm to no avail.

Izabel glared at the both of them. “Stay your murderous thoughts, my ugly troll. You cannot kill me.” She snapped her fingers at Shadrach as if to wake him from his suicidal trance. “Heed my words, fool. There are many ways to die, some so painful the screams can be heard long after death. You might be willing to throw your life away, but take a care if you don’t want your woman to suffer.”

She touched him on the forehead, and Shadrach recoiled in horror. His eyes went wild with fear, and he clutched Sibyl to his breast. He bowed his head to Izabel and shuddered. “Your will be done, milady.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

What did the crone show him to warrant such obedience? He could not speak it, and he lowered his eyes, as if too ashamed to even look at her.

Izabel growled an order.
Patefacio!
And a stone-hewn dome at the far end of the room scraped open, showering the room with bits of gravel and sand.

Sunlight poured in and Izabel grimaced. “Stupid girl. Your suicide was in vain. Your spirit is all I need. But I must wait for the moon to rise in its fullness before my spell will work. ’Tis fitting that your guard should be he who loves you. For it will be his punishment to keep you safe for me.” She snapped her fingers at Shadrach. “Put her on that pedestal,” she said pointing to a platform beneath the opening at the ceiling.

Sibyl had substance again, that partial form that had mass but no weight. Shadrach lifted her gently, pressing her against his chest. “Forgive me, my love. Forgive me.”

He lifted her to the pedestal and as their arms separated from one another, Sibyl felt her body harden as stiff as stone, just before everything went dark.

The last thing she heard was Shadrach…weeping.

Chapter Twenty-One

Koko was waiting for Daltry and Luísa at Sibyl’s hut when they returned from the Oracle. He clapped his little hands heralding their approach, then jumped into Luísa’s arms and kissed her on the cheek.

“Are you still here, beast?” She cuddled him like a newborn, tickling his whiskers until he surrendered a toothy grin.

Daltry lifted the leather flap that served as a door and allowed Luísa to enter.

Sibyl had not returned. He pulled out her rope belt from his pocket. It was still solid and whole.
How was that possible?
Anything she’d worn entered her ghostly world. He squeezed, crushing the knots against his flesh to prove to himself his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Coarse fibers scratched his skin and the knots were hard and tight. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“It probably slipped off her, Xander. She’s a wee bit of a thing.”

His throat tightened. “I fear for her. It’s like a stone in my gut.”

Luísa took the rope belt from his hands and bade him to sit for a while. “Rest, Xander. You’re jumping to conclusions. Maybe it wasn’t even her belt.”
 

But it was. Only Sibyl wore such belts. And this one had been worn. The ends were frayed, and the knots were as stiff as old knuckles
.
Something was amiss. He just hadn’t figured it out yet.

 
“I know my sister. She’d not stay away this long on purpose.”

Instinct told him they had gone as far as they could. There was no way to get Luísa to the crypt in time—not with everyone hunting them. With his last ally missing, he had to salvage what he could or risk losing Luísa as well.
He pulled a plantain from his satchel and offered the fruit to Luísa. “Eat,” he ordered. “We’ll leave on the evening tide. I know where we can find a sturdy currach that I can liberate for our purposes.”

“And what of Sibyl?”

Daltry took Luísa’s hand and pulled her to his lap. “I’ll have to trust that she’ll return when she can. She is a ghost after all. And no mortal weapon can hurt her. But you, my love, are in far more serious danger. The entire island knows you’re here now. I can’t risk your life any further. I have to get you out of here while there’s still time.”

“That’s my choice,
Inglés
, not yours.” She got up and walked over to where Sibyl’s cards still lay. She picked up the only card still face up, and showed it to him. It was the picture of the skeleton with the sickle, a dour omen if there ever was one. “I’m not finished here yet.”

Spoiled, arrogant chit. Did danger have to smack her on the arse? He kicked the table over, scattering the cards and their gruesome messages.
“Oh, yes you are. There are creatures on this island who laugh at the foibles of the mortal world. There are things far worse than death.”

“My mind is made up, Xander. Help me or don’t, but I will finish what I came here to do.”

Daltry jerked Luísa toward him and then hesitated. He glanced at the doorway and drew her behind him. “Someone’s coming.”

There was a wolf at the door, a familiar scent, but he feared not a friendly one. “Show yourself, brother.”

A long bony hand parted the leather door flap, and a man dragging his left leg slid inside.

Daltry’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Silas. Worthless dog carcass. What do you want?”

Silas turned his nose away from Daltry and turned toward Luísa. “My business is with the mistress, renegade.”

Daltry pushed Luísa further back. “Your business is with me.”

Silas ignored him, tilting his head so he could get a better look at Luísa. “Mistress,” he said bowing with a grand gesture. “We shapeshifters want only one thing, to control our fate. We are a cursed people.” He turned to Daltry with a thin watery smile, anxious to provoke him. “Ask your man here. He will support my claim. We are a people without free will. Saint-Sauveur says he can change that, but only if he is allowed to channel his prayers through you.”

“Bah! Prayers! Saint-Sauveur is as holy as a sailor on leave. He’s plied the pack with lies and empty promises. Follow him and you’ll give him dominion over all shapeshifters.”

“Better to have one master than be slaves to our fever,” Silas countered. He knelt before Luísa, his knees creaking like snapping twigs. “Mistress, if you can free us, I know Jovis will gladly follow you.” His voice was as sweet and sticky as syrup. Despite his deference, there was a taint in his meaning.

“Rubbish!” Daltry hoisted Silas to his feet, the toady all arms and waggling legs as he tried to get away. In another instant, he’d throw him out.

Silas wiggled free, a testament to his oily ways, and he fell to his knees and crawled to Luísa. “You must listen, milady! We can pay you in a currency of value.”

Luísa scoffed at him and turned away. “You have nothing I want.”

“I have information.”

There was something in the tone of his voice that seemed to grip Luísa in his snare. She turned, studying the face of this cur, a wolf that reeked of treachery. The need to find her father would outweigh her common sense—if she had any left at this point. He had to get rid of this toad before he filled her with his lies.
 

“Get out, Silas, before I turn you into shark bait.” Daltry tried to grab him, but he ducked, scrambling in front of Luísa again.

“Mistress,” he begged, his voice as oily as black tar. “I can tell you where your father is being imprisoned.”

Luísa stared back at Daltry as if looking for confirmation.
 

Flea-bitten cur! He should’ve silenced Silas long ago. “He’s lying,” Daltry growled. “You’ve seen what he is.”

Silas snarled back. “Luísa… Milady,” he corrected himself. “I offer proof.”

From within his waistband, he retrieved a scarlet silk handkerchief.

“Do you recognize this?”

“Back to your parlor tricks, Silas? That’s no proof.”

Silas ran his fingers down the length of the silk until he came to a corner. Embroidered in gold were the initials, I.L.T. in a fancy flourish.

Luísa’s eyes brimmed with tears. “That’s Papa’s kerchief.” She looked up at Silas. “Where is he?”

“He’s being held in a village of werehyenas. Very dangerous,” Silas cautioned. His long hooked nose shadowed a crooked mouth. Silas couldn’t tell the truth if you spooned it out of him.

Luísa snatched the handkerchief from Silas’s hands and studied it. She lifted the kerchief to her nose and sniffed the fine silk fabric. “Papa’s
.
I gave this to him three years ago. I even embroidered the initials myself.” Her gaze fixed on Silas. “You’ll show me where he is. We’re getting him out.”

“Out of the question,” Daltry countered.

“That is not for you to decide, Xander.” She grabbed Silas by the collar, pulling him up to face her. “Can you do it? Can you get me in?”

“Do we have a bargain, mistress? Your father for you.”

Luísa gave Daltry a long hard look. There was pity in her eyes and newfound resolve. Foolish girl.
 

“I’m sorry, Xander.”

Damn, Silas! He was ruining everything and endangering Luísa in the bargain.

Luísa turned to Silas, her hands clutching the kerchief like a lifeline. “You have a deal.”

The invalid bowed his head, his hands cupped in obeisance. “Thank you, milady. I can lead you to the village. The werehyenas leave at dusk to hunt. It will be nearly empty when we get there.” He glanced at Daltry dismissively. “Between the three of us we should be able to get him out.”

“This is madness!” Daltry thundered.

“You don’t have to go, Xander.”
 

“Yes, Xander,” Silas cooed. “I can find someone else.”

Daltry shoved Silas against a wall and breathed out a guttural warning. “If this is a trap, Silas, I will rip you into shreds so small no one will recognize the remains.”

Silas pushed him back, straightening his back as best he could. “Stay or go, Daltry. The mistress will see you for the coward you are.” He scraped his bad leg behind him and edged closer to Luísa. “You should know, milady, this man didn’t want you to find your father. Captain Tavares himself will tell you that it was Daltry who betrayed him to Saint-Sauveur.”

“What?” Luísa’s hands doubled into fists. “Is that true, Xander? Were you responsible for his capture?”

“Luísa, luv—”

“Answer my question!”

“It’s not what it seems. I thought he would lead us to you.”

“Such a smooth liar you are, Daltry. I heard your coffers were heavy with the gold Saint-Sauveur paid you when you surrendered the captain to him.”

Daltry lunged at Silas but this time it was Luísa who intervened, holding him at bay with an unsheathed blade. Daltry stopped cold.

“I’ve heard enough. We leave for the village before the sun sets.” She pushed the leather flap of the doorway open. “You don’t have to come with us, Xander. As a matter of fact, I’d rather you didn’t.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “You’re not the man I thought you were.” Luísa stared at him as if they were strangers to one another.

The innocent who had once nursed him was gone. He had stolen more than her virtue. He had stolen her trust, and that cut him deepest of all.

Daltry trudged out, forcing his feet to move forward. He’d lost her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Reaching the werehyena village didn’t take long. Daltry followed dutifully, despite Luísa’s insistence that he stay behind. Whatever they had before had vanished. Silas, that mangy cur, smashed any hope of reconciliation. But for once, he couldn’t blame Silas. The truth would have come out sooner or later, and when that happened, he knew Luísa would reject him. She could never love a man who betrayed her father.

Yet, it didn’t absolve him from his responsibility to her. He intended to keep her safe until he could get her off this island. That would be hard to do under normal circumstances, nearly impossible with a wild woman who didn’t have the good sense to know when she faced mortal danger.