The Rose Master (20 page)

I made sure I was awake before the rest of the household the following morning. Another day of Dora’s sneering was more than I could handle with everything else that was occurring. As I entered the kitchen, I touched the cross, which I’d placed in my gown’s pocket, and smiled. It might have been my imagination, but it still felt warm.

It wasn’t long before I heard steps nearing, and I turned from scrubbing the kitchen table to see Dora enter, her eyes passing me by as if I were as invisible as the creature haunting us.

“Good morning, Dora.”

She nodded vaguely in my direction.

“Dora, listen, I didn’t mean to sound harsh yesterday. It’s just been a difficult few weeks. Lord Grey thinks I can help him with this situation, that’s why I have to spend time with him. That’s all, honestly.”

She paused slicing the bread that would be our breakfast. “So, you will be our savior. Anne the savior.”

Bugger. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Dora, could you please turn around? Please?”

With a sigh, she did. “What else do you want to ‘explain’ to me, Anne?”

“I know I’m new here and that you see me as some sort of threat to your position in the manor, even more now that I have contact with Lord Grey, but I wanted to be friends, Dora. We are all in this manor, facing whatever roams inside it, together.”

“I don’t care one bit if you spend time with the master, but just know that whatever it is you’re thinking will happen with him—”

“But I’m not—”

“Don’t interrupt! Whatever you think could happen between the two of you, won’t. He loves
her
, Miss Bellingham. He always has. He could never care for a servant.”

Her words shook me, the anger behind them chilling me more than anything the wraith could fashion. I could not find my voice.

She continued. “You know, if it weren’t for you, nothing would have gotten as terrible as it has. I’ve realized that. You are the cause of all these horrid things. Of getting the cook attacked badly enough to make her lose an eye. She was my aunt, you know, and now, no one will hire her. She’s practically destitute.”

“I’m sorry, Dora. I wasn’t aware of that.”

“No, of course you weren’t. You’re as innocent as a lamb, and yet, you’ve angered this creature. You’ve put us all in danger.”

As if to accent her words, there was a hiss of air that flew by me, strong enough to push Dora back against the sink. She gasped as the knife she’d been wielding was thrown across the room to clatter on the stone floor.

Dora looked at me. “Am I supposed to be thankful you’re here, Anne, when this is what it means?”

She was right. “No, Dora, you’re not.”

After that rather rough beginning to the morning, I wasn’t in the most forgiving mood to deal with the candle in front of me.

There was no luck in that section either. No matter how hard I tried, how much I concentrated, the flame was still glowing with a stubbornness that was unseemly. Lord Grey was becoming as frustrated as I was, I could tell.

“I’d rather thought you would have gotten this by now, Anne.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Well, your powers have been dormant for far too long. I should have taken that into account. Let’s try something else.”

Although I nodded, I could have thought of about a thousand other things I’d prefer to do, including sewing.

He stood and I followed him.

“Now, when we get ready to do what we have to do to destroy this creature, you will need to speak a certain few magic words. A chant, if you will.”

“But sir, you didn’t need a chant that first time with the Brothers.”

“True, but that was a wild creature. This one we face now requires the additional power that these particular words bring. I assume you’ve never done such a thing as chanting before?”

“No, sir.”

“I will teach you, then, how to properly use your voice in magic. First, you must understand that all the words we speak have power behind them, even commonplace words. Your name, for example, defines part of who you are. As you are now well aware, for someone to know your name is a powerful thing, to be used for good or ill. For chanting, all that is required is for you to know, to understand, that the words you speak are weapons as powerful as a dagger or a pistol, and then to add a little air beneath them. Watch.”

He stood still, opened his mouth and spoke a word that meant nothing to me. I assumed it was one of the magical ones he’d spoken about.

“What did you feel?” he asked.

“Nothing, sir, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Anne. You weren’t supposed to feel anything because I put no strength behind the word. Now, hear this.”

He repeated the word. It was just as quiet as the first time, and yet his voice echoed in the hall, vibrating against my very skin.

“Did you feel the difference?”

“Yes, sir, but how did you do it?”

He walked toward me, standing so close I could feel his warmth pushing against me. He raised one hand and brought it up to my chest, a little above where my rib bones ended. He didn’t touch me, but I felt his hand nonetheless.

“You speak the word from there. From your center. That’s where your power comes from. In the chant you will use, there is a word ‘athana,’ which means ‘help.’ I want you to practice with that one.”

He stepped back and allowed me more room. The word filled my mouth as I breathed, contemplating what Lord Grey had just told me.

“Athana,” I said.

He shook his head. “Try again. Concentrate.”

I thought of the way he’d said it, a caress of syllables. I felt the warmth of his hand in my very center, my heartbeat meeting it in an orb of energy. “Athana.”

My voice leapt out of my body like water from a fountain and hovered in mid-air. I blinked in surprise.

“Very nice, Anne. At least you have that figured out. Now, back to the candle.”

By the time I found myself in the kitchen for supper, I’d had just about enough of candles and Lords, and only wanted my bed to materialize in front of me. Ms. Simple poured more food on my plate with a murmur of keeping my strength up, but I could have fallen asleep right there, my head in the stew.

I did notice, though, that Mr. Keery was not present.

“He’s been feeling a bit ill,” Dora said, the only words she addressed to me the entire evening.

“We’ve taken him a dish to the stables, so that he can remain in bed.”

If I’d been less tired, perhaps I would have felt the warning in the air. But I didn’t. I just finished my duties and plunged into bed. I did not even bother taking my shoes off. A blessing, that.

I groaned as the sound woke me. Really, this was too much. As I rose to full consciousness, I realized it was not the usual scratching at my door I was hearing, but a loud pounding.

“Anne! Anne!”

Leaping off the bed, I rushed to the bolted door while my heart beat out a warning. Dora’s face pierced through the darkness, as white as her gown, her eyes raw with crying.

“I don’t know what to do, Anne! Help me!” Her hands grabbed at me, yanking me into the hallway.

“What’s the matter? Dora, what’s wrong?”

“Ms. Simple, Mr. Keery.”

“What? What about them? Dora!”

I chased after her as she sprinted off to the kitchen. Voices leapt up like flames: Ms. Simple’s taut and thin, and another, that
other
one—the wraith’s voice. I slammed into Dora’s back as she froze in front of the kitchen door.

“And what exactly do you plan to do, Ms. Simple? Simple, mimple, wimple. Huh? What does your little brain tell you to do?”

I flinched as I realized the voice coming out of Mr. Keery’s throat was not his own. It was not the usual quiet murmur, but the cold chuckling that had been trailing us.

“Mr. Keery, please.” Ms. Simple moved to the left, revealing the scene’s full madness. Mr. Keery, soaked and covered in hay, brandishing a make-shift torch. A bitter smell reached my nose and I knew he was not dripping water, but oil, the drops crashing to the floor with each twitch of his body.

“Mr. Keery, Peter, please. Give me the torch.” Ms. Simple’s shaking hands extended, but a low growl and a strike forward from the coachman pushed her away.

“Peter.”

“Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter.” The voice rose in a slithering cackle, upwards until it cracked into a laugh. “You still think this is Peter Keery. Idiotic woman.”

I shook off the paralysis that bound me and stepped into the swaying light from the torch. The coachman’s eyes rotated to me. His smile widened.

“You’re just who I wanted to see, pretty Anne.” He limped to me, one of his ankles twisted into a grotesque split of skin and bone. My first thought was to run backward, away from the creature’s presence, but I grit my teeth against the fear and held my ground.  

A wave of fragrant air brushed my back and a high voice spoke from over my shoulder.

“That’s enough,” Lord Grey said.

“You think so, August? Hmm? It’s not been nearly enough.” Mr. Keery’s body swayed. “I see you are getting closer to this pretty lass. She’s going to help you unravel a few ‘issues.’” He barked a laugh.

My cheeks burned at the insinuations, but I felt Lord Grey’s hands grasp my arms firmly, moving me sideways and away from the coachman’s eyes.

“She’s just a maid, and you know it.” Lord Grey’s profile was sharp against the night.

“Oh ho, no. I don’t think that’s all she is. Much more than that, August, you silly boy.”

Lord Grey lifted one hand and spoke a couplet of words under his breath.

Mr. Keery smiled. “I think it’s time to be rid of the rest of the cast, don’t you, Anne? Let’s make it a little cozier for the three of us.”

In a second, the flames had trailed up the coachman’s arms, up to his head and down to his legs. A scream like breaking glass filled the kitchen, and the voice spoke again from above us.

“I’ll be seeing you, sweet girl.”

Dora began to whimper behind me, a swallowed squeal trapped inside her body, while Ms. Simple pressed herself flat against the farthest wall.

“Anne!” One look from Lord Grey was all it took to break my paralysis and set me running to the main hall. I yanked the first curtain I came upon, pulling its heavy weight down, pole and all, and ripped the fabric off. I ran back to the kitchen trailing dark cloth.