observant. She pouted at her reflection. It was all his fault anyway. If he
hadn't spent all his spare time and money on his silly politics, instead of
lavishing it on her, they might still be together.
She'd told him right from the start; she was prepared to put up with a lot of
things from him, but coming second wasn't one of them. She expected all his
attention all the time. She wasn't unreasonable; she realized he had
commitments. She just wanted him to be there when she needed him. What was so
unreasonable about that? Things had been different when they first met. He'd
been all over her then, bright and witty and attentive, always ready with a
smile or a compliment or an out-of-season flower. When he finally worked up the
nerve to ask her to marry him, long after she'd decided to accept, he'd promised
her faithfully that she'd always come first with him. Graham was always very big
with promises. She should have remembered that promises were a politician's
stock in trade.
He'd been so funny, then. She missed his sense of humor more than anything. He
could always make her laugh, no matter how dark the day.
Still, she hadn't done so badly for herself since she left him. She ran up the
bills and he paid them, just as always. And why not? That was what men were for.
Among other things. She smiled. Richard MacNeil was an unexpected bonus. Tall,
dark, handsome, and wonderfully innocent in the ways of the world. He all but
blushed every time she looked at him. She pulled the front of her dress down
another inch to show off more cleavage, and considered the effect in the mirror.
No, better not. She wanted to attract Richard's attention, not give him a
coronary. Besides, it would undoubtably scandalize Jamie, and she couldn't
afford to get on his wrong side at the moment. Dear Jamie; so young and already
so prudish. Never even had a girlfriend, as far as she knew. She'd have to do
something about that, once this nonsense was over and done with. In the meantime
she'd do better to concentrate on Richard. He needed… encouraging. She produced
a small silver makeup case from inside her sleeve, opened it, and pawed
thoughtfully through the contents.
"Aunt Katrina, what are you doing?"
Katrina glanced round at Holly. "Ah, you've decided to come out of your snit at
last. I thought you were going to sulk all day because Jamie paired you off with
me instead of your precious David."
"I was not sulking!"
"Of course not, dear; you were just thinking very hard, and that's what made you
frown. Now be a pet, and don't interrupt while Auntie fixes her face."
Katrina removed a tiny black patch from the makeup case, balanced it on the tip
of her finger, and pressed it firmly onto the right side of her face, just above
the jaw. It was very slightly but quite definitely heart-shaped. Katrina turned
her face back and forth, studying the effect in the mirror.
"Aunt, what is that?"
"It's a beauty spot, dear. They're all the rage. And I do wish you'd call me
Katrina, especially when we're in company. 'Aunt' makes me feel positively
ancient."
"A beauty spot," said Holly, doubtfully. "What's the point of it?"
"The point is to attract a young man's interest. Beauty spots are supposedly
there to cover some minor flaw or defect; this intrigues the young gentleman as
to what that flaw might be, and how he might get a look at it. Personally, I
just think they look pretty."
Holly thought about it for a moment, and then shook her head. "Not really my
style."
"Yes, well, at your age you don't need such artifices. Gods, I'd kill for a
complexion like yours. Still, at least you're taking an interest in things
again. How are you feeling now, Holly dear?"
"Better, I suppose. I'm sorry I went all to pieces downstairs, but it all just
got too much for me. I've not been sleeping well recently. I'm sure I could cope
a lot better if I wasn't so tired all the time."
Katrina sighed, and put away her makeup case. She turned to look at Holly
sternly. "Have you been taking that potion the doctor prescribed?"
I'm afraid to. It's always the same dream. I'm lying in bed, in the dark, unable
to move, and there's something in the room with me. I can't see it, but I know
it's there. It comes slowly closer, creeping towards the foot of my bed. I can
hear its heavy footsteps, and its harsh breathing. And I know it wants to do
something to me; something horrible. I know I'm dreaming, and I try to wake
myself up, but I can't. It starts to heave itself up onto the end of my bed. I
can feel the mattress sink down around my feet, feel the creature's horrid
weight on my legs. I try to scream, but I can't make a sound; and that's when I
finally wake up. Only each night, the creature seems to get a little further
before I can wake myself up. That's why I'm so afraid to sleep, because I know
that one night I'm not going to wake up in time."
"You poor dear!" Katrina got up and moved quickly over to kneel beside Holly.
"Why didn't you tell the doctor all this?"
"I did. He said it wasn't that unusual a dream for a girl my age, and advised
Jamie to get me married off as soon as possible. I wasn't supposed to hear that,
but I was listening outside the door. Jamie said he'd think about it. But my
dream is real. I know it. That's why I began praying for the Family Guardian to
come and save me. He's my only hope now."
Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Men! Now don't you worry, Holly, as soon as this
nonsense is over I'll see Jamie gets you the best doctors and specialists in
Haven. They'll find out what's really wrong with you, and what to do about it.
In the meantime, you need something to take your mind off things. Come with me,
dear. Come on!"
She took Holly firmly by the arm and dragged her over to the dressing table.
Ignoring Holly's protests, Katrina sat her down before the mirror and retrieved
her makeup case from her sleeve. She took hold of Holly's chin and turned her
face back and forth, frowning thoughtfully as she studied the girl's pale and
tired features in the mirror.
"Don't you worry about a thing, dear. Auntie is going to remake your face from
top to bottom. You won't know yourself when I'm finished. Then you can walk into
the will-reading with your head held high, and knock them all dead. David isn't
going to believe his eyes the next time he sees you!"
"But Katrina, I don't wear makeup… Jamie doesn't allow it…"
"Oh hush, dear, and let Auntie work. You think about David, not Jamie. I'll take
care of him."
Marc and Alistair sat stiffly in chairs on opposite sides of the room, carefully
not looking at each other. They'd taken turns freshening up in the adjoining
bathroom, and now they were waiting to be called downstairs for the reading of
the will. In all the time they'd been alone together they hadn't exchanged a
dozen words. Alistair crossed and uncrossed his legs, and drummed his fingers on
the arm of his chair. He glanced briefly at the liquor cabinet, and looked away.
That wasn't what he wa
s here for. His Family needed his help, and he wouldn't
let them down. He looked round the room Jamie had given him. There'd been quite
a few changes in the decor since he was last here. He didn't like them. Too
bright and gaudy, by half. But, fashions change, and he had been away a hell of
a long time…
He looked over at Marc, who was sitting perfectly still, staring at nothing, his
face as inscrutable as ever. Was this what the Family had come to, a cold fish
like him? The MacNeil blood must be running pretty damned thin these days. The
man looked more like a funeral director than a young blade of the Quality.
Alistair stirred impatiently. He found Marc's continued silence intensely
irritating. There were things he needed to say, things he needed to discuss with
someone, important things; and who had Jamie paired him off with? An undertaker
who'd taken a vow of silence, with all the open emotions of a garden statue.
Alistair settled back in his chair and put a curb on his impatience. He
shouldn't be too hard on the lad. After all, Marc was all alone and a long way
from home. He was probably just shy and ill at ease. He could be waiting for
Alistair to make the first move. Alistair ran through half a dozen possible
openings, designed to lead the conversation round to what he wanted to talk
about, but faced with Marc's cold visage they all seemed either fatuous or
foolish.
All right, then; to hell with being polite. Be direct.
He leaned forward in his chair and fixed Marc with his gaze. "You've been doing
a lot of thinking, young Marc. Who do you think the freak is?"
Marc met the older man's gaze unflinchingly. "I don't know, cousin. It could be
any of us. If Richard is right, and the creature truly no longer remembers what
it is, then I suppose it could even be you or I, and we wouldn't know. It's a
frightening thought; the possibility that you might not be who you think you
are, but actually someone else entirely. And yet I'm not sure that I agree with
Richard. In order to pass as one of us, the freak must be maintaining a fairly
complex illusion spell. How could he do that, and not be aware of what he is?"
"I don't know," said Alistair. "But the mind's a funny thing. Maybe part of him
remembers; just enough to protect him without breaking the hold his new memories
have on him. But even so, we're still dealing with someone who's spent most of
his life going crazy in solitary confinement. Even with his new memories to lean
on, he's bound to find himself in situations he can't cope with. And that's when
his true nature can't help but reveal itself."
Marc looked at him thoughtfully. "I take it you're about to suggest someone you
think has been acting out of character."
"Exactly," said Alistair. "I don't like the way Richard's been acting. He's from
a very minor branch of the Family, lives in the middle of nowhere, and by his
own account has spent most of his life with his nose in a book. But ever since
we found the body, he's been taking charge, snapping out orders and generally
behaving more like a hardened soldier or a Guard. It's as though he's confused
the memories of who he's supposed to be with those of the people he read about.
And out of all of us, he's always seemed the least scared. Perhaps because deep
down he knows he's got nothing to worry about."
"You may have something there," said Marc slowly. "I've been watching Richard,
too. He was very quick on picking up the freak's story from the papers Jamie
found, wasn't he? Have you told anyone else of your suspicions?"
"Only Jamie. He won't listen to me."
"We need evidence. All we have at the moment are suspicions. We can't condemn a
man purely on doubts and theories."
"We'll get evidence," said Alistair. "All we have to do is watch him. Sooner or
later he'll give himself away, and then I'll kill him with my bare hands."
David paced impatiently up and down, glaring at nothing and everything, while
Arthur freshened his glass with a bottle from the room's liquor cabinet. He'd
dragged the cabinet over to the bed, and was now seated with his back against
the headboard and his legs stretched elegantly out before him. He watched David
indulgently for a while, and then coughed politely. David shot him a glance
without slowing his pacing. Arthur smiled at him.
"Do slow down a little, Davey. You're wearing a path in the rugs and making me
positively dizzy. Jamie will call us when it's time."
David dropped reluctantly into the nearest chair, stirred uncomfortably, and
then shifted forward until he was sitting right on the edge of the chair.
"Arthur, how can you be so calm after everything that's happened? Has the booze
finally given up on rotting your liver and decided to go after your brain now?
One of us is a murderer, an insane monster just waiting for his chance to kill
again. And we're trapped in the Tower with him!"
Arthur thought about that for a moment. "Does it really matter that he's an
insane monster? I mean, a sane one would be just as bad, surely?"
David looked at him disgustedly. "I should have known better than to expect any
sense out of you. For once in your life, Arthur, try to concentrate on what's
happening around you! Holly's in danger here. Doesn't that mean anything to
you?"
"Yes, it does. You know that. I'll do anything I can to protect her and keep her
safe. But right now she's safe in her room behind a locked door. Just like us.
What else can we do now except wait for Jamie's call?"
"I don't know!" David shook his head slowly and relaxed a little. "I'm sorry,
Arthur. I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm just… scared, that's all. Scared
that something bad's going to happen to Holly, and I won't be there to stop it.
I've always been her protector, even more than Jamie; standing between her and
the bad old world. Taking all the knocks and bruises so she wouldn't have to.
I'd die for her, Arthur. But all I can do now is sit on my backside and wait for
something to go wrong. I just feel so bloody helpless!"
"We all do, Davey. Save your strength. Save it for when it's needed."
David sighed heavily. "I never was very good at waiting. I've always needed to
be doing something, anything."
"Our time will come. In the meantime, why not have a drink?"
David looked at him sternly. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it? Get
smashed out of your mind till the world stops bothering you. Don't you know that
stuff's killing you?"
"Sure," said Arthur. "But what makes you think I give a damn? Nobody else does,
so why should I buck the trend? It's not enough just to live, Davey; there has
to be some purpose in it, some reason to get out of bed in the morning. And I
never found one.
"For a while I tried to be the kind of man my Family wanted, but after they all
died I lost interest. There didn't seem any point in it once they were gone. I
had all the money I'd ever need, and the estate practically runs itself. So,
mostly I just settled for having a good time. Believe me, Davey, you'd be
surprised how deadly dull having a good time can be after a while. One party
blurs into another, the days drag on, and someti
mes you think the night is never
going to end. I can't seem to get interested in anything anymore. Nothing really
matters to me. Except you and Holly. You're important to me, Davey. You do know
that, don't you?"
"Of course," said David. "We've always been friends, the three of us. Always
will be."
"Friends," said Arthur. "Yes." He took a long drink from his glass.
"You need a woman in your life," said David. "Surely at all those parties there
must have been someone, some woman who made your heart beat faster…"
"There was one woman I loved. But I never told her."
"Why not?"
"Because I cared for her too much to ruin her life by becoming a part of it.
I've messed up my own life quite thoroughly. I'm damned if I'll drag her down
with me. Besides, she already has someone, someone who'll make her much happier
than I ever could."
David shook his head. "Arthur, you mustn't think so badly of yourself."
"Why not? Everyone else does. Even you."
"That's different. I'm your friend. All your friends worry about you."
"Friends," said Arthur, sipping at his drink. "I used to think I had a lot of
friends. After all, there's no one so popular as a drunk with money. But I had
to make out my will the other week. Instructions from the Family lawyer. So
there I was, sitting at my desk in my study, and I found there was hardly anyone
I wanted to leave anything to. I know lots of people, but the only time I ever
see them are at parties. Not one of them ever called at my house during the day
to say hello, or ask how I was, or just to chat for a while over a glass of
something. In the end, I found there were only three people in my life who I
thought might regret my passing. You, Holly, and Louis Hightower. That's it. And
be honest now. How many of you would even bother to come to my funeral if it was
raining?"
"There is nothing so boring as a maudlin drunk," said David firmly. "If you're
just going to feel sorry for yourself…"
"It's a dirty job," said Arthur. "But someone has to do it."
"Oh, stop it! Of course you have other friends. What about Jamie?"
"He's your friend, not mine. He just puts up with me because of you and Holly."
"Look, if you're so determined to kill yourself, why are you dragging it out? Do
the honorable thing and put yourself out of your misery! Oh hell… I'm sorry,