A Draught of Ash and Wine, page 11
CHAPTER NINE
Merry loomed a few steps above them. They barely came to Johnathan’s shoulders but possessed a towering presence that urged him to take a step back.
“Katherine, would you prepare the workroom?” Merry didn’t take their eyes off Vic. Katherine didn’t bother to respond, vanishing from view. Her invisibility disturbed Johnathan. He doubted he would know she was in the room unless she wanted him to.
“Gentlemen, we have much to discuss, but I can see you are both dead on your feet, if you’ll pardon the saying. Allow me to show you to your rooms to freshen up and rid yourselves of this dreadful clothing,” said Merry. They glided down and took Vic’s arm. Fingers curved over his forearm in a gesture more possessive than polite. “Honestly, Victor, I almost didn’t recognize you in these rags. And you haven’t been feeding!”
“These fine garments were the best we could do in a pinch,” said Vic, looking much aggrieved at the mention of his current outfit. “As for feeding, unfortunately lost my kit.”
Merry patted his arm. “Poor Victor. Don’t worry. I still have your supplies here. I’ll take care of you.”
“That is very generous of you,” Vic replied. There was genuine warmth in his smile.
Johnathan stared at their conjoined arms and finally recognized the emotion churning in his gut. It was worse that Vic didn’t look at him, too involved in his conversation with their host. Johnathan trailed behind them, his muddy feet dragged on the plush carpet, bereft and unsure how to act. He’d never been in this position before, but he was certain he did not like it.
The skin across the back of his neck tingled. Johnathan looked up to find Merry staring at him over Vic’s shoulder, lips quirked in a knowing smirk. His fingers curled into fists at his side, where his claws dug into the tender skin of his palms.
The staircase led to a long hallway. The ribbed support pillars and spaced lighting were the dark throat of a giant. The walls seemed to flex and breathe under Johnathan’s gaze, a gentle gust of air teased through the fine strands of hair at his temples. Vic and Merry continued their lively chat right to the first door, which Merry opened to reveal a sumptuous suite, far grander than any lodging Johnathan stayed in his life.
A large, canopied bed dominated the space, draped in gold over brown brocade. Highlights of hunter green and russet comprised the bedding and fabric, giving the room a masculine tone.
“Yes, this will do nicely,” said Merry. They reached back, seizing Johnathan’s wrist. “Relax your hand, dear. The room just needs to get a feel for you.”
Johnathan wondered how many rooms were required to ‘get used to him’, but he allowed Merry to press his hand flat against the warm wood of the door. A ripple moved through the drapery and bed sheets. He swore he heard a voice, a soft imperceptible sigh before the room settled. Intrigued, he didn’t immediately jerk his hand away when Merry released him, his fingers splayed over the smooth grain.
“There is a bath adjacent,” said Merry. “We’ll leave you to get settled. Come along, Victor.”
Johnathan jerked back. Panic slid along his nerves. A protest formed and died on his lips, uncertainty tying his tongue in knots. Merry seemed somewhat aware of the dynamic between them, but Johnathan couldn’t be sure. Their hold on Vic’s arm could have been friendly or possessive, but it irked him either way. He teetered on the precipice of indecision. Vic said nothing but gave Johnathan an imperceptible nod.
Bowing his head, Johnathan’s fingers trailed across the door, drank in the warmth of the wood. He closed it behind him and leaned his forehead against it. The scent of polish and laundered bed clothes were a welcome comfort after days beneath the musty waxed sheet on the barge.
Jealousy was a new emotion for him. He couldn’t recall a time in his life it stung him so deeply, which was why it took him so long to recognize it. The other Prospectives were jealous of one another’s skills or successful hunts. They vied for the attention of the high-ranking members, seeking favor, but the cutthroat nature of that competition didn’t hold much appeal for Johnathan. Besides, he’d held such attentions, and look where it got him.
His relationship with Vic was so new, and while they’d shared so much in such a short amount of time there was a rift of experiences Vic held over him. That he hadn’t mentioned Merry was a more than subtle hint of the nature of their past relationship, one Johnathan didn’t feel was his right to prod. A whisper of doubt crept through him. How solid was their connection after Johnathan had rejected their intimacy, caught in a tangle of guilt and self-disgust?
Torn between frustration and weariness, he entered the bathroom. At the sight of the tub, his worries stuttered to a halt. He blinked, taking it in. The floor was some sort of inlaid stone, glossy as pearls, set in a semi spiral pattern around an enormous central tub. It could easily fit two or three men his size. But the crown jewel of the device were the shiny brass taps protruding from the wall.
Could it be? This isolated mansion had indoor plumbing? He’d only seen such a set up once, in the posh abode of a Boston widow with a ghoul in her attic. Though her quaint porcelain bathtub was much smaller. Johnathan gingerly turned the tap and jumped when water gushed from the central spout. The water was warm to the touch, heating the longer it poured over his hand. What better remedy for his poor confused heart than a long hot soak? Tearing his clothes off, Johnathan scrambled into the tub. Water splashed onto the floor in his hurry to submerge his aching body.
The tub filled quickly for its size. Hot water lapped over his chest and upper arms, soothing away the last of the chill. He settled back with a sigh. His life might have gone to the pits but here he sat amidst true luxury. Johnathan spread his arms around the rim of the tub, the days of blood and grime seeped from his skin while he stared up at the ceiling. Someone had carefully rendered a dozen constellations in specks of white paint across a canvas of midnight blue. The steam rose from the bath, gathering dew on the bits of white so they sparkled in the lamp light. The effect was breath taking. The ornate woodwork, the rich fabrics, the ceiling murals, and the heated indoor plumbing, all spoke of incalculable wealth, hidden away from the world in the middle of the wilderness. Johnathan wondered how such a place could exist. Vic referred to this location as a supernatural safe house, which piqued Johnathan’s curiosity to no end.
Which brought him right back to his previous train of thought. Vic had yet to come find him. He knew he was being a bit ridiculous. Merry offered Vic sustenance, something Johnathan couldn’t do for him. The realization Merry was the likely donor did nothing for his sour mood or his jealousy, irrational as it was. Merry said they had the instruments Vic used on hand, another piece of evidence of their shared, possibly recent past. Not feeding from the vein. No mouths on any body parts. Though how long would the set up and procedure take? Surely Vic had to be finished by now? Or maybe they were busy catching up, natural for two people when they knew each other for many years.
Groaning, Johnathan curled his arms inward, sinking down until the water closed over his head. Underwater, the world was muted, the steady beat of his heart a calming rhythm inside his head. He concentrated on that sound, held the worry and the guilt at bay until his protesting lungs forced him to surface. Giving his head a vigorous shake, Johnathan draped his arms over his knees, letting his fingertips dangle against the surface of the bath.
Maybe he should seek out Vic. Could he be enjoying a private soak? Maybe a not so private one? Johnathan scowled at himself. Was he so quick to doubt the loyalty of his companion? Or was it so hard to believe he could hold Vic’s attentions with the sensual Merry around? He didn’t know their host and he’d already spun a dozen unfounded assumptions. The water was cold by the time he roused himself from his futile train of thought, the hanging towels soft against his damp skin. Not bothering to salvage his borrowed clothes from their heap on the bathroom floor, Johnathan headed for the bed. The mattress sank beneath him, partially enveloping him when he flopped down on his back. After such a long soak, he'd hoped to have calmed enough for exhaustion to claim him, but his mind kept spinning. Sleep continued to elude him, and Johnathan refused to ruminate on his circumstances for however long Vic left him there.
Sitting up, he spied a wardrobe in the corner of the room. Doubtful he’d find anything in his size, he slid it open and combed through the neatly hung shirts and trousers. His fingers stilled. They were all similar in size, and far too large for their diminutive host or Vic. Johnathan held one up against his chest, the cuffs falling just past his wrists. The entire wardrobe was sized for him.
The room needed to get a feel for him. How much had it altered itself to suit his needs? Johnathan peered around the luxurious space, wondering what level of awareness the Estate possessed, or if it existed in another realm like the Fae. Too grateful to look a gift horse in the mouth, he slid on a shirt and pants. The garments fit him better than anything he’d ever owned, the fabric silken to the touch. Though he didn’t bother with the polished boots now that his feet were clean. Johnathan offered a murmured salutation to whatever force oversaw the upkeep of his room and padded barefoot to the door.
There was a small fear he’d find it locked, but it swung open on silent hinges when he turned the knob. Part of him longed to find Vic, but the familiar trail of citrus and musk wove with Merry’s scent of rosewater and smoke, and he was a coward. Johnathan headed back the way toward the entrance, his unclad feet silent across the carpet. He made it to the top of the grand staircase, surveying the elegant chandelier and foyer.
“Do you always walk about like a barefoot heathen?” Katherine sat on the railing, her legs carelessly kicked the open air, feet clad in dainty slippers. Her appearance reminded Johnathan of a porcelain doll left to bleach in the sun, her youthful features frozen in time. Though his education of the supernatural wasn’t as extensive as he once believed, he wondered if the Society had seen anything like her. She raised a brow at his blatant stare. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Sorry,” Johnathan blurted and looked away, a familiar blush on his cheeks.
Katherine’s legs stopped moving. She leaned forward, supporting her chin on her folded hands. “For a Hound, you don’t seem very…demonic.” She sighed. “I might owe you an apology. My opinion of demons is biased. Please, forgive my rudeness. It was not your fault, but mine.”
“It’s Johnathan. Johnathan Newman. I haven’t had much practice being demonic,” he said. And the practice he did have fueled his nightmares. The specters of his victims hovered at the back of his mind, waited for his guard to drop with blank dead eyes and torn limbs. He gave an internal shake, returning to the present. Katherine didn’t notice his wandering attention.
Instead, she giggled. “A Hellhound named Johnathan?”
Johnathan managed a small smile. “Yes, it is rather anticlimactic.”
“I don’t remember my last name,” she said, her tone wistful. “Too many years between corporeality. Memories, the details, are so hard to keep without form.” She noticed his perplexed expression. “What is it?”
“I confess, I have no idea what you are,” said Johnathan. Every day proved the inadequacy of his Society education.
“Oh,” said Katherine. She smoothed her skirts. “I believe the most accurate terminology is Geist. I lingered on this mortal plane long enough to transcend beyond your common ghost or specter and gained a corporeal form.”
“But not a poltergeist?” Johnathan leaned on the rail a few feet away from her. He didn’t want to scare her off, though their encounter outside informed him the Geist was capable of bringing him down.
Katherine hummed, tapping her chin in thought. “A poltergeist gains corporeality in short bursts, just enough to move or throw objects. I am different.” She held up her hand, stretching it out to him. “I can be touched.”
There was a moment of hesitation, but Johnathan reached the rest of the distance and pressed his palm against hers. Icy shocks stabbed through his palm. He snatched his hand back, shaking it out.
“Sorry. I can be touched, but it’s not pleasant.” Katherine winced. She dropped her hands to her lap, a deep sadness in her gaze. After a moment, she perked up. “Would you like to see the workshop? Victor should still be there. We planned to give you both a moment to recuperate but Victor was very insistent he speak with Merry tonight.”
Vic spoke to Merry without him? But why? That flicker of petty jealousy and unease remained, despite his efforts to bury both emotions deep. What did he want to tell Merry that he didn’t want Johnathan to hear? Violence flashed through his mind, the blood saturated ground beneath him, surrounded by torn bodies. Gore dripped from his fingertips; the wet thud echoed in his ears louder than gunshot. Lifeless eyes stared up at him, the faces of the dead frozen in silent accusation…
Johnathan sucked in a breath, his hands gripped the railing so hard it creaked. A chill brushed across his shoulder. He glanced up at Katherine. Her hand hovered over him, not quite touching.
“Are you—your face went rather pale.” There was a note of wary concern in her gaze. Johnathan stepped away from the railing, his fingers ached. He rubbed his stiff hands over his thighs.
“I would be grateful if could show me the way,” he said.
The sumptuous design of the Estate continued through the lower hallway, this one decorated with smoother columns, recessed into the walls. There were several rooms closed off on this level as well, their contents concealed behind wide double doors. Bronze handles gleamed in the intermittent lamp light. Some doors were open, the rooms decorated in rich comfortable furnishings that bolstered the portrayal of luxury. Johnathan was out of his depth. He’d never seen such wealth in his life from a distance, never mind being in the middle of it. He kept his hands against his sides, fearing he would leave smudges on the walls or, worse, scrape them with his claws.
Katherine glided in front of him. Her skirts fell to the ground, hiding whether she floated rather than walked. Her furtive gaze darted to him.
He sighed. “What is it?”
Her posture straightened. “It’s nothing.” Pale fingers fidgeted in her skirts. “Is it true what Victor said? That you’ve only been a Hound for a week?”
Had it only been a week? He’d killed so many people in a week. Pressure squeezed his throat. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Guilt mantled his shoulders, a cloak that dragged behind him, weighed by a potential future of split blood. Vic brought him to the Estate for answers. To see if the beast inside him could be controlled. He never once entertained the idea Johnathan couldn’t control it.
Preoccupied, he didn’t immediately notice the change. The carpet beneath his bare feet gained a cool, slippery quality, a gentle prickle against his soles. He glanced down to find blades of grass poking between toes. The wooden walls of the hallway fell away, opening into a vast internal garden. The only indication they were still inside the Estate was the domed glass ceiling, high enough to mute the rain falling outside. A fragrant mix of exotic flowers surrounded him. Bright eye-watering blossoms in colors he couldn’t name brushed against his shirt, streaks of golden pollen clinging to the cloth. The wondrous sight pulled him from his morose mood. He trailed his fingers over a brilliant orange bloom, the petals spread like a lady’s fan.
“Bird of Paradise, though some call it the crane flower,” said Katherine. A smile lit her face, the vibrant colors of the room warming her skin. “Took forever to cultivate here. They favor a more tropical climate.”
“There are beautiful,” he murmured. An inadequate description but the dulcet tones of Vic’s voice distracted him, laced with urgency. Johnathan’s hearing sharpened, tuned to their low conversation.
“—my fault, Merry. My distractions put him in that position. He’s put his trust in me. I can’t fail him again,” said Vic.
The coiled worry in his chest frayed apart. Warmth suffused Johnathan.
“You’re really in knots for this boy,” Merry teased, laced with a hint of bitterness. “You always were one for hopeless causes.”
“Merry, please.”
“I’ll consult the books, Victor, but I can’t promise results,” Merry responded after a beat, their tone gentled. “It’s amazing his body survived the transformation. Do you know how rare that is?”
“The demon in Cress Haven managed to turn several young women before we stopped him,” said Vic.
Merry made a tutting sound. “A strong enough demon could taint and transform hundreds of humans, but none of them would survive if it returned to the Nether without them. Even if the demon remained in our realm, their bodies would eventually burn up.”
“Will that happen to Johnathan?” The words strangled.
There was a pause that made Johnathan’s insides clench. Perhaps he wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about control. How long would he have? The first victim in Cress Haven lasted nearly a year, but her body turned to ash like the rest of them when Johnathan sealed the rift. He hadn’t known whether the victims were pulled into the Nether with Cerunnous or simply died.
“I don’t know,” Merry admitted. “I’ve only gotten a glimpse of him, Victor. Give me a chance to examine him.”
“You’re eavesdropping,” Katherine whispered in his ear, the air chilled by her proximity. He half turned to her. Her lips parting at the sight of his face. “What did you hear to look so bleak?”
Johnathan shook his head and moved toward their voices. The conversation fell silent before he found them by their intwined scents. Katherine hovered at his side. In the center of the vast greenhouse sat a workstation, the surface cluttered with an array of mortars and pestles, drying herbs, fresh ground pastes and mystery liquids in glass containers. A candle burned directly beneath a glass flask suspended in a delicate apparatus of bent metal, the liquid gently bubbling away. Several bundles of dried herbs lay spread out over individual cloth wraps, a handful of clean empty bowls set out and waiting for use. Merry stood beside the table, arms folded. Vic waited in patient stillness, his face turned to Johnathan’s approach.
