Moonless Read online

  Returning to the kitchen, she sought a lever to pry up the door and found a ladle. Back in the little chamber, it worked perfectly for lifting the trap door.

  Wooden stairs waited below. Cool air washed up from the darkness, sending gooseflesh up her arms. The slatted steps welcomed her trembling candle’s glow. Setting it aside, she gathered up her thin skirt, took a deep breath and stepped through.

  The stair supported her meager weight as if made of stone, cold and raw beneath her bare feet. As she descended, cobwebs swayed vindictively to either side.

  But that’s not what stopped her. No.

  She gasped and reached for the candle.

  3

  Blood Red

  A body dangled from the rafters, several inches above the dirt floor.

  Alexia’s scream froze in her throat.

  Soft honeydew tresses spilled loosely over thin shoulders, the child’s eyes heavily-lashed and downturned. Her cheeks were blotched, wide, and white, contrasting with vibrant crimson lips. Scarlet skirts hung about the girl, like the bleeding petals of a rose, still as death.

  Alexia swallowed. A child. She couldn’t be more than thirteen. Great wide irons looped her wrists, cutting wicked lines in the little one’s skin.

  It wasn’t right. Disgust bubbled through her chest. She covered her mouth and hurried down the steps, anxious to rescue the body, or at least lay it to rest.

  The girl’s eyes turned up. Brown, chocolate, swirling.

  Alexia tumbled back. She thunked into the stairs and landed on her rump. Hard. She sucked in a breath. The little face watched her, expressionless, innocent, beautiful. Alexia’s stomach twisted. No one should be that perfect—not even in death.

  The child’s blood-red lips curled back over canines, her brows lowering. “Have you come to rescue me?”

  The malice echoed in Alexia’s head, like scraping fingernails across her brain. She gripped the wood beneath her. The child bowed her head, glaring from beneath her brows.

  “Who—what are you?” Alexia held herself perfectly still.

  A jingle resounded about the cellar as the “ghost” jerked her irons free from the anchoring beam and landed on the ground with catlike grace. Sawdust drifted down from the rafters like snowflakes.

  Alexia pushed up onto her shaking legs. “A-are you the girl who hung herself?”

  Chains dangled at the child’s sides as she crouched, coiled to pounce. “Run.”

  “No.” Alexia shook from head to toe. “If I am going to have a fate worse than death, I will take it right here.”

  The girl’s eyebrows shot up. She straightened, her muscles loosening, head cocking. “You are not afraid of me?”

  Alexia swallowed. Show no fear in the face of the beast, Father’s voice echoed in her head—his warning should she encounter a predator while wandering their estate grounds. She squared her shoulders. “Should I be?”

  Bright red lips pulled back in a snarl. “Yes.”

  Dread flooded through her. “Oh, all right.”

  The child neared. Perfect little fingers lifted to one of Alexia’s dark curls. The girl’s head tilted as she studied the spiral and her eyes bored into Alexia. “It has been ages since I met another of our kind.”

  Alexia fell back, taking her hair with her. “W-what?”

  The girl’s grin widened. “Who are you?”

  “I asked you first.”

  Her glare returned, nostrils flaring, teeth gritted. “Bellezza.”

  Alexia brushed the hair away from her face with a trembling hand. “I am Alexia.”

  One eye twitched, half a smile forming. “And what are you?”

  Alexia’s pulse spiked. “Beg your pardon?”

  A wicked sneer twisted Bellezza’s face. “You may beg for many things.” Her eyes narrowed. “Death, revenge, mercy.” Her golden curls shook. “But never ask for pardon.”

  Distant floorboards moaned.

  Bellezza turned. “Have you brought others?” She took a deep whiff of the air, eyes closing. Her chest swelled, wind respiring about her form and lifting her honeysuckle curls. The sneer returned. “He would try to stop me.”

  A tremor rattled down Alexia’s spine. Her knees failed and she staggered backward, landing against a beam.

  “Shall we go meet him?” The charming child batted her eyes. “The draft down here is something repulsive, and the bugs . . .” She flipped an eight-legger from Alexia’s shoulder. “Besides, I have something you’re dying to see.” And she flitted up the steps, dousing the candle.

  Alexia’s heart thundered as she resurfaced in the straw-strewn chamber. Bellezza was gone, the chest-high door spilling starlight into the secret room. The girl’s chains echoed from the kitchen.

  Alexia sprinted after.

  Bellezza’s fetters jingled out into the hall just ahead of her, muffled by the walls between them. The child’s footfalls stopped. Hushed voices . . .

  A sickening crunch.

  A gasp.

  Thud.

  She rounded into the entryway, out of breath.

  A body lay on the floor. Bellezza knelt over it. A cloaked stranger loomed above the child, gathering her chains. He looked up.

  Blue eyes . . .

  Alexia stumbled backward into the hall. The stranger from earlier! That irresistible caller whose eyes harbored such an impossible color—the subject of her perpetual nightmare!

  She swallowed, slowing her heart. A breeze wafted past, stinging her nose with a sweet metallic smell. She chanced another look.

  Little Bellezza huddled over the motionless body at his feet—as far as her captor would allow. Her head turned up, eyes meeting Alexia’s. She giggled wickedly. Her laugh caught in a sob. She screamed, and whirled on the stranger. “Why would you kill him?”

  The intruder pulled her back violently. Her form landed squarely against his, silenced by the motion. She recoiled, struggling to break free, but he threw her soundly over one shoulder and strode out of the building.

  Alexia slid into the entry, trembling.

  Starlight raked across the silvery hair and glassy eyes of the motionless man on the floor. She knelt beside him. A ladle speared Baron Galedrew’s heart through, dark liquid seeping down his nightshirt and onto the wood. His wide eyes stared emptily after his murderer.

  Alexia gasped and covered her mouth.

  Outside the door, murky clouds hid the sky. Hedges made a dark barrack of the drive. Golden-haired Bellezza lay across the neck of a stomping grey horse, her captor holding her fast as he mounted behind.

  The stallion reared and the stranger’s head turned.

  Alexia fumbled backward. She ducked behind the door.

  Had he seen her? Would he return to finish the job and silence the lone witness? She readied to run, certain by the way her knees trembled she wouldn’t go far. She pulled herself up on the door and yelped.

  Dark prints smudged the frame. She turned her wet palms up.

  A terrified cry retched from her throat.

  The horse shrieked and lurched away. The peal of hooves resounded about her as the burdened beast vanished down the lane, a second one joining them in the trees.

  Blood. It stained the floor and her fingers. She tried to rub it off. It appeared in splotches across her nightgown. Bile burned in her throat.

  Pounding rumbled above, feet on the upper floors.

  Alexia gagged and vomited as she landed against the floor, uncertain whether her face felt wet from tears or the blood which glistened everywhere.

  A man knelt suddenly next to her, eyes large. A servant.

  “Alexia?” Father’s voice boomed down the stairs, pulling her attention to the confused babble of startled gentry. She tried to respond, but her tongue stuck sickly to the roof of her mouth. He raced into the hall, several other men following him. Rupert surfaced in the crowd and pushed forward, gawking.

  She ripped her eyes away.

  “What happened?” Lord Dougal demanded. “Girl, tell us!”
>
  “Can you not see she is terrified?” Father shouted.

  Faces continued to trickle in but all she could see was Galedrew’s empty stare, barren of life.

  4

  From the Night’s Darkness

  Kiren pulled the reins. His horse tugged forward impatiently, anxious to be free of Bellezza’s weight, but he held firm.

  His assistant’s beast skidded to a halt and pranced anxiously. “What is it?”

  He locked eyes with the younger man and frowned.

  The lad shook his head, opening his mouth to protest the forthcoming command.

  “You are capable.” Kiren dismounted and handed the tethers to the boy. Bellezza would be unconscious for another couple hours at least. “Take her, and go hastily.”

  The youth nodded and his beast resumed the journey.

  Kiren turned back toward the estate.

  5

  Altered

  Mother assisted Alexia into a new gown—one without the taint of death—and washed her hands and face.

  Father tucked her into the bed. “Rest, Alexia. We will clear all this up in the morning.”

  She nodded.

  He brushed a hand over her curls, and her trembling stilled. He’d rescued her. Soon she would wake. This would be a dream, nothing but a dream.

  “Well.” He shook his head, and her parents exited quietly, Father looking back once more.

  She waited for consciousness to diffuse, or to finally awaken from this nightmare. Neither happened. Finally, she rose and returned to the mirror. Dark ringlets curtained piercing jade eyes and pressed pink lips. Is this what the others had seen tonight when they found her perched over the dead baron?

  “Impossible,” she muttered.

  The breathtaking girl scowled back at her. Movement pulled her gaze to the window reflected in the looking glass.

  She squeaked.

  Nothing occupied the mirror. Just . . . her. But she thought for a moment she’d seen another set of eyes reflected from outside.

  ***

  A knock woke Alexia—curled on the covers of a strange bed in an unfamiliar chamber. Squinting against sunlight, she sat up as a key clattered into the lock.

  Father entered, and halted. He blinked at her several times and straightened, his frown deepening.

  She curled in on herself, self consciously.

  He waved, dismissing the housekeeper and pulled the door closed behind him.

  “Child.” A smile broadened his face. She wondered at this as last night tumbled back over her weary mind. He seated himself on the bed. “How are you?”

  She croaked, “I am all right.”

  He nodded. “I want you ready to leave as soon as possible.”

  Because of last night. She glanced at the mirror. The other her remained—not the self she recognized, but the wishful likeness.

  “Baron Galedrew . . .” she whispered.

  “Is gone.”

  She covered her mouth. It was all real—her prophetic dream, her unexpected reflection, Bellezza, the blue-eyed murderer!

  Father’s warm hand landed on her knee. “Absconded in the middle of the night, back to London. Seems our country ways are too beneath him.”

  She squinted at him and shook her head. “He did not. He was murdered. I saw it!”

  His brows lifted, the corners of his mouth dipping. “The stable hand verified his departure.”

  Had she merely dreamed it? She twisted the blanket in her fingers and froze. Ruffles curled about her cuff. She did not own any nightwear with such frills. Her own gown must be somewhere, mottled with blood—but where? And how could Father not remember?

  He squeezed her knee and rose, jaw clenching. “Your mother will help you dress, and then we are leaving.” He started toward the door.

  “Father, wait!”

  He turned.

  “This change,” she indicated her exterior, “I—I do not understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  She pointed to the mirror.

  His cheek twitched. “What change, Alexia?”

  “I—I am beautiful.”

  His lips tucked back in a grin, a boyish dimple surfacing as he glanced away. “You have always been beautiful, child.”

  He placed a kiss on her head and stepped out of the room.

  She gaped after him. Now she knew something was wrong.

  6

  Old Friends, Old Lies

  His wife, Rosalind, swept into the entry with Alexia in custody. Charles Dumont froze near the exit. The girl’s skin radiated a warmth he had not seen in ages, a glow he’d convinced himself he imagined this morning. His heart clenched.

  Rupert, Abby and their father, Jonah, gasped in his periphery.

  Jonah stumbled a step back. “Charles—” His eyes darted from Alexia to his friend and back. “Why not let the children say farewell?” It was not the question he wanted to voice.

  Charles took a deep breath and readied himself for the assault. He nodded. “Rosalind, keep an eye on them?”

  The men left their curious children behind and walked out into the driveway. On the far side of the carriage, out of sight, Jonah Vanwick poked his friend in the chest. “What is this?”

  “Jonah . . .”

  “You told me—you said nothing came of it!”

  Charles groaned.

  “Does she know?”

  Charles shook his head. “And she cannot know, ever.”

  “But Charles—”

  He clenched a fist and lifted it. “I keep your secrets, Jonah, and you will keep mine.” He spun away from his friend, and returned to interrupt his daughter’s whispered conversation with her friends. From their shocked faces, she’d told them her story. Wonderful. That was precisely what she needed—gossip painting her as mad.

  He cursed, hurling his fury toward Rosalind who stood in the corner, glaring at the girl. Her irritated stare turned on him. They were in for an interesting ride home.

  7

  Paper & Ink

  Father kept Alexia confined to the estate, denying all social invitations. She regularly snuck into his study and thumbed through his letters, searching for a return correspondence from Baron Galedrew. Finally a letter arrived: House vacated. The baron had simply disappeared—no forwarding address—and only she knew why.

  Some days she questioned if Bellezza had actually murdered the baron, but how could a child shove a ladle clean through a man’s chest? Alexia fought to banish those mind-consuming blue eyes from her meditations along with Bellezza’s voice, but the terrifying girl’s words remained:

  . . . another of our kind . . .

  Whispers in the hall pulled Alexia away from Julie or the New Heloise.

  “What is it?” she asked the maid.

  “A caller, my lady, unbelievably handsome, come to speak with your father. Would that I had an excuse to sit in and look at him!”

  Unbelievably handsome? The same kind of impossible beauty the mirror showed her? Another of her kind?

  She slipped down the hall and out the side door. If she passed the study window from outside, she might catch sight of this caller and decide if Maurine’s tastes were jaded, or if her unsettling theory held weight.

  A stable boy rounded the far corner of the building, tugging the tethers of a speckled grey horse with a glistening white mane.

  She gasped. “Stop!”

  The lad halted as she hurried forward.

  The beast’s black eyes widened. Its hooves dug into the dirt and its nostrils flared.

  She stopped. There could be no mistake. It recognized her just as she recognized it from the baron’s doorstep.

  She backed away.

  He waited in her house? He of nightmares? He who kidnapped vicious children and brought death?

  Dodging back into the house, she sprinted down the hall. Had he come because she remained the only living testament of his crime, or because Father had inquired about the baron’s disappearance? Would he harm Father?

>   The study door stood closed. She neared, shaking. Pressing cautiously against it, she expected the mahogany to burn her.

  Father’s voice boomed through the wood. “No! And that is final!”

  The barrier lurched. She leapt back as it swung open.

  The stranger halted before her. Boots, not stylish, but entirely practical and worn; breeches, a sturdy gray, modestly hugging a trim form; waist coat concealed by a subtly weathered coat; shirt, fitted and simple . . .

  Her jaw fell.

  Ginger locks framed his clean-shaven face with a straight nose, high cheekbones, expressive brows and enigmatic blue eyes. He was a perfect paramour of twenty years, except for a jagged white scar cutting from below one eye down his cheek. A sheen of beauty hung over his whole being. He verily glowed.

  Like Bellezza. Like herself!

  She gasped. Sweet pollen and rustic oak tickled her nose, transporting her to a grove of wooded mystery so deep mankind would never comprehend the fullness. Those consuming eyes met hers and flickers of heat burst in her cheeks, spreading across the back of her neck. His pupils widened, nearly eclipsing the night sky. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to fall into the blackness of his gaze.

  A grunt from the den brought her back to the hall.

  The stranger bowed, movements excruciatingly slow, eyes never leaving her face. His lips parted as if he might speak, but with a dark glance toward the study, his mouth sealed in a grim line. The corners of his eyes crinkled, pain glinting in his hypnotic stare. He nodded and stepped around her.

  A breath of fresh-cut tinder and summer blooms pulled her eyelids closed, like the farewell kiss of a faerie nightmare.

  She blinked back dizziness and sucked in air, lifting her arms to steady her wobbling knees. No man should have that kind of influence on the opposite sex. It was . . . unholy.

  Alexia whirled around, uncertain if she yearned to see his incredible eyes reaching for hers, or to simply verify he was not a specter.