hall, Wickham’s earlier windstorm had left much of the periphery untouched. The candles still burned and the golden torque still rested on the altar.The three golden plates, which once hung above the coffin, now lay flat on the floor and off to the right. The cauldron, turned on its side, spilled out its contents: a layer of grey ashes, just like those Darcy had found in London; and then
Two more steps and Wickham sprang again. Darcy spun just as the creature leapt, leaving his opponent lying face down among the ashes. Using the sword, he hacked twice at his adversary’s left side, hoping to open further the previous wounds. As Wickham tried to recover, Darcy darted to the coffin, still sitting askew on its base, and with a gargantuan effort tipped it over.The dirt sprawled across the floor in dark streaks of decaying matter, and Wickham crawled to it, scooping it up with his right arm, trying to repair his home. “
Hoping now to destroy it all, Darcy poured one of the vials of holy water on the satin as Wickham used his body to protect his grave. Darcy waited, but nothing happened.
Wickham, covered in earth and ashes, looked up with amusement. He rubbed the dampened dirt between his fingers.“It is oil, Darcy.You fool,”Wickham charged.“You poured oil into the dirt.” Triumphantly, Wickham stood, brushing his hand against the side of his pants. “You will pay for this degradation” The ominous words became Wickham’s challenge.
Realizing he needed to retreat before he could attack again, Darcy began to edge along the wall, backing away from the advancing, infuriated Wickham.
“I plan for you to suffer long and hard.” Wickham hissed the words.“You will pray for hell’s relief.”
“What makes you think, Wickham, that I am not already in hell?” As he spoke, Darcy moved slowly in the direction of the burning rows of candles. He knew he carried another vial from the church in his pocket; he said a silent prayer that the second one contained anointing oil, as well. “In fact, hell is right here in this room.” With that, he threw the second vial against the wall; the
Not caring about death,Wickham dove for Darcy’s legs, knocking him to the floor, where they rolled in the dirt again.The beast of a few minutes ago returned, and Wickham bit down on Darcy’s leg, only to find part of his boot. Darcy used his other leg repeatedly to kick relentlessly at Wickham’s face, tearing chunks of skin away from his enemy’s eyelid and cheekbone. Fists landed. Cries of pain split the heated air.Their gazes met and did battle.
Darcy’s assault forced Wickham to release his hold, and uttering a curse, he clambered to his feet. Picking up the sword that Darcy had dropped, he began irrationally swinging the blade in arcing figure eights, slicing at everything in his wake. Darcy scooted backwards in a crablike manner, trying to evade Wickham’s demonic fury.“Hell! Darcy, we are in hell!” he howled, his voice grating.
Reaching the wall closest to the door, Darcy shoved to his feet, sliding his back up the smooth surface. Half the room was now engulfed in flames, but Wickham still railed, screaming of hell and damnation. He caught the tip of the blade on the satin lining of the coffin, pulling part of it free and dragging it through the fire. The material caught the flames, and in his choler, Wickham flung it from him, sending it through the open door to land on the carpet found there.
Out of control,Wickham stalked Darcy, herding him, blocking his every move to flee. Darcy reflexively worked his way sideways along the wall. Heart pounding, he tried to recover from the attack and to judge how to escape the fire and Wickham’s wrath. He shifted his weight several times, but each time Wickham countered with a move of his own.Then it happened:The flames reached the coffin. As the fire spread to the lining, the wood popped and cracked from the heat. Wickham spun around to see the damage, and Darcy took his chance and dove out the door, barely missing the flames now crawling along the carpet runner and skipping up
Clumsily, Darcy struggled to his feet and broke into a run, heading for the staircase.
“Darcy!” Wickham boomed as he menacingly stepped into the hallway.
Without thinking, Darcy knelt down and jerked hard on the runner, pulling it from under Wickham’s feet and sending his opponent tumbling backwards. Throwing the flaming runner over the banister, Darcy shot a quick glance in Wickham’s direction before taking the steps, bounding over the landing. Hitting the main hallway at a run, he looked around frantically for a weapon, hearing the ominous sound of Wickham’s boots on the upper stairs.The great hall loomed to the right, and Darcy madly ducked into the room, looking for safety, but Wickham followed only a few heartbeats later. “Darcy!” he bellowed.
Finding no immediate escape, Darcy nonchalantly stepped from behind the pile of broken furniture.“I am here,Wickham.”
“So you are.”Wickham’s eyes glowed red in the darkness as he slowly brought the sword to Darcy’s chest. “I expected more from you, Darcy.” He moved the blade in a gesture towards the debris. “Have a seat.”
Darcy warily moved to the ornate offering, the only piece still intact.
“It seems I no longer have my followers.” Wickham looked about the room, feeling anger well up again. “I suppose you had something to do with that.”
“You suppose correctly.” Darcy watched the flames behind Wickham scatter about the entranceway, jumping from item to item.
“Then I will start over.”Wickham pressed the tip of the sword to Darcy’s chest. “In fact, I will leave tonight— your wife has three more sisters, if I recall, and there is always sweet Georgiana.” The words incensed him, but Darcy realized he needed to keep control; he squeezed the arm of the chair in disgust.
He expected Wickham to run him through, but his rival did not. Instead, a strong right caught Darcy’s jaw, shoving it upward
How long he was out, Darcy did not know, but long enough for the fire to spread, because when he touched the door, the heat told him not to open it. For the second time,Wickham had left him in a burning house. Grabbing the back of a broken chair, Darcy struck the window through which he had spied Wickham that first night. He hit it full force, and it shattered into hundreds of pieces. Using the chair’s leg, he battered away at the shards. Climbing out the window, his eyes fell on a shadowy figure, silhouetted in the moonlight, mounting the hill to the cemetery. “Oh, God, not Elizabeth,” he murmured and took off at a run.
“My God, Damon, look!” Elizabeth stood transfixed by the fiery glow in the sky.“It is the house!”
She was running as hard as she could in the direction of the hill—towards Wickham’s house—towards her husband.With each step, her eyes filled with tears. She could not lose Darcy now.
