ordinary, like a country manor house, except for the fact that a phantom circle moved about the middle of the room—trancelike—maintaining their distance from one another and from a center ornate chair occupied by Wickham himself. No one spoke, yet mumbled chanting—rhythmic and haunting—filled the air.
Looking closer, Darcy could see that the
In a flash, the shades, which had looped around Wickham, formed a semicircle, enclosing Darcy in a ghostly prison. Pathetic monsters, they waited for him to react—to move—ready to respond with a sad compulsion not their own. Darcy recognized Lydia Bennet among them and murmured a prayer for her salvation. Among all these, she would be his target. He would use what skills he had to free Elizabeth’s sister from a macabre immortality.
Sounds and sensations came from the distance—from the graveyard behind them—a graveyard full of the same kind of souls dancing to an eerie tune.Wickham appeared on the periphery of his vision as Darcy surveyed the scene. “Ah, Darcy, you came.” He floated among those swaying in place, waiting for his command.
“You knew I would.”
Wickham nodded, a vacuous smile clinging to his face. “For you, at last, it all comes down to this. I must admit you were a worthy opponent; I almost hate to see it end.”
A loud rushing in his ears told Darcy that the chanting had increased. Riveting his attention on those closest to him, Darcy extended his arms, letting the energy flow outward, but it made no difference. His power could not stop the dead, and Wickham’s followers pushed forward, crowding Darcy against the wall.
“Farewell, Darcy.” Wickham offered a brief salute as he turned towards the cemetery.
Darcy pulled the iron crucifix from his pocket, holding it in his left hand, and he raised the silver sword in the other.A few of these apparitions would know heaven tonight, starting with Lydia Bennet. He angled his body to meet her assault first.The others did not matter.
From the right, he felt the skin along his arm tear as the claws of one of the coven slashed him, but Darcy did not even lower the sword. His attention rested purely on Lydia’s approach. He held the
Now, the others attacked him with full force. He spun and turned and twisted, fighting one after another.The sword and the crucifix took their tolls, but the combined effort was too much for him.They tore at him, blood gushed everywhere, tongues lapped at his wounds, and still they pressed him harder against the grey stone wall. Unable to see any longer, he leaned his head back and slid down the wall in defeat. The ghoulish apparitions covered him, tearing away his skin and sinking in their teeth to drain away what was left of his soul. As they smothered him, his mouth formed one last word: Elizabeth.
She bolted upright in the bed, her gown soaked with sweat. Elizabeth brought her trembling hand to her face, shoving the hair away.The image of Darcy’s blood-spattered face still hung in the air. Her jagged breath was the only sound in the inn’s small bedchamber. Elizabeth fought to control her breathing, gulping air into her lungs. A cold shiver shook her as tears erupted from the corners of her eyes. It was all so real; unable to stop herself, Elizabeth glanced at the foot of the bed, half expecting to find Darcy lying in a bloody pool at her feet. Feeling the coolness of the room, she pulled the blanket around her like a shawl and began to rock herself back and forth, in the same rhythmic swaying of the souls in her dream.The
CHAPTER 23
Streaks of sunlight cleared away clouds from the late December sky as Darcy slipped into his sister’s room. Only the dying embers of the fireplace provided warmth, and he was half tempted to stoke the fire so Georgiana might be more comfortable, but he would not wake her. Standing by her bed and looking down at her, he noted how she grew lovelier every day, looking very much like their father’s forebearers. There were portraits in the gallery of some of the earlier Darcy households, and he saw the resemblance in many of them.When he was younger, he had searched the faces, looking for someone who he resembled. He had to go back five generations to find his eyes and his chin line. These thoughts on such a day were silent ramblings, but somehow they gave Darcy a sense of completeness. He belonged to this family—to this girl—to this curse.
He gently pulled the bed linens over her shoulders and tucked them in about his sister before placing the letter on the nightstand. “I love you, Georgie,” he mouthed and then turned for the door.
When he was nearly out of the room, her sleepy voice stopped his progress.“Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy returned to her side.“I am sorry I woke you, Sweetling. Go back to sleep.” He moved a strand of her hair away from her eyes. “I am to be away from Pemberley for a few days; I left you a note explaining everything.”
“Will you go after Elizabeth?”
Darcy shook his head. “I cannot. Elizabeth must be with her family now.”
Georgiana struggled to sit up in bed.“Elizabeth will return?”
He looked away and forced himself to swallow the hurt. “It would be my wish, Sweetling, that you and Elizabeth share a life together…best friends.You can learn a great deal from my wife.”
“But not without you?” she insisted.
“Unfortunately, Elizabeth possesses reasons to hate me. I am not under the persuasion that she will return.” How could he explain? “Georgiana, George Wickham took Elizabeth’s youngest sister.The girl is now one of the walking dead, and Wickham did it as revenge against our family—against me, specifically, because I foolishly challenged him. How could Elizabeth forgive my arrogance?”
Realization of what he planned hit the girl full force, and she clutched at his hand. “Fitzwilliam, you cannot go off alone to find Wickham! How will I face this without your guidance?”
“It is the only thing—the only honorable thing—I can give Elizabeth…the only thing I can do for this family.”
“Elizabeth loves you, Brother; she would argue against this for you.”
Darcy caressed her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin against the coolness of his palm. “Elizabeth’s loyalty remains true, which will strain her relationship with her parents and her sisters. She cannot tell them the reason for Lydia’s demise or admit her share of the blame. I know Elizabeth; she will exile herself from her family. She will need someone to whom to turn. Be that someone, Georgiana; Elizabeth will respond in kind.The two of you will be
