dear. Go to sleep.'
'Yes, Rod. Blow out the lamp when you come to bed.'
'Elaine;'
'Yes?'
'I love you. Whatever happens, never doubt that I love you.'
The witch Visage lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. She didn't really like the bed. It was very comfortable, but it was too big. She felt lost in it. She stirred restlessly under the single thin sheet covering her. She felt hot and clammy, but she didn't like to throw back the sheet, not in a stranger's house. She'd feel naked and defenseless. Not that she was in any danger. She'd locked the door and set the wards. No one and nothing could get to her now. She was safe.
But only for the moment. She'd worked for William Blackstone all her adult life, and she didn't know what would become of her now that he was dead. William had always been much more than an employer to her; he had been her god. He was wise and just, and he fought the forces of evil in Haven. He always knew what to do, and he was always right, and if he hardly ever noticed the quiet young witch at his side, well, that was only to be expected. He always had so many important things on his mind.
Graham Dorimant had noticed her. He was always kind to her, and said nice things, and noticed when she wore a new dress. Perhaps he would look after her and take care of her. It was a nice thought.
Visage thought of the two Guards who'd questioned her, and frowned. They'd been polite enough, she supposed, but they hadn't really liked her. She could tell. She could always tell. And Hawk, the one with the scars and the single cold eye; He frightened her. She didn't like to be frightened. Visage pouted unhappily in the darkness. She'd told the Guards about Katherine and Edward, but they hadn't believed her. Not really. But all they had to do was start digging, and they'd find out the truth. And then everyone would see what had really been going on.
If the truth was ever allowed to come out. Visage scowled. There were a great many people who wouldn't want the truth to get out. After all, it might taint William's memory. Well, she didn't want that, but she couldn't let Katherine and Edward get away with it. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let that happen. They had murdered her William, and they would pay for it, one way or another. Her hand went to the bone amulet that hung on a silver chain around her neck. She might be only a witch, but she had power of her own, and she would use it if she had to. If there was no other way to get justice for William. Visage sighed tiredly. Poor William. She would miss him very much. She'd followed him for so many years; and now she would have to find someone else to follow. Someone else to tell her what to do. She'd talk to Graham about it in the morning. He liked her. She could tell.
The sorcerer Gaunt lay on his bed, in his laboratory. The air was deliciously cool and fresh, the summer heat kept at bay by his spells. The room was brightly lit by half a dozen oil lamps. For many reasons, some of them practical, Gaunt felt uneasy about sleeping in the dark. He lay on his back and looked slowly round the familiar, crowded room, taking in the plain wooden benches and their alchemical equipment, the shelves of ingredients, all neatly stacked in their proper order; Gaunt felt at home in the laboratory, in a way he never did anywhere else in the house. He didn't really like the house much, if truth be told, but he needed it. He needed the security and the privacy it gave him, even if he did tend to rattle around in it like a single seed in a pod. There were times when he was tempted to give in to Stalker and sell him the damn house, but he never did. He couldn't.
He put forth his mind and tested the wards in and around the house, like a spider testing the many strands of its web. Everything was peaceful, everything as it should be. All was quiet. Gaunt frowned slightly. It worried him that he still had no idea how William had died. It worried him even more that the killer had to be one of his guests. There was no way an assassin could have got past his defenses without him knowing. And yet he'd known these people for years, known and trusted them; It just didn't seem possible.
Gaunt sighed tiredly. Everyone had their secrets, their own hidden darkness. He of all people should know that.
'Darling;'
The voice was soft, husky, alluring. Gaunt swallowed dryly. Just the sound of her voice sent little thrills of pleasure through him, but he wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't.
'Why don't you call to me, darling? All you have to do is call, and I'll come to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'
He didn't answer. He was a sorcerer, and he was in control.
'Always the same. You want me, but you won't admit it. You desire me, but you fight against it. I can't think why. If you didn't want me, why did you summon me?'
'Because I was weak!' snapped Gaunt. 'Because I was a fool.'
'Because you were human,' purred the voice. 'Is that such a terrible thing to be? You are powerful, my sweet, very powerful, but you still have human needs and weaknesses. It's no shame to give in to them.'
'Shame?' said Gaunt. 'What would you know about shame?'
'Nothing. Nothing at all.' The voice laughed softly, and Gaunt shivered at the sound of it. 'Look at me, darling. Look at me.'
Gaunt looked at the pentacle marked out on the floor on the far side of the laboratory. The blue chalk lines glowed faintly with their own eerie light. Inside the pentacle sat the succubus. She looked at Gaunt with jet black eyes, and smiled mockingly. She was naked, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. The succubus was five feet tall, with a disturbingly voluptuous figure and a rawboned sensual face. The lamplight glowed golden on her perfect skin. Two small horns rose up from her forehead, almost hidden among the great mane of jet black hair. She stretched languidly, still smiling, and Gaunt groaned softly as the old familiar longing began again, just as he'd known it would.
'Yes,' said the succubus. 'I am beautiful, aren't I? And I'm yours, any time you want me. All you have to do is call me, darling, and I'll come to you. All you have to do is call to me;'
'Come to me,' said Gaunt. 'Come to me, damn you!'
The succubus laughed happily and rose to her feet in a single lithe movement. She stepped out of the pentacle, the blue chalk lines flaring up briefly as she crossed them, and strode unhurriedly over to the sorcerer's bed. She pulled back the single sheet and sank down beside him.
'Damn me, my darling? No. You're the one who's damned, sorcerer. And isn't it lovely?'
Gaunt took her in his arms, and the old sweet madness took him once again.
Katherine Blackstone sat in the chair by the bed and looked listlessly round the spare room that Gaunt had opened up for her. The air was close and dusty, and the bed hadn't been aired, but she didn't care. At least it was a fair distance away from the room where her husband had died; the room where the body still lay;
The <em>body</em>. Not her husband, or her late husband, just the body. William was gone, and what was left behind didn't even have to be addressed by name.
Katherine looked at the bed beside her, and looked away. Sleep might help, but she couldn't seem to summon the energy to get up, get undressed, and go to bed. And anyway, if she waited long enough she was sure Edward would come to her. She'd thought he'd be here by now, but he was probably just being sensible. It wouldn't do for them to be caught together tonight, of all nights. He'd be here soon. Maybe then she'd know what to do, what to say, for the best. For the moment, all she wanted to do was sit where she was and do nothing. She'd been married less than seven years, and here she was a widow. Widow; There was a harsh finality to the word; that's all there is, there isn't going to be any more. It's over. Katherine's thoughts drifted back and forth, moving round the subject of her husband's death but unable to settle on it. It was impossible to think of the great William Blackstone being dead. He'd been such an important man; meant so much to so many people. Katherine wanted to cry. She might feel better if she could only cry. But all she had inside of her was tiredness.
How could he have done it? How could he have left her in this mess? How could William have killed himself?
The Guards thought it was murder. So did everyone else. Only she knew it was really suicide. The Guards were already looking for signs of guilt, for something they could use as a motive. She'd known they were bound to bring up Edward Bowman, so she'd met that attack as she always had, by throwing it back in their faces as a lie and defying them to prove otherwise. <em>If has been suggested to us</em>; Oh, yes, she'd just bet it had. That little bitch Visage wouldn't have waited long to start spreading the poison.
She and Edward would have to be very careful in the future. For a while, at least.
Hawk and Fisher sat stretched out in their comfortable chairs, facing the hall. They'd put out all the lamps save two, and the parlor was gloomy enough to be restful on the eyes while still leaving enough light to see by. The
