Haven. They'll find out what's really wrong with you, and what to do about it.
In the meantime, you need something to take your mind off things. Come with me,
dear. Come on!'
She took Holly firmly by the arm and dragged her over to the dressing table.
Ignoring Holly's protests, Katrina sat her down before the mirror and retrieved
her makeup case from her sleeve. She took hold of Holly's chin and turned her
face back and forth, frowning thoughtfully as she studied the girl's pale and
tired features in the mirror.
'Don't you worry about a thing, dear. Auntie is going to remake your face from
top to bottom. You won't know yourself when I'm finished. Then you can walk into
the will-reading with your head held high, and knock them all dead. David isn't
going to believe his eyes the next time he sees you!'
'But Katrina, I don't wear makeup… Jamie doesn't allow it…'
'Oh hush, dear, and let Auntie work. You think about David, not Jamie. I'll take
care of him.'
Marc and Alistair sat stiffly in chairs on opposite sides of the room, carefully
not looking at each other. They'd taken turns freshening up in the adjoining
bathroom, and now they were waiting to be called downstairs for the reading of
the will. In all the time they'd been alone together they hadn't exchanged a
dozen words. Alistair crossed and uncrossed his legs, and drummed his fingers on
the arm of his chair. He glanced briefly at the liquor cabinet, and looked away.
That wasn't what he was here for. His Family needed his help, and he wouldn't
let them down. He looked round the room Jamie had given him. There'd been quite
a few changes in the decor since he was last here. He didn't like them. Too
bright and gaudy, by half. But, fashions change, and he had been away a hell of
a long time…
He looked over at Marc, who was sitting perfectly still, staring at nothing, his
face as inscrutable as ever. Was this what the Family had come to, a cold fish
like him? The MacNeil blood must be running pretty damned thin these days. The
man looked more like a funeral director than a young blade of the Quality.
Alistair stirred impatiently. He found Marc's continued silence intensely
irritating. There were things he needed to say, things he needed to discuss with
someone, important things; and who had Jamie paired him off with? An undertaker
who'd taken a vow of silence, with all the open emotions of a garden statue.
Alistair settled back in his chair and put a curb on his impatience. He
shouldn't be too hard on the lad. After all, Marc was all alone and a long way
from home. He was probably just shy and ill at ease. He could be waiting for
Alistair to make the first move. Alistair ran through half a dozen possible
openings, designed to lead the conversation round to what he wanted to talk
about, but faced with Marc's cold visage they all seemed either fatuous or
foolish.
All right, then; to hell with being polite. Be direct.
He leaned forward in his chair and fixed Marc with his gaze. 'You've been doing
a lot of thinking, young Marc. Who do you think the freak is?'
Marc met the older man's gaze unflinchingly. 'I don't know, cousin. It could be
any of us. If Richard is right, and the creature truly no longer remembers what
it is, then I suppose it could even be you or I, and we wouldn't know. It's a
frightening thought; the possibility that you might not be who you think you
are, but actually someone else entirely. And yet I'm not sure that I agree with
Richard. In order to pass as one of us, the freak must be maintaining a fairly
complex illusion spell. How could he do that, and not be aware of what he is?'
'I don't know,' said Alistair. 'But the mind's a funny thing. Maybe part of him
remembers; just enough to protect him without breaking the hold his new memories
have on him. But even so, we're still dealing with someone who's spent most of
his life going crazy in solitary confinement. Even with his new memories to lean
on, he's bound to find himself in situations he can't cope with. And that's when
his true nature can't help but reveal itself.'
Marc looked at him thoughtfully. 'I take it you're about to suggest someone you
think has been acting out of character.'
'Exactly,' said Alistair. 'I don't like the way Richard's been acting. He's from
a very minor branch of the Family, lives in the middle of nowhere, and by his
own account has spent most of his life with his nose in a book. But ever since
we found the body, he's been taking charge, snapping out orders and generally
behaving more like a hardened soldier or a Guard. It's as though he's confused
the memories of who he's supposed to be with those of the people he read about.
And out of all of us, he's always seemed the least scared. Perhaps because deep
down he knows he's got nothing to worry about.'
'You may have something there,' said Marc slowly. 'I've been watching Richard,
too. He was very quick on picking up the freak's story from the papers Jamie
found, wasn't he? Have you told anyone else of your suspicions?'
'Only Jamie. He won't listen to me.'
'We need evidence. All we have at the moment are suspicions. We can't condemn a
man purely on doubts and theories.'
'We'll get evidence,' said Alistair. 'All we have to do is watch him. Sooner or
later he'll give himself away, and then I'll kill him with my bare hands.'
David paced impatiently up and down, glaring at nothing and everything, while
Arthur freshened his glass with a bottle from the room's liquor cabinet. He'd
dragged the cabinet over to the bed, and was now seated with his back against
the headboard and his legs stretched elegantly out before him. He watched David
indulgently for a while, and then coughed politely. David shot him a glance
without slowing his pacing. Arthur smiled at him.
'Do slow down a little, Davey. You're wearing a path in the rugs and making me
positively dizzy. Jamie will call us when it's time.'
David dropped reluctantly into the nearest chair, stirred uncomfortably, and
then shifted forward until he was sitting right on the edge of the chair.
'Arthur, how can you be so calm after everything that's happened? Has the booze
finally given up on rotting your liver and decided to go after your brain now?
One of us is a murderer, an insane monster just waiting for his chance to kill
again. And we're trapped in the Tower with him!'
Arthur thought about that for a moment. 'Does it really matter that he's an
insane monster? I mean, a sane one would be just as bad, surely?'
David looked at him disgustedly. 'I should have known better than to expect any
sense out of you. For once in your life, Arthur, try to concentrate on what's
happening around you! Holly's in danger here. Doesn't that mean anything to
you?'
'Yes, it does. You know that. I'll do anything I can to protect her and keep her
safe. But right now she's safe in her room behind a locked door. Just like us.
What else can we do now except wait for Jamie's call?'
'I don't know!' David shook his head slowly and relaxed a little. 'I'm sorry,
