something, instead of just waiting and worrying, not knowing what was happening.
Maybe it was all over by now, and they'd found Richard and killed him, and
everything could get back to normal again. Or maybe Richard had killed them all,
picking them off one at a time from hiding, and was now on his way back down the
stairs, to finish the job and silence everyone who could identify him. Arthur
stirred unhappily, but kept his features relaxed and his eyes half closed. He
didn't want Holly to see he was worried. She looked scared enough as it was.
His hand dropped self-consciously to the sword at his side. He'd had the same
training all young Quality men went through as a matter of course, but truth be
told he'd never drawn the blade in anger in his life. He'd never given much of a
damn about his honor; certainly not enough to risk his life in a duel over it.
Besides, he'd never been much of a swordsman, and he might have got hurt. But it
wasn't just his life that was at stake now. There was Holly to think of. She was
depending on him and Marc to defend her if things went wrong. Arthur's mouth
tightened. Probably Marc would turn out to be an expert with a sword, and he
wouldn't be needed. That was how things usually went. No one had ever needed
Arthur in his life. But if worst came to worst, and there was only him left
between Holly and the freak, he hoped he'd find the courage to do the right
thing, for once in his life.
He looked across at Marc, and frowned slightly. He couldn't say he'd never
warmed to the man. He seemed pleasant enough, in a dull, earnest kind of way,
but basically Marc had all the character of a block of wood. He had no interests
or opinions of his own, and absolutely no sense of humor. It wasn't often that
Arthur found someone he could feel superior to, and he rather enjoyed the
novelty, but there was something about Marc he didn't care for. He was too
quiet, too bland, too self-effacing. It just wasn't natural for a man to be that
polite. And then Marc raised his head and looked at Holly, and Arthur felt a
sudden chill go through him. Marc looked different somehow. He looked… Arthur
sat up straight suddenly as the thought hit him. Marc looked hungry.
Marc turned his head to look at Arthur, and smiled pleasantly.
'Something wrong, Arthur?'
Arthur tried to clear his throat, but his mouth was very dry. 'I don't know.'
'You look as though you've seen a ghost. Or something worse. What do you think,
Arthur? Have you seen something worse?'
'Maybe. Maybe I have.'
Katrina looked at them both, frowning. 'What are you two talking about?'
'We're talking about me,' said Marc. 'It's a fascinating subject, really.' He
rose lithely to his feet and stood with his back to the fire, smiling easily at
them all. 'Tell me, Arthur, when did you first begin to suspect?'
'I'm not sure,' said Arthur numbly. 'Maybe earlier on, when I noticed you never
ate anything that was offered to you, and although you always had a glass of
wine in your hand, you never drank from it. Drunks notice that kind of thing.
And you were always too self-controlled, too unaffected by the things that were
happening here.'
'Ah yes,' said Marc. 'Emotions. I never could get the hang of them. Unless you
count hunger as an emotion. I'm always hungry.'
'No,' said Holly, her eyes widening as she shrank back in her chair. 'It can't
be. You can't be…'
'I'm afraid so,' said Marc. 'And they've all gone off and left the three of you
alone with me. We're quite safe in here. No one can get to us; I've seen to
that. Or did you never consider that a barricade will serve just as well to keep
people in, as well as out?'
Katrina glared at him, holding her poker before her. 'You come near me, and I'll
kill you, you… freak!'
'Such a harsh word,' said Marc. 'But unfortunately for you, perfectly accurate.
I'm afraid I've waited as long as I can, and I really don't care to wait any
longer. The others will be busy killing each other by now, so we shouldn't be
interrupted.'
'You don't have to do this,' said Holly. 'We wouldn't tell anyone about you.
Honest.'
'Oh, I think you would,' said Marc. 'If you had the chance. But I'm afraid I
can't afford to leave any witnesses. So I'll take care of you three first, and
then I'll go upstairs and introduce myself to whatever survivors there may be. I
couldn't do that before; I wasn't strong enough. And the memories got in the
way. But now Greaves is mine, the memories are under control, and after I've
drained the life and strength out of you as well… When the wards go down
tomorrow morning, I shall leave this Tower and go down into the city, and I will
feed and feed and feed, and never be hungry again.
'I think I'll start with you, Holly. I've always admired you. Like a rose
without a thorn; so pretty, so vulnerable. That's why I came to you in the
night, while you slept, and took a little life from you, to keep myself going.
Your memories drifted through my mind like petals on a breeze, sweet but
unsatisfying. Did you dream of me, perhaps? I'd like to think you did. I dreamed
of someone like you for years. And now you're mine.'
He started towards Holly, and Arthur scrambled to his feet. He drew his sword
and put himself between her and the freak, hoping he looked more impressive than
he felt.
'Get away from her, you bastard. I won't let you hurt her.'
The freak just stood there, smiling. 'Very nicely said, Arthur. Now put away
your sword and sit down. I'll get round to you, when I'm ready.'
'I mean it!'
'I'm sure you do. But there's nothing you can do to stop me. As long as I'm
within arm's reach of someone, I can drain the life right out of them. Besides,
it's obvious from the way you're holding your sword that you don't really know
how to use it. Marc knew about things like that, and now, so do I. I wonder what
I'll know when I've emptied your head, Arthur. How to mix cocktails, perhaps?'
'Stay back,' said Arthur. His voice sounded shaky, even to him, but at least his
sword hand was steady. He'd often dreamed of standing between Holly and some
unidentified villain, being the hero of the moment, but now the time had come
and he'd never felt so scared in his life. But he wouldn't back down. Holly
needed him. The thought steadied him, and he stepped smartly forward, his sword
shooting out in a textbook lunge. Marc sidestepped elegantly, and dropped a hand
on Arthur's outstretched arm. The sword fell to the floor as his hand went numb.
A wave of shuddering cold swept through him as the strength went out of him and
into Marc. He fell limply forward, his face striking hard against the floor, but
he couldn't feel it. He tried to get to his feet again, and couldn't move. He
would have been frightened, but his thoughts were growing too dim even for that.
And then Marc's hand was suddenly jerked away from his arm, and his thoughts
began to clear.
