“Answer me.” The man’s voice thundered, then cracked and seemed to slide away.
Marley saw him turn his head, and the way his hood draped.
But she drew back in horror at the sight of the man’s profile, the thick, wide jaw, nostrils that jutted, much too big to be normal. One hand rose and pointed in her direction. “Who gave you my house?”
Not a hand, a claw.
“No one.” She steadied her voice.
“Man or woman?”
“No one.”
“What were you told?”
“Nothing.”
“I want to tear you apart, do you understand?”
Marley closed her mouth tightly and held her jaw rigid. She would not show fear.
“This is your last warning. You are not here by accident. I can bring you back whenever I please. I have been following your mind pattern. At first I only knew there was something familiar about you although I could not believe my own deductions. I didn’t want to. To me you are the most hated of creatures, you and your clan. Tell me where to find the house.”
“I don’t have any house.” She concentrated on her story. “I live in an apartment.”
For an instant he was silent. Then he said, “Oh, you think you’re clever. I have my ways to make you scream. I can make you beg. I can make you as nothing, but only after you deal with horror you cannot even imagine. Tell me what I need to know.”
“You’re mad,” she said. “I don’t believe anything you say and I don’t care what you say. I am more powerful than you.” She was not weak. Hers was a honed talent, a dramatic skill, set of skills.
“What?” he thundered. “You are no stronger than the others who have gone before you. Give me what’s mine.”
The thought shook her afresh. Could each of the missing women have had something he wanted? Once they gave it to him, had they been discarded?
She had to be strong, for them and for herself—and for the people who loved her.
“Why should I try to help you?” she said.
“Because I’ve told you to.”
“Why should I believe anything you say? I don’t think you know anything that would interest me. And I don’t believe you can hurt me or anyone else. Get away. Go back to whatever hole you crawled from. I’ve imagined you and now I’m casting you out of my mind. Go away. You aren’t real.”
Marley summoned her strength and pushed to her feet. “I have to leave now. Enjoy your fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales? You impudent puppet. You will give up to me whoever it is who pulls your strings. And you will give me my house.”
“I don’t have your house and I’ll give you nothing. You don’t exist.”
The screens smashed open and darkness flooded the whole space. All Marley could see were the red eyes she had come to dread. They drew closer, and closer, their uneven progress evidence that their owner limped badly.
He was in front of her, hovering so close that fear paralyzed Marley. Light-headed, she took a deep breath and coughed. An odor surged over her, so strong, so fetid, she swallowed waves of sickness.
“I will be back for you,” he said. “I can’t stay longer now—it’s time for me to leave. When I return and find you, my possession had better be with you.”
Marley tried to cover her face against the foul stench.
An arm shot out and fingers scraped the side of her head, tangled with her hair and tore painfully, this way and that.
She panted and gulped down sobs.
They were not fingers, but talons. She felt them scratch her scalp.
“You don’t believe what I tell you, hmm?” he said. “Perhaps I can persuade you with a little gift. I hope you are clever with your needle, Marley Millet.” He made a croaking sound as if amused, or pleased. “You see, I know who you are. I know your family. They have been a curse to us, but that will end.”
Claws on the free hand poked at her mouth, pried her lips apart, and she felt cloth shoved inside her cheek.
He pushed her and she fell backward, this time onto a couch. She slid sideways and lay with her face turned into a pillow.
Shivering, her muscles in spasms, she grew colder and colder until at last she dared to open her eyes a little. Beneath her, the couch was covered with light-colored material, pale yellow with beige leaves. Marley pulled up her feet.
She was alone.
There was no blue chair and no silk-covered screens.
The music still played, never growing any louder. And the whispering she would have welcomed while she was alone with the creature rushed in around her.
“You must find a way to help me,” she said to the Ushers. “If I must turn to the ultimate form of neutralization, I will.”
The Mentor demanded that paranormal martial arts be used only when one’s life was in jeopardy. The Millets must never be unfair.
But if she chose to use what she could, she would have to engage that creature physically. How badly would he wound her before she prevailed?
Her mouth felt thick and she remembered the cloth that thing had put there. She pulled it out, sickened at the thought of what it might be.
Under the weak light of several bulbs in an overhead chandelier she saw a piece of black cotton and knew what it was. She held the piece of her T-shirt that had been torn from her sleeve the night she saw Pearl Brite disappear from the warehouse.
Marley clenched the fabric in her fist. The Millet rules of chivalry even in the face of great provocation were starting to annoy her.
Growing from a confluence of shifting specks of white light, a form took shape. Marley blinked; she turned her head aside and tried to bring the apparition into focus.
Her skin stretched tight over her scalp, freshening the pain from that creature’s talons.
Either what she saw was a brilliantly golden book encrusted with gems or she could be looking at the top of a box. She had seen this once before, in her flat with Gray beside her. Her father had mentioned a small casket. Marley screwed up her eyes. She thought she was seeing a book and as she decided she was right, the front cover fell heavily open, revealing a yellowing parchment title page on which there were a few words: The Mentor: Triumph Through Honor.
Chapter 37
