Banished Page 19

  I rested my palm against his back, but it wasn't enough. I needed to be closer, to listen to his breathing and feel the response of his body. I pressed my cheek between his shoulder blades and closed my eyes against the sting of tears.

  After a few more moments and deep breaths, he finally stopped shuddering and straightened. The muscles beneath my cheek tensed. Reluctantly, I drew away.

  "Better?" I asked as he turned.

  His face was still somewhat pale, but the fever had disappeared from his eyes and his skin no longer looked waxy. He inclined his head in a nod. "You should have left me."

  "No. You should not have come inside."

  "Dawson came out without you." As if that explained his stupidly dangerous action!

  I planted my hand on my hip and was about to admonish him when Tommy reached between us and opened the coach door. "Stop bickering. The mob moved off."

  He was right. The crowd had disappeared. Only the faint echo of their shouted accusations could be heard. We climbed into the coach, but Fray had to drive out of the village via a different route and circle it in order to avoid the road clogged by the crowd. We parked the coach some distance away from the Tudor house, where Fray and the horses would be safe, and walked to the property. We carried no lamp, but my eyes quickly grew accustomed to the darkness. We did not go in through the front gate, but remained at the side, where part of the fence had fallen over and overgrown shrubs provided coverage.

  "We don't have much time," Quin said. The mob hadn't arrived, but they would soon.

  "We'll take them by surprise," Tommy suggested.

  I agreed. "It's our best advantage."

  "It's our only advantage."

  "No." Quin withdrew his sword. "This is our advantage. And Cara."

  I gave him a weak smile, but he didn't return it. Perhaps he hadn't seen it in the poor light, or perhaps he wasn't in a smiling mood. He'd been quiet ever since we'd dragged him out of the church. I suspected his masculine pride had suffered a blow after I'd seen him weakened. Or perhaps, like me, he knew the moment for goodbyes was almost upon us.

  Tommy pulled Jack's knife from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to me. "Take this."

  "No." Quin pushed Tommy's hand away. "Her reach isn't long. She won't get close enough to use it if they're armed."

  "But she must defend herself."

  Quin tugged on a half-buried fence paling and pulled it free of the soil and weeds. He handed it to me. "Let's go before the mob arrive."

  "Wait." I collected a handful of soil and filled my skirt pocket. "Ready."

  Quin stopped me with a hand to my shoulder. "Cara…" He sighed and lowered his head.

  "I know," I said heavily, fighting back tears. At Tommy's quizzical look, I added, "Quin will be leaving as soon as we've sent the ghosts back."

  Tommy gave me a sympathetic smile then turned it on Quin. "Thank you, St. Clair. You're welcome to come back any time."

  "I would gladly return." The unspoken 'if I could' hung like a dense raincloud in the air. He tightened his hold on my shoulder, then let me go and led us across the fallen fence into the tangle of shrubs that formed the side garden.

  I joined him and we crept up to the house. He nodded at the nearest window, and I crouched in front of it and peered through, while Quin and Tommy flattened themselves against the wall out of view.

  Moonlight lit up the room beyond. It was large and contained a fireplace with a blackened mantel surrounding it, and scorched walls and beams. There was no furniture or ghosts. I moved onto the next window then the next. Each time, I shook my head to signal that the room was empty. A few more windows later, we reached the kitchen. It had probably once been separate from the main house, but was now connected by a wooden structure that appeared to be caving in on itself.

  I heard them before I saw them. I put my finger to my lips and crept closer to the window. It was too high for me to look through. To save money in a time when glass was a luxury item, the Tudor-era builder had made the windows small in the service area and high to catch the light.

  I signaled to Quin and he crouched near me. He set down his sword and linked his hands together. I placed my foot in the cradle and he lifted me until I could see over the sill. A single lamp hung on a hook beside the door, providing enough light to see all eight ghosts, including Redbeard, lounging on or around the table. They appeared to be armed with knives.

  I rested my hand on Quin's head and he lowered me. I held up eight fingers then drew a map of the room in the earth with a stick, placing dots where the ghosts sat.

  Quin picked up his sword and slowly, gently tried the nearest door. He shook his head. Locked. We headed back to the front and found it unlocked. We crept through the house using instinct and what little light the moon gave, to find our way to the rear. We tested the floorboards as we went, and I winced every time a loose one groaned. But no ghosts appeared.

  Redbeard's raucous laughter drifted through the warren of rooms to us. I paused, worried he'd seen or heard us. But there was no sign of him, and the voices still sounded like they came from the kitchen at the back of the house.

  We continued and reached the flagstone area that marked the beginning of the makeshift corridor linking the main house to the kitchen. Quin and I went first, his sword poised to strike, his left arm stretched protectively in front of me.

  There did not appear to be a door to the kitchen—it must have come off at some point—and I could clearly hear the ghosts' conversation. They were discussing the delights of a particular woman from the village, and the 'fools' who were on their way. So they knew about the mob. That explained why each either held a knife or had one in front of them on the table.

  Quin didn't wait for me to throw soil over the spirits. He charged straight in and struck the nearest ghost straight through the chest. My drawing had been accurate enough that he'd not needed to see him. The spirit's soul was crushed before the others had time to gasp.

  They gathered up their weapons and fell back, away from Quin. My map was no longer of any use, but at least he and Tommy knew their positions from the physical objects they held.

  "Come on, lassie." Redbeard beckoned me with a crook of his finger. "Come and tug on old Red's beard. I'll show ye' what a real man can do." He grasped his crotch, and his friends snickered.

  "You don't belong here," I told them. "We're going to make sure you don't remain. Choose now—an afterlife or nothing."

  A young spirit near the back of the group dropped his weapon. "I'm going." He disappeared.

  "Coward!" Redbeard shouted into the ether. "Anyone else want to follow that pathetic boy?"

  All the other ghosts remained. Redbeard nodded with satisfaction then focused on Quin.

  Quin charged first. I winced at the clash of metal on metal, so loud in the small room. "Get back, Cara!" he shouted at me.

  I did not. Tommy and I worked together. I threw a handful of soil at the faces of the two nearest ghosts. They cursed me and rubbed their eyes. Tommy sliced through the chest of one then another straight away. I pulled out their souls and squeezed them to dust. Then I threw their dust at another two.

  One spluttered and blinked rapidly, but the other emitted a high-pitched wail and dropped his weapon. He frantically tried to brush the dust from his face and shook out his hair.

  "Get 'im off! Get 'im off of me!" He wiped his dirty nose then vanished altogether, amid another hysterical wail.

  The disappearance of yet another spirit didn't affect Redbeard this time. He was too busy with Quin, and the two remaining ghosts joined him. Three to one. They were odds I didn't like, particularly as Redbeard blinked out then reappeared.

  "Behind you!" I shouted.

  Quin spun and swiped. His sword glanced off Redbeard's shoulder. The ghost hissed in pain, but didn't pause as he returned the strike. Quin dodged it easily enough, but had to be careful of the others' knives.

  "Back to back with Quin," I told Tommy. "It's the only way."

&nbs
p; Tommy moved to join him, striking one of the spirits straight through the heart. I removed the soul for him and threw the dust at another advancing toward me. Where had he come from? Blinded by the remnants of his friend, he didn't see the fence paling coming. I struck the hand that held a knife, knocking it away. It slid across the floor until it hit the lip of the hearth.

  Two more ghosts suddenly appeared. One picked up the knife, while his companion removed a copper saucepan from a hook above the fireplace. They came at me together.

  I lashed out with the paling, striking the one with the knife in the shoulder. He lost his balance and stumbled to the side, but the other kept coming. He raised the saucepan with both hands and brought it down.

  Quin's sword flew through the air and pierced the ghost. The spirit screamed, but soon lost his essence and his voice as the power of the blade took hold. He dropped the saucepan and it broke into two pieces on the floor. I removed the sword and reached into the cavity. His soul came out easily.

  I brushed its dust off my hand and turned on the other ghost who'd recovered his balance. I sliced the sword cleanly through his body. He dropped his knife, blinked rapidly, then disappeared before I could remove his soul. Hopefully he'd taken himself back to Hell.

  A grunt behind me had me turning quickly. Quin was unarmed, his sleeve a bloody mess. He dodged strike after strike from Redbeard, while Tommy fought off the only other remaining ghost.

  Quin put out his hand and I threw the sword. He caught it, dodged another of Redbeard's blows, and re-engaged him in battle.

  I came up behind Tommy's opponent and slammed the paling into his head. While it didn't injure him, he did make him lose his balance, giving Tommy the opening he needed. He sliced him through the chest with Jack's knife and I removed the soul.

  Tommy and I wasted no time. We rounded on Quin and Redbeard. Realizing he was alone against three of us, Redbeard stepped back.

  "Weaklings," he spat at his missing friends.

  "Return," I ordered.

  "Never!"

  He charged at Quin. It was an erratic, foolish move that propelled him headlong at Quin's sword. But instead of striking Redbeard's body, Quin stepped aside and let the ghost stumble past. Shelves nailed to the wall collapsed, sending plates, bowls and clay pots smashing onto the floor.

  "What are you doing?" Tommy cried. "You could have ended this."

  I stared at Quin. He glanced at me then away, flexing his fingers around the sword hilt. My heart dropped into my stomach. Quin hadn't ended it because that would mean he had to return to Purgatory. Redbeard was the only remaining spirit. We both knew it.

  "You can stay," I said to Redbeard before I lost my nerve.

  "Cara." Tommy's sharp tone left no doubt what he thought of that. Quin did not meet my gaze or speak.

  "You can stay if you promise not to do any harm."

  "No, Cara." Tommy's voice held sympathy, but a warning too. "He's dangerous. You can't trust his promise. Nor can you can't make that judgment."

  The muscles in Quin's jaw bunched and relaxed, bunched and relaxed, as he continued to avoid my gaze. He did not move to strike, but the fingers holding the sword became white. He seemed to be warring with himself.

  As was I. Hot tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to close them and curl up into a ball, but I didn't trust Redbeard. I had to watch his every move. Tommy was right—someone with a soul evil enough to be sent to Hell could not be trusted. We had to destroy him.

  Redbeard got to his feet, laughing. He pointed his sword at Quin. "Turned into a fool by a wench."

  "Quin."

  My plea had him finally looking at me. The shine in his eyes did not hide the torment and ache. "I'm sorry, Cara."

  I tightened my grip on the fence paling and nodded. "As am I. Goodbye."

  His nostrils flared. He raised his sword to engage Redbeard as Tommy prepared to strike from behind. Redbeard was trapped and he knew it. He disappeared.

  "Christ!" Tommy swore. He did not glare at us, but I knew he blamed us for letting the ghost escape.

  I blamed myself. "Do you think he's returned to Hell?"

  Quin shook his head. "He won't go back there. I can see the fear in his eyes whenever it's mentioned."

  "Then where—"

  Redbeard reappeared in the doorway. He was armed, not with a sword, but a pistol. He aimed it at Quin.

  And fired.

  CHAPTER 15

  "Quin!" My scream was barely out of my mouth as Quin dove to the side. He crashed into a washing tub, splintering the rotten wood. Blood poured from his thigh.

  I ran to him.

  "No!" he shouted. "Stay there!"

  I stopped and followed his gaze to where Redbeard still stood, the pistol aimed at Quin. He cocked it and grinned.

  "Got you now," the ghost sneered.

  Tommy raised his arm to throw the knife, but Redbeard swiveled and pointed the pistol at him. Tommy ducked behind the table, thank God, Jack's knife still in his hand.

  Redbeard chuckled. "I have them now, miss. So what will you do? Or should I see the reaction when I aim this at you."

  Hell. Quin would put his body in front of mine if Redbeard carried out his threat. I couldn't allow that. He might already be dead, but his body was essentially alive in this realm. I wasn't sure what would happen if it were to die again. He might never come back.

  Quin heard them before I did. He cocked his head ever so slightly, listening. The shouts of the mob erupted in the distance, moving quickly toward us. Redbeard heard them too.

  "So they come," he said with a firm nod. "What will they do when they discover your bodies here and no gypsies?" He twisted and aimed the gun at me.

  Quin leapt up.

  "Bloody hell, there's no one holding it!" The voice at the high window had Redbeard, Tommy and me turning to see who spied on us.

  But not Quin. He shot past me and grabbed the gun in Redbeard's hand. They wrestled with it and a shot went off. The bullet dug into the brick chimney.

  Tommy and I had the same idea at the same time. I grabbed Quin's sword and we both ran to help him. I thrust the sword into one side of Redbeard and Tommy sliced his knife into the other side at chest height.

  Redbeard's mouth opened in a silent scream. His eyes filled with pain. He tried to grasp at my hand as I reached into the hole we'd gouged out of him, but he passed right through me. I clasped his soul in my palm and did not hesitate as I crushed it.

  Quin placed his hand at the back of my neck. It was then that I realized he'd angled himself so that the onlooker at the window couldn't see the soul or its dust. I blinked up at him, wanting to say so many things, but saying none of them. We'd already said our goodbyes, there was no point repeating myself.

  I offered him his sword and he took it, closing his hand over mine. My heart beat out a rapid rhythm in my throat. His thumb massaged my neck. His gaze locked with mine. It was filled with longing and an earnestness that I felt deep in my bones.

  He kissed the top of my head, but it was light, airy, as if he was already disappearing. I let go of the sword and closed my eyes, committing the feel of his lips against my skin to memory.

  "Through there!" came a shout from the main part of the house.

  Quin pulled away and I opened my eyes. He was faint, his body little more than an outline. Tommy stared at him, unblinking. He saw what I saw.

  "Get out of here," Quin ordered, his voice painfully thin. "Too dangerous." He seemed to be having trouble speaking. His lips drew together and his jaw clenched hard.

  Tommy pocketed Jack's knife and grabbed me by the hand. He led me to the rear door, letting me go long enough to unlatch it. He guided me through, but I refused to go any further than the threshold without Quin. He'd followed us, but he was as indistinct as an artist's preliminary sketch.

  "Quin," I sobbed. I reached for his hand, but my fingers passed right through him. He was in ghost form. Soon, he would be gone altogether.

  Yet he fought to stay. I could see i
t in the way he closed his fists at his sides, and the determined set of his jaw. He held my gaze and I covered my mouth to smother my sobs.

  His lips moved, forming my name, but no sound came out. He grimaced in frustration. Then his jaw clenched harder.

  But he could not fight forever.

  "Go, Quin," I murmured.

  The sounds of the mob crashing through the house behind us drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder then turned back to me, worry drawing his face taut.

  "I'll be all right," I told him.

  He placed his fingertips to his mouth, kissed them and held up his hand, palm out. I kissed my fingers and did the same. Our hands passed through one another's.

  He winked at me, mischievous to the end, then turned to Tommy. His lips formed the word "Go".

  And then he was gone.

  Tommy grabbed my hand and led me through the garden. I could hardly make out where I stepped through the stream of my tears, but Tommy gently guided me through the brambles and shadows.

  "Nobody's here!" came a shout from the kitchen.

  "They've gone!"

  "But I saw a pistol with no one holding it."

  "That busy imagination of yours at work again, Bran." The man's laughter filtered out to us on the breeze.

  "Hey there!" someone shouted. "You there. Dawson, that you? Did you see the gypsies?"

  "They left some time ago," Tommy called back without breaking his stride.

  "Where's your friend, the big fellow with the sword?"

  "Gone home."

  Home. But Purgatory was no home for a good soul. Quin didn't belong there. But he didn't belong here, either.

  ***

  I decided to remain at Freak House a little longer. I couldn't leave the one place where I felt close to Quin. The portal at the ruins might bring horrors and danger, but it also linked Quin to this realm. I stopped short of hoping a demon infestation would be unleashed just so he would return. I desperately wanted to see him, but not if it meant others would be put in harm's way.

  Jack and Hannah returned from London, bringing Samuel and Charity with them. It felt good to have my friends close. I missed Emily and Jacob immensely, but I didn't want to darken their summer with my melancholia. Their children deserved a happy, fun aunt, not a gloomy one.