“But your disguise!” her father replied. “You’re in a dress, Madeline. You’ll be recognized.”
“I’ve no time to change. I’ll be careful, Papa.” Quickly, she tripped the lock on her father’s cell, saying, “But just in case I run into trouble, you can come save me again.”
“God go with you, Madeline,” Father Miguel said, the window in the door to his cell framing an expression filled with concern.
She paused for just a moment outside his door her hand lifting to the shorn edges of her hair. “You know my husband well, Father Miguel. Will he hate my hair? Will he think I’m ugly?”
His gentle voice followed her down the hall. “I do know him well, my dear. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll recognize you as the beauty you are.”
IN THE south corner tower, Joseph set the basin of warm, though dirty, water on a cane chair. He pulled twice on a wall sconce, then bent down and pushed on a stone three rows up from the floor. From behind him came a distinctive click as a lock released.
Madeline, peering around the tower door yanked her head back and stood flush against the wall, her heart pounding so fiercely, she feared it could be heard. Elation cut through her fear as she realized she’d been right. Joseph
was
going to Brazos. She’d found the secret entrance to The Hole.
Joseph pressed a plain section of wall with his shoulder and a doorway appeared. Leaning inside, he grabbed a torch, then crossed the small, circular room to the hearth, where a fire burned. After lighting the torch, he lifted his pan of water and disappeared into the inky darkness. Madeline was halfway across the room when the door slammed shut.
“Bloody hell,” she murmured, hoping she’d witnessed all the required movements to release the lock. She decided to wait a few minutes before trying. She hoped he’d be far enough away by then not to notice the opening of the door. Joseph’s words came back to her as she lingered.
He is not the same man
. What did that mean? What had happened to Brazos?
Having decided enough time had passed, she pulled the sconce and pushed the stone. The hidden door swung open. Madeline wiped her sweaty palms on her dress, took a deep breath, and stepped down onto the first wedge-shaped stone step. Using an old burglar’s trick, she counted each step as she descended into the darkness. Torches hung every fifteenth step or so, their flames flickering, casting a fog of smoke that hung just above Madeline’s head. The circles of light illuminated streaks of mold growing on the walls and the occasional crumbling edge of a neglected step. From far below, Madeline heard the scrape of metal against stone.
It must be Brazos’s chains
, she thought.
Then came another sound. Footsteps headed her way. Fast. Bounding up the stairs.
Her heart pounded. There was nowhere to run. She’d no weapon. He was almost upon her. She climbed three steps, placing herself between the torches where the light was haziest. She pressed back against the wall. And prayed.
Joseph ran right past her, so close that she could feel the water dripping from his shirt and smell the scent of coffee on his breath as he cursed the one he called the
bestia
. Then, a few feet above her, he stopped.
“He’s made me so angry, I forgot,” he muttered. Joseph turned and descended the stairs, brushing by her again. She was gripping the wall so hard that the rough stone cut her fingers.
Stay still and quiet, Madeline
, she told herself.
You’ve done this before. Remember the Earl of Peckingham’s dining room? Still and quiet, like all good thieves
.
The scant light beneath her began to disappear, and Madeline realized that Joseph was extinguishing the torches. She felt more than saw him pass by the second time, and within moments, she was plunged into total darkness. She’d never been so frightened in her life.
Cautiously feeling her way, Madeline descended the stairs one by one. She counted as she went, and on seventy-three, she caught a glimpse of light beneath her.
Sweat trickled down her neck as she finally reached the dungeon floor. The small glow was a beacon that both summoned and repelled. For a moment, she stood frozen, unable to move. But then she heard a sound, a rumbling growl of pain, and it drew her forward.
There was a single cell at the end of the corridor. It seemed to have been carved out of solid stone, a cave more than a cell—a large, well-lit cave, at that. Vertical iron bars placed but inches apart formed a wall through which the interior of the cell was clearly visible. A large chair resembling a throne sat outside, and Madeline had a sudden picture of the royals visiting the London zoo.
The basin Joseph had carried downstairs lay overturned just outside the door. Slowly, quietly, she approached. A fire burned in a brazier and torches hung on the wall, providing light for all but the farthest corner of the room. She tilted her head, staring into the darkness toward the dusky shape she detected there. “Brazos?” she asked, gripping the back of the chair.
The shadowed shape moved, stretched. Stood and walked into the light. Madeline gasped, her eyes flying wide at the sight before her.
It was the man in the painting in Salezan’s study. Tall and naked. Painted pictures done in black and blood red of animals with teeth that dripped. An angry gash, half healed, ran from his shoulder to his right breast, a companion to the puckered scar from long ago on his left. Inserted into the skin was a length of beaded cane. But it was his face that made her tremble, caused her knees to weaken. She sank into the chair and stared at the thing in the cage that was a nightmare come to life.
He smiled gruesomely. His eyes flashed with power and madness and the secrets of hell. He was the painting in Salezan’s study.
He was Brazos Sinclair,
“Well,” came the gravelly, rumbling voice. “If it isn’t the Weak One’s bitch-woman. I am the Night. Welcome to my lair.”
Chapter 21
LIKE A CAGED TIGER, he paced the cell. From wall to wall, in and out of shadow, he constantly moved, his predator’s gaze never wavering. When he spoke, he used a serpent’s hiss. “So, you are not dead.”
“Dead?” Madeline squeaked. Her heart pounded as she sank deeper into the chair; and despite the bars and lock on the door between them, she felt threatened as never before. Brazos was no longer Brazos, but an animal of barbaric strength with a rabid glow in his eyes.
A frisson of fear brought prickles to her skin at the idea of being alone with him in this secret dungeon. He was not what she had expected to discover. She’d anticipated finding Brazos in wretched shape—broken bones and wounds, perhaps starved and lying in filth. This creature had been beaten, but the bruises were yellowed and fading and blended naturally into the painted tattoos adorning his skin. He had been shot; the wound high on his shoulder was recent, but showed signs of treatment. He stood tall and healthy and strong.
And out of his mind.
Suddenly, he stopped his pacing. He faced her, his hands braced on his hips, and his gaze skimmed her indifferently before locking on her face. He studied her, tilting his head and frowning. After a moment, a smile touched his lips, slowly growing until he broke into an amused chuckle. “My master has been up to his tricks again, I see.” He pointed toward her and said, “Your hair.”
Madeline’s hand lifted to finger the blunt ends of the chin-length locks. She felt a wash of shame amid the riot of feelings coursing through her—confusion, concern, terror.
He smirked. “‘Twas a nice touch, using you to kill the Weak One. That’s what did it, you know, the sight of your long, golden braid at his supper table.”
Madeline stared at him, her mouth paper dry as she strained to make sense of his words.
Concentrate
, she told herself.
Think
. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Who has been killed?”
He wrapped his fists around two of the iron bars and watched her through hooded eyes. “The Weak One is gone. The one you called husband. He’s dead. Just as I predicted, the truth killed him. He was weak; now, I shall live forever.”
Madeline lifted her hands and steepled them over her mouth. “My God,” she softly said. She stared at him, studying him as thoroughly as he had her just moments ago. Tears welled up inside her as she realized the extent of his madness. “Brazos, what has he done to you?”
His roar echoed off the stone walls. “Do not use that name. I am the Night. The Weak One is dead.” The bars rattled as he shook them and shouted, “Dead!”
Madeline whimpered, huddled in the chair like a child hiding from the monsters beneath her bed. Only this monster stood right before her eyes, and he was not a figment of her imagination. He was real.
Oh, God, the beast was real
.
Unable to watch the insanity in his eyes, Madeline’s gaze snagged on his breast’s ornamentation. She shuddered at the thought of cane puncturing a nipple. Then her scrutiny drifted lower and she noted his flaccid sex. That, too, brought home the fact that this creature was not her husband. She flirted with hysteria as the thought occurred that although she’d seen Brazos Sinclair naked a number of times, she’d never seen him like this.
The Night’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “You are a typical bitch. You wish my male-part transformed, do you not? You want my body to come to yours and gift you with my essence.” Madeline saw his knuckles whiten as his fists clenched. “But then I would be as the Weak One, and that I cannot allow.”
“The Weak One,” she repeated. “You mean Brazos?”
He pounded the iron bars. “Do not use that word!” His features hardened in an ugly scowl. “Now, leave. You have no place here.”
At that moment, Madeline wanted nothing more than to flee up the steps into the sunshine, away from this dark dungeon nightmare. That feeling gave her an idea. She remembered the instance in the
Uriel’
s hold, and how he’d snapped out of his spell when they’d climbed up into sunlight. She thought of the time in the well and sunlight’s restorative effect. The obvious first step to saving Brazos was to convince this beast to climb the winding staircase out of the dungeon.
Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, she said, “But Braz…I mean, Mr. Night, I cannot leave alone. I’ve come to release you, to give you your freedom.” Pushing herself from the chair she took a step toward the cell door, imploring, “You must leave with me now, before someone arrives to check on you.” After sending a brief prayer of thanks for her professional skills, Madeline went to work on the lock, muttering, “The next time Brazos grouses about my being a thief, I’m going to remind him that it was my abilities that got him out of prison.”
The beast backed away, scoffing at her “Why should I wish to leave? This is my home. I have everything I need here. I am—” and he emphasized the words “—well fed.” He turned away and added coals to the brazier that sat against the back wall, providing heat and adding light to the cell.
The lock clicked open. The door scraped against the stone floor as she pulled it open. A rat darted through the open doorway, and Madeline shuddered.
Turning his head slowly and with control, the beast pinned her with a narrow, fiery stare. “What do you dare?” he hissed. “I dislike your efforts to test me.” He pointed toward the door and roared, “Go, bitch, before I decide to make a meal of you.” His nostrils flared as he breathed a heavy breath before adding, “Bony as you are, ‘twould hardly be worth the effort.”
Madeline didn’t move, she couldn’t. An idea flickered at the edges of her mind, something his words had sparked to life. She struggled to grasp it even as his gaze swept her body and he pensively said, “Of course, I’ve never had a woman. I wonder if you would be different than the priest? Perhaps your meat would be more sweet.”
No
, Madeline denied as she began to back away,
he didn’t say what I think he said.
She gagged at the idea.
Should I get out
? she asked herself. This was more than she’d bargained for. Obviously, Brazos’s problems involved more than physical torture. Perhaps she should give herself time to determine how she should deal with problems of the mind. Besides, this beast was dangerous.
But before she could move more than a few steps, he pounced. Grabbing her arm, he yanked her inside the cell, then slammed the door behind him. “What’s the matter, bitch? Are you not strong-hearted? Are you not my enemy, giving aid to the Weak One as you have in the past?”
Shaking like a tree in a gale, she forced herself to think. Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own as the vague idea still hovering at the edge of her consciousness took a hazy shape. “What…what priest?”
He approached her, the smile on his face a grotesque caricature of mirth. His savage laugh made her stomach clench. Gripping her arm mercilessly, he pulled her across the room and threw her on his cot. His arms folded, he stared down at her. His blue eyes glowed with malevolence as he answered, “Father Miguel Alcortez. He was the Weak One’s friend and therefore my enemy.”
A band of hope squeezed her chest, and she strained to draw a breath as the idea burst full-bodied across her mind. Was this it, the secret Brazos had buried so deep inside of him, the source of all his pain? A truth so horrifying that he couldn’t live with it?
A truth that was a lie.
“What happened to your enemy, to Father Miguel?” she asked, watching his eyes closely.
“It is the way of the Karankawa, the manner in which one captures the strength and destroys the soul of one’s enemy.” His smile made her shudder. “My master and I shared his flesh.”
Madeline knew it was a lie, but hearing him put it into words still made her feel nauseated. Then he lowered his voice to a purr and repeated the question he’d asked earlier. “Are you strong-hearted, woman? I know you are my enemy. I shall enjoy destroying your soul.” He touched her cheek, and she jumped from the bed, dashing for the slop bucket, where she vomited.
“My master must have planned this for me,” the animal called Night mused. “I should have guessed when he gave me your braid. At the time, I thought the purpose was to kill the Weak One, but now I see my master intended to offer you as my gift.”