The Haunting of Brier Rose (28 page)

She tried to pull away, but Taylor only wrapped his arms around
her and drew her against his chest.

"So you thought you'd just leave me, Brier Rose?" He
looked down at her, his brown eyes glowing with concern and reproach.

"I thought I could save you and Bea."

"You could have been killed." He entwined his left hand
in the hair at the nape of her neck. "Don't try that again. You hear
me?"

She gazed up at him and nodded, feeling as if she were the
biggest failure in the entire world. Now she would never leave Brierwood.
Taylor would make sure of that. Because of her cowardice, Taylor would face
death, and she would meet with dishonor and who knew what else at the hands of
Seth Bastyr. Against her will Rose began to sob, clutching the front of his
white shirt as if it were her only anchor to reality.

"He must know everything I think," she said.
"Everything! Now that he's been in my aura, he must be able to read my
mind."

Taylor wiped away a tear with his thumb, unaware of how the
gesture made her heart swell with love for him.

"And you can't leave either, Taylor—not with those
dogs out there and the phones down."

"I don't plan to leave."

"Even if it's the only way to save yourself?"

"That's kind of a moot question now, Rose." He urged
her head back by gently tugging on the fistful of red hair. "So let's
forget it, all right?"

For a moment his eyes glittered at her, and then his mouth
lowered to hers and he kissed her. Their lips clung to each other as his hand
kept her pressed against him. She released the front of his shirt and slid her
hands up the sides of his neck, then wrapped her arms around him, succumbing to
the wonderful sensation that spread over her when she was in his arms, as if
everything would turn out all right. She pressed desperate kisses on his cheek
and jaw.

"Oh, Taylor," she breathed, her lips near the underside
of his strong jaw. "How will we ever fight Seth?"

"For starters, I'll get that pistol of Bea's," he
answered, stroking her hair. "And then we're going to go hunting for a
vampire."

"But how can you hunt him down when he's in my aura?"

"He's not in your aura. I checked."

While Taylor cleaned the gun, Rose and Bea sorted through the
jumbled mess in Bea's apartment, searching for the box that had held the
emerald and list of instructions. Bea found it shoved beneath her bed, the lid
ripped off its hinges, as if Seth had been in
a hurry
or a maniacal rage.

Bea held up the bottom of the box and shook her head as Rose
joined her by the bed.

"What about the list of instructions?" Rose asked, taking
the empty box in her hands.

"They're gone, too."

"I never really read them thoroughly," Rose put in.
"I should have, when I had the chance."

"I've gone over them again and again, dear, worrying about
the day you would turn twenty-one. I think I can remember most of the
words."

"But what good will that do us without the my mother's
emerald?"

"Maybe if you wore my emerald ring—"

Bea started to twist the band off her finger, but Rose put out a
hand to stop her.

"No, Bea. You keep it. If you take that off, there's no
telling what Seth will do to you. At least we know he wants me alive for
tonight."

"But there must be something I can do to help."

"You can't help me if Seth gets to you," Rose reasoned.
"Keep it on for now."

Reluctantly Bea nodded in agreement and looked about her
disorderly apartment. Rose glanced at her, aware of the lines of tiredness
around Bea's mouth, the smudges under her eyes and the telltale way she stroked
her temple to alleviate the onset of a headache. She shouldn't even be up and
about after having narrowly escaped death earlier that morning. There was nothing
she could do, either, to prepare for the night to come, other than be fully
rested in case a chance to save herself arose.

Rose put the box on the bed and slipped her arm around Bea's
shoulders. "Bea, why don't you go back to my room and take a nap?"

"But there's so much to do—"

"This mess can wait. And there's nothing we can really do
until tonight, anyway, other than try to find Seth and the emerald."

"So we just sit here and wait?"

Rose squeezed her shoulders. "What else can we do?"

"I feel so helpless. Like a sitting duck." Bea clutched
Rose's hands. "And I'm frightened, Rose."

"So am I." Rose straightened and looked down at her
grandmother. "I only hope you will forgive me."

"Whatever for?"

"For not believing. For not leaving when you asked."

Bea gave her a tremulous smile. "Dear Rose. Don't worry
about me. I'll be all right. It's you—"

"We should have left days ago, Bea. I'm so sorry I refused
to go."

"You couldn't have known the consequences, child."
Tenderly, Bea patted her cheek. "And none of us could have predicted the
dogs and the phone."

Rose gazed down at her. "I love you, Bea. I just wanted you
to know."

Bea's eyes glistened. "And I love you, dear. You've been the
best grandchild a grandmother could have." She reached up, and Rose bent
to embrace her. Before her emotions could get the best of her again, however,
she drew away, just as Taylor appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

"I'm ready when you are," he said, tucking the pistol
in the waistband of his jeans. "Let's go find that sonofabitch."

"I'm going with you," Bea put in, shuffling toward Taylor.

Rose put out a restraining hand. "Bea, you're exhausted."

"I'm not staying behind," she countered. "Seth
Bastyr killed my son and my husband. And now he wants you. Do you think I can
take a nap when I know Seth's somewhere at Brierwood? Not a chance. I'm going
with you. And that's final."

"Come on, then." Taylor looked at his watch. "It's
four o'clock. We have about six hours until dark."

As they left Bea's room, Rose realized just how monstrous a job
lay before them. And that was assuming Seth lay sleeping somewhere in the house
and not out in the extensive grounds, where
they were
prevented from going by the Rottweilers
. Brierwood was a huge, rambling
house with three full floors of nooks and crannies, topped by a shadowy attic
and built over a dark labyrinth of cellars that Rose had always made a point of
avoiding. If they could have split up and conducted individual searches their
task would have been considerably easier. But Taylor insisted that they stay
together for safety's sake, and she had to agree with his decision. If Seth
showed up unexpectedly, or if the dogs managed to break into the house, she
would feel much safer with Taylor by her side.

Rose suggested searching the house from attic to basement, going
methodically from one wing of the house to the other, so they wouldn't miss a
single room. She and Bea carried flashlights. Taylor kept the gun as well as a
light.

Taylor led the way to the attic by ascending a short flight of
wooden stairs and opening a small door onto a long, narrow room lit by a pair
of dormers and two high windows at either end. The windows were dusty and
festooned with thick cobwebs, which blocked most of the light. Rose didn't
relish the idea of searching through the contents of the attic, but she knew
she couldn't turn back. Her glance darted around the attic, which was crowded
with trunks and boxes that cast strange, distorted shadows on the floor. What
if Seth was somewhere in this creaking, musty place, pressed against the wall
like an earwig in the crack of a fence, waiting until nightfall, when he could
surge to life? If she came upon him like that, she would absolutely faint.

With her heart pounding in her ears, Rose eased farther into the
room, too proud to admit how scared she felt. The rhythmic tapping of Taylor's
cane on the wooden floor as he searched the room only served to remind her that
time was quickly ticking away.

"What will we do if we find him?" Rose asked, gingerly
lifting the clasp on a large, dusty chest. What if Seth were curled inside the
box waiting to leap to life? With fingers that were frozen and stiff, she
lifted the lid slightly, wishing she had a stick in her hand so she could
perform the task and still keep her distance from the box. She peered into the
murky depths of the chest and let out a relieved breath. The chest was filled
with old linens.

"We kill him!" Bea replied vehemently.

"How, though? With a gun?"

Taylor moved a drapery aside with the tip of his cane. "I
don't think vampires can be killed by a gun—at least, not the vampires
I've ever read about." He let the drapery fall back into position and
turned to look at Rose. "Vampires are killed with wooden stakes and wolfs
bane, aren't they?"

"What about auric vampires?" Rose asked, trying to keep
her voice from cracking with fear. "What did the book say about getting
rid of than?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. The book only mentioned how a
person could avoid auric vampires or heal auric wounds. Perhaps the author of
the book never encountered an auric vampire as powerful as Seth."

"And without the emerald, we're helpless," Bea put in,
pushing up her glasses. "Your mother's instructions depended on the
emerald."

"If we find him while he's resting, we might be able to get
the emerald back." Taylor knelt on one knee and aimed a flashlight into the
crawl space under the eaves of the roof. Then he stood up and switched off the
light. "I'm hoping he'll be in a weakened state during the daylight, and
that he'll have hidden the emerald somewhere on his person."

Rose sneezed from the dust particles that wafted into the air
with every step she took and every trunk and carton she dislodged. She rubbed
the tip of her nose. "So we'll body-search him?"

"That's right."

Rose hated the thought—dreaded the prospect, as a matter of
fact—and from the look on Taylor's face, she knew he felt the same way.

The afternoon flew by, as if fate guessed they were pressed for
time and was playing a cruel joke on them by hurrying the sun toward the
horizon. After they completed their search of the second and third floors, they
trudged down the stairs to the main floor just as the grandfather clock near
the stairs struck the half hour, chiming its mournful tune through the house.
Seven-thirty. Rose shuddered involuntarily. They had only two hours until dusk.
After a search of the main floor, they returned to the stair hall.

Bea took the opportunity to sink to the bottom step and lean her
head against a lathed baluster. She sighed and closed her eyes in exhaustion.
Rose let her rest for a moment and looked out the window, dismayed to see the
sun melting behind the trees. She sensed every tick of the clock in her own
rapid pulse. If they didn't find Seth soon, within the next hour or so, all hope
would be lost for saving themselves.

She looked down at Bea, who sat on the stair in mute exhaustion,
her hands curved together in her lap, and then at Taylor, who stood leaning on
his cane and staring out the window, his sharp features outlined by the golden
glow of sunset. Dust motes danced in the rays that streamed through the window
by the door, lending a vibrant note to an otherwise weary stillness. Even Edgar
was uncharacteristically quiet, content to sit on the newel post near Taylor's
elbow. Rose surveyed all three of them, her heart heavy with dread and despair.

Soon, however, Taylor sensed her gaze and slowly turned to look
at her. She didn't avert her eyes, and for a long time they simply stared at
each other, aware that this could be their last quiet moment together. Rose
could feel her love for him streaming through the air, as real and warm as the
light rays that beamed around him. She did nothing to disguise her feelings for
him and hoped he could read her mind as easily as Seth picked up her thoughts.

I love you, Taylor. I love
you. I love you.

He gazed back with an inscrutable expression on his face, his
mouth an unbending line, his eyes a glittering black. Yet across his cheekbones
crept the rosy patches she had seen once before, and she wondered if he had
guessed what she so desperately wished to tell him. And did he love her in return?
She didn't know. He wasn't the kind of person to let down his guard, not even
with his eyes. Perhaps he had stayed to help her as a way of seeking atonement
for his past, as he had said, and not because he cared about her. She couldn't
bear the thought that he might be helping her for reasons of duty instead of
love.

As if to validate her doubts, he suddenly broke eye contact and
in his brusque fashion issued a command. "Time to hit the basement."

Bea pushed herself to her feet with a sigh. Rose watched
her,
worried about the tired way Bea straightened her spine
and looked up at the ceiling.

"Bea, perhaps you should stay up here. Taylor and I can look
downstairs."

Bea straightened her shoulders. "You're not leaving me
here." She picked up her flashlight and smoothed back her hair. "I'm
ready."

"How about you, Rose?" Taylor asked, crossing the floor
to her. She longed to reach for him, to kiss him and tell him everything in her
heart. But he barely glanced at her as he went by. Perhaps he couldn't accept
the way she felt about him. Perhaps all he had wanted was to explore her body
and nothing more.

"Yes, I'm ready," she replied, turning the flashlight
in her hand. She hoped the batteries were still good, for she knew the basement
was full of shadows and dark corners.

"I'll go first," she said, hurrying toward the door
near the servants' stairwell. She hated the idea of leading the way into the
gloomy, dank cellar, but she wouldn't allow Bea to guide them, and Taylor
wouldn't be aware of the myriad twists and turns in the basement. "I know
where the lights are."