Tropic of Darkness (20 page)

And the phantoms stopped attacking, melting off into the walls.

Total silence fell across the room.

Torres had finished chanting.

*   *   *

Jack ought to have been looking right back at the two pale faces that were staring at him. But the area of floor between them had captured his attention instead. Unless he was mistaken, it looked even darker than it had been, the light from the candles barely touching it. The thin, caulked gaps between the boards had surely been parallel and straight? That was the only way they
could
be.

But the dark lines started shifting as he watched.

Then they bent around, joining up. Forming concentric circles—circles which began spreading out across the room. They disappeared when they reached the walls, only to be replaced by others.

They were ripples. Jack took that in with a cold, stark shock. But ripples on wood, rather than water.
How could that even be possible?
He could not tear his eyes away. He was no longer aware of anything but the strange spectacle in front of him.

A bulge became apparent at the center of the rings.
Something coming now. But what?

It started to grow in height and width. And at first, it was only black. Jack squinted, and all he could make out was woven hair. And then, smooth skin followed it.

Eyebrows appeared. And then the eyes. It was a woman's face. Hispanic features, the skin sunburned to an almost hazelnut color. Beautiful in the extreme, the eyes a bottomless molten brown.

Her shoulders slid up into view, and then her torso. She was wearing a red silk dress. Jewelry was draped around her neck and wrists, all of it made of white seashells.

Jack's gaze went back to her face. And it was utterly impassive.

The woman simply stood there for what felt like an eternity.

Then, she lifted an index finger, no more than an inch. And twitched it slowly, beckoning to him.

The room was plunged into total darkness, every candle going out.

*   *   *

The only things that Torres could hear were his own labored breathing, the other doctor trying to shuffle around, and Manuel Cruz grunting with pain.

Aldo Torres lost his balance. He swayed drunkenly a moment, then went forward on his palms. Felt something crunch beneath them. Which meant that he had inadvertently breached the circle.

But nothing came rushing at him through the murk. Apparently, the twins were gone.

Except—he kept on trying to work it through his mind. He had been calling for assistance from the spirit world.
But what had answered him exactly?

Torres had a vague suspicion, but he kept it to himself. The most important thing, now, was to get Jack Gilliard out of here.

He began feeling around, still virtually blind. But however much he pawed along the floor, he couldn't find the American.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

It was like the lightlessness before the start of all creation. Or like being interred in a casket, a full fathom beneath the tight-packed earth.

Jack's first instinct was to reach for Torres. But the only thing his fingers closed around was thin, cool air.

Once that the initial panic had subsided, Jack took it on himself to grope about, his arms traveling in a full circle, stretching as far as they could go. He still hurt from the beating he had taken, and it was uncomfortable. But he persisted.

Still, he could find nothing. And Torres had been right next to him, a few seconds back.

Jack's arms dropped to his sides—apparently, he was upright now, although he didn't remember standing. He shuddered, and then became very still.

What ought he do next? He couldn't even see his hands in front of him, and had no idea where he had gone.

After another moment, he took in the fact that there was something around him other than the swamping dark. Something else—a sensation, a gentle, pulsing pressure. It was as if the darkness had been turned into some kind of liquid and that liquid was lapping against his skin. He tried to sort it through his head.

Like ripples again. But they seemed to be traveling in the opposite direction, coming in toward him this time, rather than drifting out.

Everything was back-to-front. Jack edged forward a little. And could still not find anyone else, nor hear the slightest sound.

“Hey!” he yelled out suddenly, the air exploding from him. “Hey, where
are
you?
Anyone
?
”

There was no response.

He thought he could detect another vague feeling of motion. In the absence of anything else to hang onto, he crouched down and tried to grab hold of the floor.

And could feel nothing. It was no longer there.

Dizziness overcame him. There was a definite falling sensation in the deep pit of his stomach, as if his entire frame were sinking.

Yes, he was descending somewhere. Jack felt positive of that. It was the only thing that he was certain of.

*   *   *

He seemed to slow down, a while later. The sensation of dropping eased, then vanished altogether. He appeared to have come to a complete halt. But still the darkness wouldn't lift.

This was it, though. Journey's end.

Fear swelled up stronger in him. If he'd been sucked into some kind of vortex, where had he washed up?

There was something solid underneath him this time, but it didn't feel like wood. More like heavy cloth. A rug? A carpet?

The blackness lifted very slightly. Jack sucked in a breath as his sight partially returned and he began to make out faint, vague shapes. Some of them were furniture, he thought. A desk. A chair. A cabinet?

Others . . .

A large window?

It came into focus as the darkness bleached to gray. Yes, it was exactly that. There was a scene beyond its panes, which started filling up with color as he watched. Different shades of green, for the most part. But dotted along the sides with patches of primary reds and yellows, and then pastel pinks and mauves.

He struggled to understand what he was looking at. These were flowers becoming apparent in his field of vision, lush tropical ones, growing in the gaps in between expanses of lawn and clumps of leafy trees. It was a garden he was staring at.

He could see iron railings surrounding the boundaries, their shape too familiar for comfort. Could this be the same garden that he'd walked through this afternoon?

But it wasn't a shambles anymore. This version was well tended. The railings were enameled a fresh, lustrous black, golden paint along the iron spikes at the top.

He pulled himself away to watch the room that he was in taking shape around him. It was filling up with color and detail too, the same way that the garden had.

It looked like some kind of drawing room or study. There were papers and a quill pen in a holder on the desk. And portraits in fresh oils on the walls, most of them of Spanish nobles. A crystal decanter full of port had been set down on a cabinet in the far corner. And it was a rug that he was standing on, expensive, maybe Persian.

All as immaculately kept as the gardens he'd been looking at. Not so much as a tiny cobweb. Nor a speck of dust. Why was he so certain, then, that he was still in the same house?

He could hear the rushing of the sea off in the distance. That apart, there was no other sound. There were no birds wheeling in the skies beyond the window. Not a single sign of life could be made out.

It was like being in one of those paintings on the wall.

But that didn't last for very long. A movement brought him lurching around.

One of the DeFlores twins appeared, as though from a hole in the air.

*   *   *

This one was green-eyed Lucia, her face creased up in a hungry smirk.

Isadora followed her a moment later, from a point in the air a few yards away. They were both dressed in the style of an earlier age, replete with lace and crinoline and ruffles, their waists pinched to a waspish tightness by the undergarments they were wearing. It was certainly a big change from the way that they'd appeared to him before. But it was no less threatening.

They stepped over and stood side by side, an arm's reach apart. Both their gazes battened on him. Jack just felt the urge to run.

But then, the pair of them did something he would never have expected.

They forgot about him completely. Focused, instead, on a point beyond his shoulder.
Why?

The only possible answer was that there was someone else behind him.

*   *   *

His skin crawled. His shoulders tightened. Who was back there?

But Jack didn't seem to have the nerve to turn around. All of his courage had left him in an instant. He was completely paralyzed.

There was the brushing of a bare foot on the polished floorboards to his rear. A soft rustle that sounded like silk. And then a laugh, so low and breathy it was almost like a sigh.

A deep and purring female voice came oozing around him, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“Ah,
Señor
Gilliard. I believe that you are rather lost.”

Still, he couldn't turn. He watched the twins instead, trying to gauge what was happening by their reactions. And they looked almost as afraid as he was.

“You're wondering where you are. And yes, you're still in the DeFlores house. Not the one of your world, though.”

Jack's gaze darted to the window again, trying to confirm that. There was still no movement. And the sea continued with its rushing, hissing noises, but he couldn't see it.

“Here, there is no change or decay. Nothing ever goes away. This house was standing here at the first hour of the universe, and shall still be here when the last trumpet sounds.”

The skin between his shoulder blades had drawn so taut it almost burned. There was a trembling beneath his skin, but it could not get out.

“You're wondering who
I
am. Is that not the case?”

Her footsteps moved across to him, until the owner of that satin voice finally came in sight.

It was the same tall woman who had appeared through the ripples, the one who had interrupted the proceedings back in that dark room. She smirked at him before glancing over at the twins.

“Lucia? Isadora? Dears? Please introduce me.”

Her complexion was darker than the others and, although her face was quite unmarked by time, she had the air of being older than them. There was something to her manner and her bearing that was quite magnetic. Jack thought that he'd seen feline grace before, but never like this.

He managed to pull his eyes away from her and dart a glance at the sisters himself. And both of them were dumbstruck.

It began to dawn on him exactly who this was.

Her gaze became knowing.

“Oh, you're a bright fellow,” she remarked, sounding quite impressed. “Perceptive. Intuitive. Qualities I much admire. My daughters chose you well.”

Lucia unfroze. Took a sudden, jerky step in her direction, raising both her fists.

“You? What are you doing?”

Camille DeFlores stared back at the younger woman coolly.

“Is that any way to greet your mother? Why ask such foolish questions anyway? I came because the
Babaaláwo
summoned me.”

Isadora moved up too, the pair of them shoulder to shoulder. If they'd been rivals before, it was forgotten in this woman's presence.

“Trapped under the ground because of
you
!” she shrieked. “Two hundred years of misery, because of
you
!”

Camille just frowned, looking bored.

Isadora's features twisted up with fury when she saw that. She leapt forward, grabbing with her nails.

But her mother was too fast. Camille raised her right palm, describing a circle in the air. A ring of sparks was left behind, and Isadora's hands went through it.

And the thing abruptly shrank, tightening about her wrists, then slicing into them. A glittering sheen momentarily spread up both her arms, which had become slightly translucent.

The younger woman leapt back with a howl, deep confusion in her eyes.

Camille thrust her lower lip out.

“We could keep on doing this forever. We all have that kind of power. It's hardly the point.”

Jack could see, from both of their expressions, they had not the faintest idea what she was talking about. An eyebrow lifted on Camille's smooth forehead.

“He is in our world now. He has been getting nearer to it for quite some time. And yet neither of you have possessed him. There is something in him that is far too strong for that. So it is time for
him
to choose which of us he wants inside him.”

Jack felt himself stepping back.

Heard himself muttering, “God, no. I choose no one.”

“Really?”

When her face swung round to him, her dark brown eyes were gleaming.

“You want to return to what you had? Living inside your own shell for the rest of your days? What kind of life is that?”

He remembered the desires he'd had since coming to Havana. All the longings and sad yearnings since the dreams had first begun. To settle in one place at last, with someone special. It still tugged hard at a secret place inside of him.

But what these creatures were offering? They would occupy his body, and he'd cease to be.

Camille was shaking her head. She
could
read his thoughts.

“You'll still be there, Jack. Except one of us will be there too, existing in you. You will be complete.”

He tried to take another backward step, and only half managed it. Jack was trying to remember what Torres had told him, what would happen if these spirits merged with anyone. But he couldn't, since his mind was blurring.

“I want to go back,” he said.

Camille's expression had taken on a dull and rather mournful quality.

“No human being has ever come this far into our world and then returned. So, you have a very real choice. You can either stop here . . 
.
”

It remained entirely still outside the house, as unnerving as anything he'd seen, and Jack began to shake.

“. . . or you can return to life with one of us inside you. It is solely your decision. Choose.”