Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

Belladonna walked ahead of them. Stalker was bringing up the rear his blade pressed into Edwina's spine. He'd threatened to sever it, to let her die slowly, while Belladonna looked on. She'd thought him mad. She hadn't truly thought him evil though. Now she had to consider that those things were not mutually exclusive. He was both of them simultaneously.

As she walked, she began to chant low and soft under her breath. So softly that he would not hear her, but she knew that Edwina had. The woman's steps faltered, slowing both her and Stalker so that Belladonna could put a few more steps between them.

The chant was an ancient spell, one for protection. One that called on her ancestors for aid. It was a powerful incantation. And while it had been taught to her, emblazoned into her memory for all time by Amarantha, she had never uttered the words aloud. Now, as she did so, she could feel the force of it swirling within her.

It was the cold which penetrated first. There was a breeze, cool and sharp, traveling along the length of the corridor. It whipped at her skirts almost as if a window or door had been thrown open. She supposed it had. It simply wasn't a physical door. It was the veil between worlds which had been parted. Her certainty in that was cemented when she saw the shimmering light toward the end of the corridor ahead of them. It pulsated with a kind of power that she recognized. It was the same as when she'd watched Amarantha doing her more powerful magic.

"What are you doing?" Stalker called out.

Belladonna said nothing. She dared not look away from what she had conjured. But she heard him shove Edwina aside. She felt his hands closing in her hair, tugging her backward.

"Deny that you are the devil's bride now!" He shouted the words next to her ear, spittle flying from his cracked lips. "Now that I've seen you calling him with my own eyes."

"I didn't call the devil," she said, keeping her voice deceptively calm. "I called an army of witches… I called upon the spirit of every Goodwynne woman who passed before me."

The wind picked up further. A vase toppled from a console table, shattering on the floor. The paintings that hung along the walls rattled, their frames clattering against the plaster. And every candle in every sconce along the walls suddenly went dark.

A scream erupted from Stalker's throat. Taking advantage of his sudden fear, Belladonna drew her elbow upward and slammed it back, the point of it connecting sharply with the man's soft midsection. Instantly, he slumped to the floor with a grunt. She wasted no time. Grabbing Edwina's arm, she pulled her new sister in law behind her as they ran for the other end of the corridor. She dared one single glance behind her to see Stalker struggling to his feet.

Opening the first door they reached, she shoved Edwina inside before slamming and locking the door. Inside, the room was dim but not so dark that she couldn't make out the large set of French doors that flanked the fireplace. "Where does that go?"

"To a balcony?"

"Are there other doors that lead to it on this floor?"

Edwina shook her head. "No. It's a small balcony that only serves this room."

Pulling one of the dust covers off a piece of furniture, Belladonna heads for the French doors. Throwing them open, she stepped outside and felt the cool misting rain on her skin. "I'll lower you down," she told Edwina.

"What bout you?"

"I can handle Reverend Stalker," Belladonna assured her. "But I likely will not have to. I think my ancestors will see to him soon enough."

Edwina blanched. "I thought you were making that up!"

Belladonna shook her head. "No. I would never joke about summoning the dead."

In the corridor, Stalker took two steps toward the door that the women had escaped through. Then he stumbled. No. He was pushed. He felt the shove as surely as if he'd had a physical hand laid on him. It sent him to his knees. Before he could get up, another blow sent him to the floor entirely. Rolling to his back, he stared up into the nothingness. There was no one there for him to see. But he felt them. He felt them surrounding him.

"Do your worst," he challenged those unseen forces.

It was a mistake to do so. Pain erupted in his chest. It felt as is someone had buried their fist in his chest and was squeezing his heart like a grape.

He could do nothing but gasp and moan with the unbearable pain of it all.

"Stalker!"

His name was bellowed along the corridor. But by a living and breathing person. That was no phantom. With a degree of effort that was truly astonishing, he managed to turn his head to see Desmond Crane charging down the hall toward him.

Instantly, the pain in his chest ceased. The crush of unseen spirits around him dissipated. He lay there on the floor, weak and breathless, but only until Crane reached him. Then he was hoisted up by the lapels of his coat, his feet barely touching the ground.

In his hand, he still held the blade he'd used to subdue Mrs. Hollander—the very same blade he'd used to murder her late husband. He gripped it more tightly in his hand, preparing to imbed it in Desmond Crane's gut. Even as he prepared to shove that blade through the other man's flesh, he felt it. Casting his gaze to the side, he saw them. All of them. By the dozen. Women of varying ages and appearance. But not physically present. They were mere shadows and all the more frightening for it.

Pain seared his hand, sharp and hot. The knife clattered to the floor only to be kicked away by Crane.

"I ought to kill you," Crane stated, coolly and dispassionately. "No one would mourn your passing. Not even your poor wife."

"She has corrupted you!"

Crane backed him against the wall, one of the man's large hands leaving his lapel and closing about his throat. "Give me a reason to end you. I beg of you, give me a reason!"

"Desmond!"

His eyes drawn by the sound, Stalker looked over to see the door to the bedchamber opened and Belladonna standing there, framed by it. "Witch," he whispered.

She looked directly at him. "Yes. I am a witch. But I am not evil. I am not doing the devil's work. The only one here who has done that is you. You murdered an innocent man. Who else? Who else have you killed in the name of righteousness?"