Chapter Eleven: Mason

I can't believe I am saying this, but perhaps Valaky was right. We should be doing this alone, Mason's wolf said as they stood at the bottom of the stairs, about to follow in the footsteps of the assassin. Although this time Morwenna didn't flatten the stairs to stop them.

I don't think there is a right or wrong answer, Mason said as he locked eyes with his mate beside him. Where she belonged. If she stays and we go, who is going to protect her?

Valaky?his wolf asked dryly.

I think he'd like that, Mason said. But I don't trust that vampire as far as I could throw him.

I'd rather throw a stake at him, his wolf replied.

I don't know if that would help our relationship with Tamsin, Mason said. She seems to like the vampire for whatever reason. It seems like he might have been involved with her escape, and he did go to the cabin with Sophie to help Tamsin.

We had that all under control,his wolf grumbled.

Not quite, Mason replied. We didn't know that the brooch belonged to Sophie, and without all the facts, we are vulnerable.

Yes, if we had known, we would not have rushed headlong into the packlands,his wolf agreed.

We put ourselves in danger needlessly, Mason said. And when we put ourselves in danger, we put our mate in danger because who else is going to protect her no matter what?

Mason put one foot on the first stair. "Are you sure?"

"Are you?" Tamsin asked in reply.

"Yes." Mason nodded.

"Then let's get on with it." Tamsin looked down at the gathering behind them, watching their ascent. He could not be sure, but he thought her eyes rested on the tall figure clothed in black that was Valaky.

A twinge of jealousy gave him the urge to turn around, shift, leap, and tear the smug smile off the pale vampire's face. But he resisted the urge. It would do more harm than good. After all, Valaky was not wrapped up in this whole prophecy business. He was simply a bystander.

Although Mason had the distinct feeling that the vampire had skin in this game. He wanted something. But so far, what that something was had eluded Mason.

"Mason." Tamsin arched a questioning eyebrow at him. "Or would you rather I lead the way?"

"I've got it."

He pushed himself onto the next step, and then the next, the aged, slightly warped wood creaking loudly under his weight. Ahead of them was the first landing, where the stairs turned sharply round the corner, hiding whatever was farther up.

"Who do you think all these people are?" Tamin asked quietly.

Mason glanced up at the array of portrait paintings covering the left wall without breaking his stride. "Huh, I don't ever remember seeing those from the bottom."

"They look really old."

"Sure," Mason said, but then paused when he realized Tamsin had stopped and was gazing up at the paintings.

"This guy has got some funny fashion sense." She pointed up at a portrait of a man wearing what appeared to be a frock coat adorned with an assortment of feathers and beads. His eyes seemed to follow them as they moved.

"Looks like he raided a bird's nest," Mason muttered, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Come on, let's keep moving."

"Hey, aren't I allowed to sightsee a little?" Tamsin said. "I have been staring at sea and sand for so long, it's nice to see these old portraits. They certainly are curious." She moved to the next portrait of a woman in a flowing gown that seemed alive, rippling across the canvas as if caught in a perpetual breeze. As she stared, her eyes grew wider and then glazed over as if she were caught in a trance.

Mason took two steps down and grabbed her arm. "No sightseeing." Mason carried on toward the first landing while keeping a firm hold on his mate. "You heard what Morwenna said. So, we're going to see as little as possible, so we don't find that something that will keep us up here forever."

"I'm sure that's just something Morwenna says to keep people out of the junk she keeps up here. Look at the ruffle on her." She pointed up at another portrait, seemingly oblivious to the hold the woman in the flowing gown had had on her. "And he looks like a caveman! I didn't think they had portraits or…oil paint back then."

"I don't think they did." Mason kept his eyes forward, stepping up onto the landing. He turned back and watched Tamsin as she approached. He didn't want to take his eyes off her. Not only because of the way the sight of her body moving, even beneath her dress, awoke something within him, but because he couldn't lose her. Not again.

And certainly not to a portrait on a wall.

"Which way now?" Tamsin asked as she stepped onto the small landing.

Two plain-looking doors led out from the landing, while a second flight of stairs headed upward to what he presumed was the next floor. They were steep, and Mason couldn't see what was at the top of them.

Even the way this place is laid out makes it feel like it's hiding something. His wolf's nostrils flared as he took in the air.

I have no doubt, though the only important thing it's hiding from us right now is the robed man and the answers he holds.

Then let us hunt, his wolf said.

It would be easier to hunt him if we could sense him, Mason replied. But they could not. If he was here, the tavern was shrouding him from Mason's shifter senses.

It's musty in here, but I can smell something in the air. His wolf scented the air again, opening his mouth as he inhaled. I think he carried on up.

"He went on upstairs." Mason continued upward, Tamsin on his heels as he cautiously made his way to the top of the stairs. Instead of a hallway, he found himself in a small, circular room. "Huh."

"What is it?" Tamsin stepped into the room beside him. "Huh."

Despite its height, the room felt cramped because of the closely positioned walls, giving the impression of being inside a castle tower with its meticulously carved stone bricks. There was hardly any empty wall space left as nearly every bit of wall was adorned with bookshelves, their dark and rich wooden finish adding to the overall aesthetic. A thick rug covered the flagstones, though it was worn, and faded in the center where golden light pooled from the one frosted window opposite them, which sat above a wide windowsill, which was covered with plush furnishings.

"I don't think I've ever seen anywhere as cozy as this." Tamsin stepped toward the wide ledge beneath the window and ran her hand over the throw, which had been bunched up as if someone had just been sitting there. Her fingers played with the golden tassels of the pillows as Mason moved around the small space. "It's so soft."

"Well, they're pillows." Mason pushed out his senses, but he could feel nothing but the room around them and no one except the shining presence of his mate.

"It sure beats the old hessian sacks filled with sand I'm used to using." She shot him a look.

"Sorry." He hung his head.

"It's all right. You were doing what you thought was right." The sound of paper rustling seemed to complete the atmosphere as Tamsin turned a page of the book that lay open on the ledge. "They were close to the end of the book."

"What's it about?" Mason stepped over to her, his feet sinking comfortably into the rug.

She shrugged. "It's in a different language. Or perhaps it's been so long that I've forgotten how to read."

Mason clenched his jaw.

As much as it pains us that we caused her so much suffering, it's done now, his wolf said. She seems to be making peace with that, and so should we.

Mason took in a breath. "What did you do to pass the time? While you were…away."

"Stared out at the ocean dreaming of home, mostly."

Mason closed his eyes. If only he had seen another way…

"Hey, I'm pulling your leg, or paw, or whatever."

He opened his eyes to see Tamsin looking up at him, framed by the light streaming in through the window.

"I mean, I did do plenty of that, but I didn't sit moping around the whole time." She walked over to the bookcases and began tracing over their spines. "I learned to fish. I studied the stars and spent many of my hours honing my magic, which was difficult with no instruction or books on the matter. Oh, and I made a lot of drawings in the sand. A lot of drawings. Did you know I was a terrible artist?"

"No, I didn't."

"Well, I was, but let me tell you, no one draws seabirds in the sand quite like I do now."

"That's a…niche skill. I never took you for an artist, if it helps."

Tamsin gave him a confused look. "If it helps?"

"I meant you always seemed pragmatic. Grounded. It was meant as a compliment." Mason cast his mind back to the glimpses he had of her before, their brief, tense encounters when they ran into each other. He had always admired her, always felt a connection to her. Always wished it was safe for him to share his feelings for her.

To claim her.

And yet there had been guilt there, too. Tamsin was an enemy of his pack. His enemy. It scared him, not only because she had seemed a powerful witch, as well as an intelligent woman, but because he knew he'd never be able to bring himself to stand against her if the conflict between their factions ever escalated.

Luckily, it didn't come to that.

Yet, Mason answered. What if that is how we will bring the downfall of the pack and coven? Tamsin harbors animosity toward them, understandably. What if her actions bring the downfall and we stand by and let it?

Tamsin looked thoughtful. "I like that. And strangely, I think I'd describe you in a similar way. But without the bird drawing."

Mason snorted. "Perhaps I'll have to work on that."

Tamsin gave him a smile, which he just wanted to gaze at for eternity, before she walked back to the ledge and flicked back through the open book.

"What are you doing?" Mason asked.

"Putting the book back to the page it was on. I wouldn't want whoever was reading this to lose their place."

Mason eyed the healthy layer of dust covering everything. "I don't think they're too worried about that."

Tamsin shrugged. "Well, just in case."

"Fair enough." He looked over her shoulder at the window, but it was as if it were frosted. The view beyond into the shining light blurred just enough to be unrecognizable, intangible.

"Where to next?" she asked.

Mason turned to look at the only other door leading out of the room. "Through there, I suppose."

I can still faintly scent…someone. Though there are no footsteps in the dust other than ours.

Mason looked down, the dust on the floor undisturbed apart from the trail they had left as they entered. Best to not question it.

He put his hand on the simple brass latch and braced himself for what might be on the other side as he pulled it open, relaxing a little as a simple corridor extended before them. Its walls were polished wood paneling, lit by steadily burning candles in sconces. The floor was completely covered with a run of crimson red carpet that muffled the sound of his footfall as he stepped inside.

He glanced back at Tamsin, who gave him a ‘lead the way' gesture.

The corridor was long, but not claustrophobic, though he felt odd not being able to see any windows. However, he fixed his eyes on the door at the end of the passageway and tried to ignore the feeling of being trapped with no way out.

The next thing Mason noticed was the quiet. Not that the previous room really had any noise, but this corridor was notably quiet, the carpet and paneling seeming to eat up any shuffling of their footsteps or even the sound of their breaths.

Tamsin murmured something behind him that he didn't quite catch.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I didn't say anything. I thought you said something," Tamsin said.

‘Where do you even get his beer from?'

Mason turned around. "You just said something about beer?"

Tamsin shook her head with a confused laugh. "No, I'm not saying anything. And there was me thinking I'd start hearing voices when I was alone all that time."

‘I think you've got a vermin problem.'

‘He didn't have to tell her he saw us.'

‘We love each other.'

"What is happening?" Tamsin's words were hard to make out as the whispers grew, not in volume, but in quantity, one voice becoming two, becoming ten, becoming fifty or more, all giving a snippet of some long-finished conversation before fading away to be replaced with two more.

"It sounds like there's people talking everywhere!" The empty corridor suddenly felt an awful lot more crowded when they were being bombarded with disjointed bits of conversation, as if hundreds of people were whispering straight into their ears.

"At least they don't sound malevolent!" Tamsin called back. "Do you recognize any of the voices?"

Mason closed his eyes, trying to sift through the cacophony of hissing voices around him. There were so many. Some sounded old, some young, some happy, some sad or angry, but there was one unmistakable voice that kept coming up, and even in a whisper, it cut through the others.

‘Those witches, they think they are so high and mighty!'

"I can hear Morwenna," Mason said.

‘Smashed! You'll pay for that.'

"Really? I wonder what all these voices are." Tamsin paused. "Oh yeah, that's definitely her. Do you think these are things that have been said within the tavern?"

"Or maybe things that will be said in the tavern?" Mason raised his eyebrows.

"I refuse to believe that," Tamsin said with a shake of her head. "It's far too close to a prophecy. Let's listen to what she's saying."

Mason grimaced, finding the voices a little overwhelming, but he kept his focus on Morwenna's grating tone.

‘You damn wolves are a menace! You haven't been house-trained! And you're the worst, Mason! Maughna's only just given me that blasted decanter.'

Mason and Tamsin looked at each other.

"Is she talking to you?" she asked.

Mason slowly shook his head. "No, I definitely haven't broken anything inside the tavern."

The voice that replied with a chuckle was not one Mason recognized.

‘You react almost as badly as those Norwood witches.'

"That name sounds familiar," Tamsin said."They belong to a local coven."

‘The whiskey is very good. Or are you a beer fan?' came Stan's voice.

‘Did someone say beer?' Morwenna's distinctive voice rang out. ‘I have a fresh batch. Hot off the keg.'

"Remember this conversation?" Mason asked.

‘I didn't think there was anything worse than bread beer,' Stan said. ‘But if there is, then warm bread beer would be it.'

‘Was that a yes?'

"I do," Tamsin replied with a smile.

‘Warm bread beer?'

‘Don't knock it till you've tried it, Harry.'

Tamsin laughed. "The tavern seems fond of those three."

"It does. And I can see why. They seem to love this place," Mason said and then stepped forward. "Come on, we need to keep moving. There's no telling how far ahead our prey is."

He could sense Tamsin lingering for a moment. Perhaps she hoped that somewhere in amongst the web of whispers, there was a conversation from Sophie or even Guinevere. But she didn't stay long before walking to catch up with him as he reached the end of the corridor and put his hand out to push open the next door.

He just wished his shifter senses could warn him about what they might find on the other side.