She looked back one last time. Hobson had not yet rounded the corner of the wall, but he would at any second. She could hear him—his thudding footsteps and his harsh breathing—but she could not yet see him. She had a few seconds.
She put one leg over the broken stone and then the other, and then she was inside the grounds of Crystal Gardens.
She caught her breath, transfixed by the eerie scene that surrounded her. She had seen enough of the strange gardens by day to know that there was something bizarre about the energy inside the walls and that the vegetation was not normal. But at night the paranormal elements were unmistakable.
The foliage on the vast grounds glowed with an eerie luminescence. In the very center of the gardens, where the ruins of an ancient Roman bath were said to be located, the psychical light was as dark and ominous as a violent storm at sea.
She knew from the guidebooks that she had purchased from Miss Witton, the proprietor of the bookshop in Little Dixby, that Crystal Gardens was divided into two sections. The outer region in which she stood was called the Day Garden on the maps. It surrounded the walls of an elaborate maze, which, in turn, encircled the interior portion of the grounds known as the Night Garden.
In the nearly two weeks during which she had resided in Fern Gate Cottage, she had not ventured much farther into the gardens than where she was tonight. But she had seen enough to know that the peculiar nature of the atmosphere inside the walls would provide her with her best chance of escaping Sharpy Hobson’s knife.
There was a steady stream of curses, as Hobson yanked and clawed at the foliage.
“No little whore gets away with making Sharpy Hobson look the fool. I’ll teach you to show some respect, see if I don’t.”
She looked around, summoning up a mental image of the layout of the gardens. The maze was the obvious place to hide. Her talent would very likely ensure that she did not get lost inside. But on a prior expedition, she had discovered that a locked gate blocked the entrance to the labyrinth.
She started toward the gazebo. The graceful domed roof and the pillars glowed with a faint blue light that seemed to emanate from the very stone of which it was constructed. She hurried but she did not run. She wanted Hobson to see her.
He finally scrambled through the hole in the wall, grunting and swearing. She stopped and looked back, wondering how much of the paranormal light he could perceive. There was a shocked silence as Hobson took in his surroundings.
“What the flamin’ hell?” he growled. He rubbed his eyes.
Then he saw her and promptly forgot about the strangely luminous landscape around him. He yanked a knife out of the leather sheath at his hip and lunged toward her.
“Thought you’d get away from me, did ye?” he growled.
She whirled back toward the gazebo. Her goal was the darkly gleaming pond in front of the structure. With luck, Hobson would not be able to see it until it was too late. Her senses told her that if he tumbled into the gleaming black pool, he would quickly lose interest in her. There was something nightmarish about those waters.
She was so focused on her plan to lure Hobson to the pond that she was unaware of the presence of the man in the long black coat until he walked out of the shadows and into the moonlight. He stopped directly in front of her, blocking her path.
“Is it the custom around here for visitors to call at such an unusual hour?” he asked.
His voice was as dark as the obsidian surface of the pond and charged with a similar chilling power. It stirred all of her senses. In the strange moon-and-energy-lit shadows, it was difficult to make out the man’s face clearly, but there was no need to see him. She recognized him immediately. Indeed, she thought, she would know him anywhere. Lucas Sebastian, the mysterious new owner of Crystal Gardens.
She stumbled to a halt, trapped between Lucas and Sharpy Hobson.
“Mr. Sebastian,” she said. She was breathless and her heart was pounding. She struggled to identify herself; afraid he would not recognize her in the darkness, dressed, as she was, in her wrapper and nightgown, her hair falling around her shoulders. They had met only the one time, after all. “Sorry to intrude like this. Evangeline Ames, your tenant at Fern Gate Cottage.”
“I know who you are, Miss Ames.”
“You did say to call upon you if I had a problem. As it happens, I do have one.”
“I can see that,” Lucas said.
Hobson pulled up short. He made a slashing motion with the knife. “Get out of my way and ye won’t get hurt. I just want the little whore.”
Lucas regarded him with what could only be described as detached curiosity. “You are trespassing. That is a very dangerous thing to do here at Crystal Gardens.”
“What’s going on in this place?” Hobson looked around uneasily.
“Haven’t you heard the stories?” Lucas asked. “Everyone around here knows that these grounds are haunted.”
“Sharpy Hobson ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” Hobson vowed. “Won’t be hanging around long enough to meet one. All I want is this bitch.”
“What do you want with Miss Ames?” Lucas asked.
Evangeline was floored by Lucas’s matter-of-fact tone. It was as if he was only casually interested in Hobson’s reasoning.
“None of yer bloody business,” Hobson snarled. “But I can tell ye she’s worth a nice bit of blunt dead and I’m not going to let anyone get in my way.”
“You don’t seem to comprehend the situation,” Lucas said. “The lady is my tenant and therefore under my protection.”
Hobson snorted. “I’m doing you a favor taking her off your hands. The way I heard it, she’s a lying little bitch.”
“Someone hired you to kill her?” Lucas asked.
Hobson was starting to appear uncertain. Matters were evidently not proceeding the way they usually did when he went about his business.
“I’m not wasting any more time talking to you.” Hobson leaped toward Lucas, knife ready to slash. “Yer a dead man.”
“Not quite,” Lucas said.
Energy, dark and terrifying, flashed in the atmosphere. Evangeline had just time enough time to realize that Lucas was somehow generating it, and then Hobson was shrieking with raw, mindless panic.
“No, get away from me,” he shouted. He dropped the knife and clawed at something only he could see. “Get away.”
He whirled and fled blindly into the gardens.
“Damn it to hell,” Lucas said quietly. “Stone?”
A second figure glided out of the shadows. “Here, sir.”
The voice sounded as though it emanated from the depths of a vast underground cavern, and, like Sharpy Hobson’s voice, it carried the accents of the London streets.
In the strange light provided by the subtly glowing foliage, Evangeline could see that Stone suited his name. He was constructed like some ancient granite monolith and looked as if he would be just as impervious to the elements. The moonlight gleamed on his shaved head. The shadows and the eerie luminescence around them made it difficult to estimate his age, but he appeared to be in his early twenties.
“See if you can grab Hobson before he blunders into the maze,” Lucas said. “Whatever you do, don’t try to follow him if he gets that far.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stone broke into a run, moving with a surprising lack of noise for such a large man.
Lucas turned back to Evangeline. “Are you all right, Miss Ames?”
“Yes, I think so.” She was still trying to calm her rattled senses and rapid pulse. “I don’t know how to thank you—”