Confused, incensed and more than a little frightened at this sudden, un-earlish wildness, Maia kicked and struggled as he wrapped the covering closely around her. It had the effect of muffling her shouts and dulling her kicking and hitting, and when he tucked it tightly around her, tying it with something she could only imagine was a curtain cord, she began to lose her breath under the thick cloth.
He’s mad! The Earl of Corvindale is mad!
He lifted her again and carried her somewhere…outside. She felt the subtle change in the air through the fabric, and remembered him ordering his sister outside. Through the French doors, onto the balcony, she guessed, based on the short distance. He deposited her none too gently onto some hard surface, and she heard more short, sharp commands to Mirabella.
“Keep her quiet. Stay here behind this planter until Iliana or I come for you. Both of you.” This last was loud enough for her to hear clearly, and she understood that it was intended that way.
She strained her ears, and although she couldn’t hear footsteps, she did distinguish the soft click of what had to be the French doors, closing behind him.
“Are you all right, Maia?”
The soft voice was close, and she felt a little nudge as Mirabella knelt next to her. “Get me out of here,” she snarled, and then inhaled a bit of lint and began to cough inside what must be curtains. Providence knew when the fabric had last been beaten.
“Corvindale said to stay here,” Mirabella said. “I think something’s wrong in there, Maia.”
Gritting her teeth to keep from coughing and launching into an obviously vain tirade, Maia closed her eyes. The chit was so cowed by her brother that not only did she not even call him by his Christian name, but she also blindly followed his every order. “I can’t breathe,” she managed to say, although it wasn’t strictly true. Now that she wasn’t struggling so much, she found that air did make its way through the fabric.
“I’ll try to loosen it,” Mirabella said, and Maia felt her beginning to tug at the fabric. But then she stopped abruptly. “Oh!” Her voice was a shocked whisper. “Someone—no, two men—just came into the— Oh!”
“What is it?”
“They’re fighting. In the room. There are two of them attacking—”
“Who is?” Maia demanded, stilling for a moment, straining to hear.
“My heavens.” Mirabella made an odd sound. “They have burning eyes. Red eyes. And they’re attacking the earl!”
Red eyes?
A chill rushed over her. Red eyes? She’d heard about people with red eyes. Demons, and the vampirs of legend. But of course such creatures didn’t exist, despite how real the stories might seem. “It must be part of the masquerade,” she whispered back, trying not to think about the four men in black. “Somehow they have reflective pieces that make their eyes glow.”
But even as she spoke, she remembered Granny Grapes spinning her tales of horror and suspense. She’d made it sound as if vampirs actually existed, and even that she’d encountered them. They were dark, powerful men who’d sold their soul to the devil in exchange for immortality and other superhuman abilities.
They could be killed by a wooden stake to the heart. She remembered that part of the legend because Chas had been unaccountably fascinated, as boys tended to be, by the possibility of blood and violence. He had pressed Granny Grapes over and over for stories about the hunting of the humanlike immortals, counting among his heroes a vampir slayer named Andreas.
The vampirs were sensitive to sunlight, too, and drank blood to live. Human blood.
Maia shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was because she remembered the last vestiges of a dream she’d had the night before. A dream that she’d tried to submerge, because it had been dark and hot and red. And there’d been a vampir in it, with his gleaming eyes that scored into her like fire…and his sleek fangs.
The dream had left her breathless and sweaty, her heart racing, and with a sort of expectant throbbing through her body. Even now, remembering the essence of it made her skin flush with heat.
“They’re attacking him!” Mirabella said again, her voice still low. “Two of them. They’re so…fast. Corvindale’s thrown one across the room, but the other is on top of him—”
“Two of them? Do they have guns or weapons?”
“They’re fighting with their hands and—kicking, and throwing things. It’s…amazing,” she whispered. “My brother…he’s so fast, they’re all so fast…but he’s… I can hardly see him move. And…he just lifted that big desk and threw it at one of them,” she said. Her voice was half shocked, half terrified. “Oh! He punched one, and oh! Oh, dear! Oh. There. He’s back up and slammed the other one into the wall, and then he flipped over a sofa and landed on his feet—”
“Who?” Maia demanded again.
“The earl. He’s fighting them off. Both of them. He’s—but he’s bleeding…and there goes a chair on the head and oh!”
The next thing Maia knew, the girl was dragging, or pushing and pulling, her somewhere. “We’ve got to hide. Behind this…potted tree,” she managed, breathless with effort. “They might see us!”
But by then, Mirabella had ceased to pull and tug at her bound body, and Maia got the impression she was no longer near her. Where did she go? Surely she hadn’t left her here alone, bound up like a loaf of bread?
And then…Angelica! Fear seized her, and with a flood of panic she remembered the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the malevolent aura about them. Now she began to struggle anew, but Corvindale had been much too efficient with the curtain cord. She couldn’t loosen it, and Mirabella didn’t seem to be inclined to do much to assist.
“Mirabella?” she said, a bit more loudly now.
A shifting in the air, and then the presence of someone next to her indicated the younger woman’s return. Maia felt her bump against her in haste. “It’s Corvindale! A third man came in, and then something happened—he just stopped. Corvindale just…stopped. He’s down on the ground, or dead, or something!”
“Did they shoot him?” Maia demanded. “Do you see a lot of blood?”
“I didn’t see anything, and surely I would have heard a gunshot.”
“Let me out of here,” Maia said, struggling harder. She had to see. She had to find a way to take care of this. The earl couldn’t be dead. “Do you see any blood?”
“He’s looking around the room—there’s only one man now,” Mirabella hissed, her mouth close to the spot she must assume was Maia’s head, but was really her shoulder. “Another one came in. He just kicked my brother…and he didn’t move. Oh, dear God, I hope he isn’t dead!”
“Unwrap me!” Maia said. Torn between disbelief that the implacable earl could actually be prone—not to mention that he’d allowed himself to be kicked—and the terror of what could be happening to Angelica, she found herself flopping about like a netted fish. Were there really vampirs here?
“No, I’d better not. Not until—oh, the man left. He’s gone. I’m going to wait a minute to make sure he’s gone for good. Then I’ll sneak in and see to the earl.”
Mirabella moved and Maia heard her shifting away, and then, after a long moment, the soft rattle of the French doors. And then a marginally louder rattle, and the gentle bump as Mirabella came back.
“Someone else came in! He nearly saw me. I don’t know who he is, but I thought I should—”
“What about Corvindale? Did you see blood? Did you get in there?”
“He’s not moving, but his eyes seem to be open. And his shirt is all torn, and there is a necklace of rubies across his neck that he wasn’t wearing earlier. It’s very peculiar. But I didn’t get close enough because the door opened and I ran back outside.”