Page 32 of Secrets of the Highwayman (Immortal Warriors #2)

M r. Trewartha lived in a town house in a quiet cul-de-sac. Lights showed through the windows as Suzie eased the Aston Martin car into the curb and switched off the engine. By now it was almost dark. “You may as well stay here,” she said to Eddie. “I’ll go and see if he’s ready.”

“Fine,” he replied, leaning back in the squishy leather seat with a smile. Eddie had discovered luxury. Suzie was glad she’d persuaded Melanie to let her drive the boss’s car.

There was a mock-Victorian streetlamp on the sidewalk, and she could see that the town house was built of a smooth dark red brick, with two windows top and bottom, and a steep pitch of grey slate roof. The garden appeared not to have been tended for a while. She walked along the path, flanked by an untidy box hedge, and rang the doorbell.

There was movement inside, and a wavery voice called out. “Come in! The door’s open.”

Suzie gave the heavy door a push. It swung open into a dimly lit hall cluttered with antiques.

“I’m sorry, I . . .” the voice dissolved into coughing.

Concerned, Suzie pushed past dusty chairs and a marble bust on a pedestal, down the hall. “Mr. Trewartha?” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I wonder if you wouldn’t mind . . .”

He was coughing again. It sounded serious. As she reached the doorway and stepped inside the room, Suzie was trying to remember the basics of the first-aid course she’d done five years ago, but she’d been more interested in the good-looking instructor than what he was saying.

The curtains were drawn and all she could see was a shape, standing in the middle of the room.

“Mr. Trewartha?”

He moved toward her then, faster than she could ever have imagined, and the light from the hall spilled onto his face. “Suzie,” he croaked, “it’s so nice to meet you . . .” And his hand closed on her arm.

N athaniel lounged in Miss Pengorren’s old desk chair, swinging it gently from side to side, as he watched Melanie dart about, making notes, checking lists. She’d dressed in a dark skirt that stopped just above her knees, and a jacket in the same cloth, worn over a lime green blouse. She imagined she looked serious and professional, but the glamour was stronger than ever, and every time he glanced at her he had to remind himself to keep breathing.

“They should be here,” she said. “Do you think there’s a problem?”

“Maybe Trewartha and Eddie are fighting a duel over their respective theories. Pens at twenty paces.”

“Very funny.”

“I wonder if Pengorren has ever read The Raven’s Curse ? He’d enjoy it. It’d be like murdering me all over again, only this time it’s my character and my memory being assassinated.”

Anger was simmering below the surface, but he held it in check. Nevertheless, Melanie gave him a sideways glance—it was all they could manage at the moment. “You shouldn’t be here when he comes, Nathaniel. This is business, that’s all, nothing to do with his views on history. I want to get this meeting over and done as soon as possible. You know that.”

He shrugged.

“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I wish this didn’t have to happen. I’m hoping I might be able to put him off doing the listing for a couple of weeks, so that you can carry on with your search. If I tell Mr. Foyle things are more complicated than we thought, he should let me stay on a bit longer, too. I mean, he trusts me, I don’t see any problems.”

She’d risk her job for him. He knew how much it meant to her, she’d told him. Determined to put aside his bad temper, Nathaniel pulled himself out of the chair and stood up.

“I’ll go down and take a look at Neptune,” he said. “Let me know when he’s gone.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

Alone in the room, Melanie tried to settle her thoughts. It wasn’t easy. All the things she’d believed important now seemed mere distractions from the truly urgent task of finding Pengorren and putting an end to his evil. In a matter of days her priorities had taken a giant shift, her whole life had been changed irrevocably. Whatever happened next, Melanie knew she would never be able to go back.

Downstairs, the front door opened.

Annoyed that she hadn’t heard the car arrive, Melanie hurried out onto the landing. In the dim light of the single bulb, she could see the man standing in the hall below her. He was wearing a hat with a brim, the sort that men like Frank Sinatra used to wear, and a heavy dark coat buttoned up to his chin.

“Mr. Trewartha?”

Even as she spoke she felt it rushing toward her. Strong, dark . . . evil. Creeping into her mind, over her skin, filling the house like black acrid smoke.

Pengorren.

He wasn’t so bent anymore and although his face was incredibly wrinkled it was no longer just a skull. His eyes were shining like blue penlights, fixed on her as he shuffled forward with a rustle like dry paper.

“Melanie,” he croaked.

She shook her head, but it was more of a denial of what he was, not who he was.

“You are mine . . . my blood, my flesh, my seed.”

“I’m not yours!” her voice was shaking with revulsion. “I’m nothing to do with you!”

He laughed like a creaking hinge. He took off his hat and his hair wasn’t quite so white anymore, more like pale blond, and he was bigger, bulkier, his body filling out. Right in front of her eyes he was growing as he moved toward the stairs.

She tried to steel herself as she stepped back. He needed her, so he wasn’t going to kill her just yet. “Nathaniel won’t let you win,” she said, breathless. Dark flecks were beginning to spin at the edges of her vision, and she realized he must be taking her energy. He was sucking her life out of her because that’s what he did. Fed off the lives of others.

Pengorren laughed again. He was gazing up at her as he came. “Nathaniel is easy meat. The dear boy rushes in and doesn’t stop to think, he never has. You don’t need him. You’re far superior to him.” His blue eyes gleamed with a warped paternal pride.

“I love him,” she flung back at him.

“Love?” he sneered. “Our kind don’t love, Melanie. We use and destroy, and we live on. Forever.”

He stumbled, forgetting to watch his steps in his passion, and the chain about his neck swung forward. He was wearing something. The locket with the key inside it.

Get me the key and I will give you what it is you wish for.

Melanie could have run then, but she made a conscious decision to stay.

“How old are you?” she whispered, with a sort of horrified wonder. “Why aren’t you dead and buried, where you belong?”

“I am older than you can imagine.”

Suddenly Melanie felt her knees buckle, and Pengorren’s face slid out of focus. Even if she’d wanted to run now, she couldn’t. She shook her head, desperate to clear her sight. Pengorren was bulking up even more, and his cadaverous face was plumping out, the skin smoothing, becoming young again. His eyes still glowed eerily but now they were more like eyes, and they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She was beginning to feel the effects of his glamour, like a meteor drawing closer and increasing in strength and brightness.

“Why do you do it?” she whispered. “Murder people, take their lives?”

He grinned, and he had teeth, white and strong. “Normal mortals are of no use to me. Their essence is puny. It is only if there are lots of them, if there’s a mass death, then I can take power from them. I need the essence of those with my own blood to keep me strong. Before my children and grandchildren were born, I needed to bring a sailing ship onto the rocks to stay alive. But you know that, don’t you, Melanie, my clever girl?”

His crooning voice lulled her. He’d almost reached her, and again her eyes were drawn to the locket. The chain looked strong for all its fineness, but one sharp tug might do it. She must reach out and grab it. She must try. He wouldn’t be expecting her to do that, and she could take him by surprise.

“I have developed a way of farming the essences, the souls, that I need,” he continued, as if proud of his perversion. “I create my own, with my own blood in them. I sired many brats on the women of Ravenswood, and then those brats had their own families. Plenty of fodder, or so I thought. But my plan wasn’t quite as successful as I’d hoped. Some of my descendants didn’t inherit much of my power at all, and that meant I had to take so many at a time that my line began to dwindle. I grew weaker. Lately I have been too weak to leave my home. You have no idea how grateful I am that you came to Cornwall, Melanie.”

“You’ve killed your own flesh and blood to stay alive.”

“Of course.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I am a god!” Pengorren roared.

Melanie lunged forward, fingers crooked, but she was too slow and he easily evaded her.

“Don’t be silly now,” he scolded, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.

She pulled away, staggered, and fell against the wall. And that was when she remembered something she should have remembered as soon as she saw Pengorren, alone, in the hall. Alarm made her voice more breathless than it was already, and she was filled with a sense of dread.

“Where’s my sister? Where’s Suzie?”