Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 68
“And to whom do I owe my vengeance?” said Malach, his claws becoming fingers once more. “Who durst steal from me? The white one? He’s always sniffing around her skirts.” His hands tightened over the cleaver, still smeared with heart’s blood.
“No, it was the other…the black one.”
“The whole lot of them,” said Tanith, snaking her white arms about his waist, “naught but perfidious dogs and worms.”
“Yes.” He tamed his hair back, his nostrils flaring. “I confess, however, I had some misplaced faith in Victoria. I thought her capable of keeping those beasts in check; I presumed to think a cardinal law unbreakable and yet it has been broken twice now.”
“We ought to show no more clemency, my lord,” said Ana.
Malach was thoughtful. “No, I shall suffer no more peace between us. Only war shall reside in my breast.”
“What shall we do, my darling?” Tanith was kissing the blood from his hands now that they were no longer lethal blades.
“I shall have them both,” he said. “The younger Rose makes for a potent meal. And the other—make sure she remains untainted. The game isn’t over yet.”
“But his eye is never turned from Emma,” said Mina. “And her eyes have become clouded by lust. How shall we get her away from him.”
“Get her away from him?” Malach chuckled. “We shall do no such thing, kitten. No, I believe I shall use her against him before I steal her away—steal her the way she was stolen from me.”
“And how shall that be accomplished?” asked Ana.
Malach crooked his finger at her and when Ana stood before him, he lifted her chin and planted a threatening kiss upon her lips. “How else, my beauty, but that you shall seduce her to our side.”
Ana frowned prettily. “And how should you like that done?”
“With the truth, of course.” He tucked her head under his chin and held her, his gaze meeting Mina’s. “I doubt not she’ll come to her senses once the beast reveals his nature. The truth shall set her free and lead her straight into our waiting arms.”
The truth, thought Mina, according to Malach.
“Now,” he said, releasing Ana, “off you go, my beauties. We haven’t much time before the little wanton—” he grinned at Tanith “—spreads her thighs and ruins my wedding night.” The last was said with a cunning wink at Mina.
Mina met his wink with a forced smile, beneath which she clenched her teeth. Walpurgis night—Hexennacht—a night she dreaded with all her heart. A night that would arrive all too soon. And now it seemed as though Emma would share her horror. And if Emma spilled her virgin’s blood for anyone other than Malach…she would not long survive thereafter.
Part Two
The Bride of Winterthurse
“Better to rein in Hell, than serve in Heaven.”
John Milton, Paradise Lost
Chapter Thirty-Three
Devil In The Mask
Dearest Emma,—I trust you are well and that the ‘haunting strangeness’ and ‘exquisite darkness’ you spoke of does not keep you from writing to your poor monastic relation? I long to hear more of the master of Winterthurse. God bless you and keep you safe,
Mary.
Winterly’s good claret fortified Emma’s blood as her slippers guided her towards the grand staircase. The mask and the Devil’s Bane invested her like armor. She was fatefully eager to meet the master of Winterthurse. The piquancy of that eagerness was only heightened by a nebulous black fear stirring within; fear of her own immorality? She hardly recognized the woman in the red dress who looked and sounded like Emma.
Below her the black and white checkered grand foyer was covered in glass and silver vases of all shapes and sizes. Each vase held a dense bouquet of either white or black roses, filling the air with their mysterious perfume.
Mr. Gore, the butler from London, and the equally cadaverous Mrs. Skinner materialized from the foyer below. Their uncanny black eyes flickered in the light as they peered up at her, but neither said aught. They merely offered identical nods of greeting and then glided towards the south wing like two silent revenants, one servant’s movements a macabre mimicry of the other’s.
The wispy notes of the Requiem Aeternam movement on the harp accompanied her down the curved grand staircase (how appropriate), the melody so restrained and delicate that she could hear her own train rustling down each step in her wake. The music was like a fine silver thread that drew her not towards the library but the other end of the corridor. Emma obeyed the sultry command of those silvery notes and padded softly into the great hall and from thence into the ballroom.
A lone woman was seated on a dais in the center of the ballroom, her entire face covered in a white and gold mute mask. Her voluminous skirts were spread artfully around her so that she appeared hardly human at all but like some golden statue come to life. The gilded lanterns around the ballroom seemed to shed more shadow than light, casting their stippling glow over the walls like watery spangles and spilling out into the cloistered garden spread beyond the wide, mullioned doors. The effect was otherworldly. Only the harpist’s fingers seemed to move, trailing deftly over the strings.
Outside, a sort of labyrinthine avenue of curved mirrors in all shapes and sizes had been set up along the covered colonnade. Emma paused to watch as two mysterious guests in dark dominos danced eerily before their distorted reflections. They appeared amused despite the frightening creatures mirroring their movements in the glass, and before long they disappeared further into the maze of mirrors. There were more lanterns strung from the trees in the garden, like floating silver orbs,