Chapter Thirteen

Sage leaned his forehead against the wall where Marianne disappeared. Every muscle in his body urged him to run after her, to explain what she saw was a mistake. He had no intention of seducing Harriet. Indeed, he attempted to distract her when he heard Marianne’s tiny gasp and knew they were no longer alone.

But he didn’t move. Why explain? She had found him in quite the compromising position, but she knew who he was…the Merriweather Rake. Or who he had been. He doubted he could keep the gossipmongers going with that particular moniker since as of late he hadn’t done anything rakish at all.

“Sage?” Harriet’s voice reminded him that he was not alone.

“We’re finished, Harriet,” Sage said sadly. “I have no intentions of renewing our acquaintance, as you put it.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then he heard the rustling of fabric. When he turned, he saw she’d readjusted her bodice to cover herself.

“You’ve fallen in love.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sage nodded.

“Ah,” Harriet said. “I see. And does she…?”

“It’s rather awkward business, I’m afraid. She’s a friend and I—”

Harriet giggled. “My dear, Sage. Is it possible to be only friends with any female?”

He stepped back to the bed to sit beside her. He took her hand in his, placing a warm kiss upon her wrist.

“I hope you and I shall remain friends, Harriet.”

“You are serious, are you not? You’re in love? Well, this is a surprise, indeed,” Harriet said smiling. She placed her hand over his. “Of course, my dear. Have we not always been friends? I knew some day you’d wish to marry. I never thought you’d be so foolish as to fall in love. So, now…” She released his hand to readjust her gown over her legs. “How may I help you?”

****

After speaking with Harriet, Sage searched for Marianne. But where does one go to find a ghost? Typically, one found ghosts in a graveyard, but he doubted highly to find Marianne there. And he could hardly ask anyone if they’d seen her. So he walked among the guests, searching and knowing he would not find her.

She was gone.

He could feel it.

David Fernsby had vanished, as well. He searched in vain, knowing the young man must have taken himself off home, despite the hour. Either that, or he’d found company elsewhere. Sage tried not to imagine what it meant for Marianne, despite Mrs. Watson’s claims.

Perhaps Marianne was already on her way to Merriweather Manor. She used to escape to the gardens whenever she needed time alone, which for Marianne, was not often.

But he had no time to travel there tonight with his promise to meet Miss Green at the vicarage in Highston in two days. He’d never have time to keep his appointment since Meryton was in quite the opposite direction.

So instead of chasing after the headstrong girl, Sage left the Caruthers’ house and found a hackney to take him to White’s. He didn’t visit the exclusive men’s club often, but tonight he had need of the excellent brandy they provided.

A few hours later, he was deep in his cups, slouched in a comfortable plush chair and gazing at the drops of rain splashing the windowpane. It had begun raining about an hour ago. And all he could think of was whether or not ghosts got wet in the rain. If Marianne walked home, she’d be stuck in this downpour. Would she seek shelter?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of her wet and shivering, and took another gulp of the brandy that left a sour aftertaste on his tongue. The drink didn’t help him forget her, not even for a few hours.

So he had no taste for women or drink. What was he left with? What else to distract him?

He stood, thinking to make his way to the gaming tables. Perhaps losing a fortune would be enough to take his thoughts away from a pretty red-haired girl.

Instead, he found his feet stumbling down the steps as he departed White’s.

“Steady, old boy,” a voice said from below. A strong hand grasped his arm, keeping him upright. “Been a rough night at the tables, has it?”

Sage shook his head. “Not at all.”

“On your way home, then?”

“Dunno,” Sage slurred. “Wherever my feet take me, s’pose.”

“Are you prepared to walk all the way in this weather?”

“Yes.” Sage felt it only right he do so. After all, there was no shelter for Marianne on her journey home. If she need walk in the rain, he might as well.

“I’ll walk with you then,” the man said.

Sage squinted into the poor light of a lantern to identify his new friend.

“Lord Valentine.” Sage attempted to stand a bit taller. He smoothed down his wrinkled vest and jacket. “No need to busy yourself, my lord.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Valentine said. “I was heading in the same direction when you stepped out.”

Of course, Sage doubted it, especially in the rain, but since he didn’t feel the strength to argue, he left it at that. They walked side by side for a bit, neither speaking as the small drops descended. Well, Lord Valentine walked, Sage stumbled a bit in a parody of walking. Lord Valentine’s cane clipped at the cobblestones as they moved along, a rather gentle rhythm that soothed some of Sage’s agitation.

Marianne could take care of herself. She was a ghost, after all. What harm could come to a ghost?

The image of a masked man flashed in his memory. The powder he had blown in her face, choking her. Then the man had touched her…

Before Sage knew what was about, he was kneeling in the bushes at the side of the street, dumping his guts onto the ground. When he finished retching, Lord Valentine lifted him up and handed him a handkerchief.

“Come, old boy,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

The man turned him around and helped him ascend a carriage. It had the Valentine crest on the side. His driver must have followed them.

Sage closed his eyes as he sat on the cushioned bench, hoping the spinning taking place was only in his head.

He felt rather than saw Lord Valentine enter the carriage and sit across from him. There was a tap of the cane against the roof and then the gentle swaying of the carriage.

“Do try not to be sick on the upholstery,” Lord Valentine said in a genial manner. “It’s the devil to clean, I’m told.”

Devil…demon.

The words brought an instant reaction. Sage’s eyes opened. Lord Valentine sat with his hands folded on top of his cane. He saw him watching and smiled.

“Why are you helping me, my lord?”

Lord Valentine tilted his head as he considered the question. “How is your hand, Mr. Merriweather?”

Sage’s fingers clenched into a fist, as though he might hide the unscarred flesh.

“You intrigue me, Mr. Merriweather,” Lord Valentine continued when it became clear Sage had no intentions of answering. “And I feel a sense of responsibility toward you. You were injured at my party, after all.”

“As you can see, I’m unharmed.”

“That’s what intrigues me,” Lord Valentine said, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Witch-hunter.

It was a whispered word, even in his mind, but it brought Sage quickly to his senses. For centuries people had hunted his family and others like them. Simply because the witch-trials had ended, did not mean the hunting had. There were quiet, less public ways to rid the world of his kind. Was this man one of them?

“What do you want?” Sage asked. He tried to keep his fingers clenched onto the seat as he felt compelled to ready for a defense spell. He could not trust his magic to save him. It would only turn to flame.

“There was a carriage discovered not far from my house,” Lord Valentine said, sitting back in his seat. “It was broken and burned. Seeing as how you had a previous…incident with your hand, I wonder; might you have any knowledge of how this occurred?”

Sage’s heartbeat increased. He forced himself to appear relaxed instead of staring at the man across from him. He leaned back against the seat, taking a pose of nonchalance, although he was well aware of the carriage door to his right. He measured the distance in his mind, wondering how quickly he might reach it.

“No, my lord,” Sage said, shaking his head. Of course, he wondered how adept Lord Valentine was at perceiving liars. There could be trouble between them if he did not take care with this conversation. He glanced beyond the carriage window, wondering how far they were from his London home, but all was dark.

“There was talk of it at one of the local taverns. Two men claimed to have seen a man caught ablaze. Fire sprouted from his fingertips, they said. But, no body was found. No evidence of this man who possessed the ability to control flame. Have you heard any of these rumors?”

Sage leveled his gaze with Lord Valentine’s. “No.”

Lord Valentine took a deep breath and nodded.

“Good. Since I did my best to squelch them before they spread any further. No need for such stories to cause an uproar. I had my men convince the locals they were the mad tales of a drunkard.”

Sage’s eyes narrowed. He remained silent, not certain whether he should comment. If there was no need to speak, it was better to stay silent so as not to condemn himself with any mistaken word. His head was still clouded with the after effects of drink. Lucky for him, brandy never loosened his tongue.

“You are correct with your assumptions that I want something from you,” Lord Valentine said.

As he suspected. Sage waited for him to get on with it.

Lord Valentine leaned forward again, using the cane as leverage between them. “My brother left my house party shortly after you that night. As I understand it, he’s caught up in some nefarious business. I—”

The man grimaced and paused, looking away from Sage for a moment as if to collect himself before he continued. “I’m told he attacked you on the road.”

If the man had punched him in the jaw, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. Lord Valentine’s brother was the highwayman? Perhaps that’s why he sounded so familiar. But it would mean the man was working for Drake. He had the powder he used on Marianne.

He knew about Marianne.

Did Lord Valentine know as well? Did he work for Drake, too?

Sage did his best to appear that this was an average, not-so-shocking conversation he was having with a friendly acquaintance, but the truth was he kept preparing scenarios in his head. If Lord Valentine acted against him, what were his defenses?

He’d not let anyone take him by surprise again. Sage had learned his lesson by his brother’s hand. And just because his own magic had been stolen from him, the fire he possessed could be put quickly to use, as he proved with those highwaymen, although a tactic best used as a last resort.

“I don’t condone his actions,” Lord Valentine said quickly. He didn’t notice Sage move his hands to his lap. “But no one knows of his whereabouts since that night. I need to know…”

Again the man paused to glance away. There was tension around his eyes. His fingers gripped the head of the cane so tightly his knuckles grew white. Perhaps he did not create this story. Was he telling the truth about his brother?

Sage imagined if Lord Valentine worked for Drake, there would be other ways to get him to talk. After all, Drake used demons for that. Sage tried not to flinch at the memory.

No, if Lord Valentine meant him any harm, he had ample opportunity to do so. He did not feel any danger coming from this man.

“Do you know what became of my brother that night, Mr. Merriweather?”

It was clear to Sage that Lord Valentine feared the worse for his brother. And the man had connected the burned carriage with his hand catching fire that same night. His injured hand that had not sustained any injury at all. It was guesswork. Purely assumptions, but Lord Valentine guessed correctly.

“I can tell you with all honesty,” Sage said in a clear, steady voice. “I have no knowledge of what became of your brother, my lord.”

Lord Valentine stared at him for a moment. Sage saw the doubt flicker in the man’s eyes, but he kept his gaze on him.

“The truth?”

“It is.”

“The stories the men told did not sound promising for my brother’s welfare. The man they attacked threw balls of flame. I…have difficulty believing it, what they said, but after seeing your hand…” Lord Valentine let that last thought drift away. “You have your secrets, Mr. Merriweather. All men do. But, at last sight, I was told my brother was running for his life.”

“Sounds like stories of frightened, drunken men. I would not believe every word they say,” Sage said. It was the best he could offer. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tell the man any more. He didn’t know what became of the highwaymen after they attacked.

Of course, he didn’t admit if not for Marianne’s interference, Sage might have killed them.

The carriage slowed to a halt.

“Yes,” Lord Valentine said softly. “I thought as much.” He studied Sage for a brief moment, then leaned back into the cushioned seat. “I’m glad we had our little talk. And here we are, arrived at your address. Good evening, Mr. Merriweather.”

Sage hesitated, not certain what else he should say. Words were no longer needed, however.

“Thank you, my lord.” And he descended the carriage. Upon entering his home, he scribbled a note for his servants to deliver in the morning. Not long after, he sank into the mattress of his bed, grateful for the exhaustion consuming him. With Marianne gone, there was no one to watch over him while he slept. But the drinking helped make him drowsy. No chance for dreams if he was too tired to think.

****

Sage relived it again. Caught in a loop, he returned to that night when he entered the mirror, traveling to Castle Blackmoor, to being locked in the room with the demon.

She twisted and curled around him, igniting parts of his body to watch him burn. He screamed in agony and fear. She bit him, licking his blood, drinking from him. He tasted his own blood as she tried to kiss him. Then there was pain again as the fire burned.

He screamed.

Soon the heat engulfed him. He wanted to die. To end the searing pain. He wanted an end to the scorching heat as it surrounded him.

And her laughter. Such an eerie sound. Hideous. Obscene.

She was morphing again, from Julia to Drake to Marianne. He tried looking away, but she wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t leave him.

“Sage,” she called. “Sage…”

She repeated his name over and over until he noticed the way she spoke his name. It wasn’t with taunting laughter. It was with fear and panic.

“Marianne?” he mumbled.

“Wake up!”

She was screaming now. He blinked his eyes open, realizing he was dreaming.

Or was he? Flames licked at his skin, his clothes, his hair. The bed sheets he lay upon burned. Smoke drifted above him.

To his left Marianne screamed his name.

He sat up about to leap from the bed, but the fear in Marianne’s eyes stopped him. She held out her hands to prevent him from continuing his actions. If he stepped from the bed, he’d bring the fire to her.

Sage fought to breathe, fought to regain control of his rapidly beating heart. The fire was part of him. He needed to extinguish it before it spread to the rest of the house.

He closed his eyes and summoned all the strength he possessed to stop the fire. He imagined the flames curling into a soft glare before dying into wisps of smoke. The heat surrounding him lessened until he felt a chill air brush his cheek.

His eyes flashed open. Marianne stood in front of him, her hand on his face, ghostly tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I thought you were going to die,” Marianne admitted, kneeling on the bed.

The fire was gone. The bed sheets were singed beyond repair, but the bed itself remained intact.

“I feared I would not wake you in time. You were dreaming again…And screaming. Oh, Sage, you were screaming. I’ve never heard such screams. And I could do nothing!” Marianne took her hand away to cover her face as she cried.

“But you did,” Sage said, leaning forward, wishing he could take her hand back to hold it to his cheek. Strange, but he liked the cold of her presence against his heated skin. The contrast soothed him, calmed him, excited him. When he felt the cold air, he knew she touched him. He could close his eyes, imagining the feel of her skin as she touched him.

He shook his head. The desire for her consumed him as much, if not more, than the fire did. If only he could reach for her…kiss her again.

“Marianne, do not cry,” Sage said. “I cannot bear your tears, my love.”

The word slipped from his tongue. It was an endearment, nothing more, he chided himself. How often had he used it before when it had no meaning? Now, however, the word held power. And he’d never use it regarding another woman for the rest of his life.

“Please, stop crying. You’ll stain the linen with your tears, darling, not to mention your dress. How do you manage to keep your gown clean? Do you have ghostly servants whom I never noticed, keeping your wardrobe pressed and ready to wear?”

Sage’s attempts to make her laugh didn’t work. It was a poor attempt, he admitted, but she did stop crying so he called that small feat a victory.

She stared solemnly at him. The depth of her gaze alarmed him. What was going on inside her head that she looked at him so seriously?

“I’m sorry I did not follow through the mirror,” she said after an eternity. “I’m sorry I was not there to help you.”

The mirror taking them to Drake’s castle.

To the demon…

“No,” Sage said. All attempts at laughter vanished. He was in all seriousness as he stared back. “Never regret your decision. I told you to stay, and I thank the gods and goddesses that you obeyed. I could not bear it if you witnessed the horrors that took place there. Marianne, it was…”

He flinched, remembering who she was and what he was about to tell her. He couldn’t. But he had to… He must tell someone. He was going mad keeping it to himself.

“What? What was it?”

“A demon attacked me,” Sage said, before he could think twice of it. Saying the word aloud sent a chill through him, of a different sort than what he experienced with Marianne’s ghostly touch. “I was chained against a wall. It came to me, changing its appearance several times. It did…horrible things.”

Marianne’s silence comforted him. She didn’t run screaming from the room, which he quite expected of her. Instead, she sat next to him, quietly listening to every word he uttered. He decided to tell her more.

“It fed off my magic as I tried to attack it to free myself. It consumed my power and then me. It tasted my blood. And then used its fire magic on me. I watched my skin burn. I felt the heat tearing through my flesh. But even as painful as it was, my skin did not peel or blacken. It remained just as it is now.”

He hesitated, hating the images that flashed even as he kept his eyelids open. Would it never stop?

“I thought I might die. I wish I had.”

“No,” Marianne said sharply. “Never say that. Never. You stayed alive. You had no choice. Your will is too strong, and I’m glad for it. I couldn’t imagine if…”

Sage waited for Marianne to finish, but she stared off into the distance, her mind somewhere other than in this room with him.

“What?” he asked, needing to bring her back.

Marianne blinked. She turned back to him. “I couldn’t imagine losing you.”

He tried not to fool himself. That was not love shining in her glistening eyes. Well, perhaps it was love. The kind friends share. Not akin to the type of love he felt for her.

“I’m here,” Sage said, smiling to reassure her. “Perhaps not whole. I’m cursed with its blood, Marianne. It’s tainted me. That’s what Miss Green meant. She sensed its claim upon me.”

“But…how can it claim you if the creature is dead. Did you not say Julia killed it?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I suppose it matters not if the creature is dead. Miss Green intends to help. I need to meet her at a vicarage in Highston. Will you accompany me, Marianne?”

Marianne nodded. “Of course.”