He smiled. “I suppose I can wait one more day.”
Biting my lip, I looked to Ziggy, who still lay paralyzed on the bed. “But you have to do something for me.”
I’d expected him to be insulted, possibly enraged, but he seemed pleasantly surprised. “You want to make a deal with me? Fine. For what price will I buy a night of sin with you, my princess?”
I wished he wouldn’t call me that, but now was not the time to argue. I pointed at Ziggy. “I want to keep him.”
Cyrus arched an eyebrow. “Keep him?”
“As a pet. He was my first victim. I want a souvenir.”
I held my breath as I waited for his reply. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I don’t see why not. You may have your trophy.”
“Thank you.” I kept my eyes downcast and let him kiss me on the forehead to seal our agreement. As I walked toward the door, I heard the rustle of the mattress sinking under his weight.
I turned to see him stretched out beside Ziggy, tracing the line of the boy’s bicep with a clawed finger.
“We had an agreement,” I said cautiously.
Cyrus laughed. “Don’t worry, Carrie, I won’t kill him. He’s in good hands.”
I didn’t want to ask what those hands would be doing. I couldn’t spare Ziggy from whatever perverse activities my sire had planned. I believed Cyrus wouldn’t kill him, though, and that was all I cared about for the moment.
I went to the door and looked back once more. Ziggy’s eyes locked on mine, pleading.
I could only leave and close the door behind me.
Thirteen
Revelations and Recriminations
Back in my room, I practically ripped the gown from my body. My fingers shook and my chest ached with sobs as I struggled to hold them back.
What was Ziggy doing here? He’d had an awkward confrontation with Nathan, but that didn’t explain why he’d come here. Not when he knew who lived here. Unless…
But he couldn’t have been running to me.
I put on my robe and rang the velvet bell pull to summon Clarence. He appeared minutes later, looking crisp and pressed as always.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked as he nodded politely to me.
His face was humorless. “You needed something?”
I drew myself up as regally as I could manage in a bathrobe. “Yes. The Master—” I stumbled on the word. “He has a guest with him in his chambers. I’d like to be informed when he’s…finished. And bring the young gentleman here.”
Clarence shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t involve myself with the pets.”
“He’s not a pet,” I snapped. “He’s a friend. If you don’t wish to do it yourself, tell the guards to deliver him to me.”
I thought I saw a spark of admiration in his eyes, but he didn’t smile. “Yes, ma’am. Will you require anything else?”
“Paper and a pen. Clean sheets. And medical supplies, any you might have. Gauze, disinfectant, clean towels—”
He cut me off. “I’m sure I can find an adequate first aid kit for you in the guardhouse.”
I wasn’t sure how to dismiss him. “You do that, then. Right now.”
After he’d gone, I went to my bathroom and ran the tap water until it was as hot as it could get. I grabbed a hand towel from the rack and plunged it into the water, then hurried to the parlor. I wiped off the wooden arms and carved back of the antique sofa, making several return trips to the sink when the cloth got cold. I repeated the process with the marble end table, and covered it with a clean towel. It wasn’t sterile, but it would have to do.
Clarence returned, and I nearly knocked him over to get at the medical kit he bore. I asked him to leave the folded sheets on the sofa. He surprised me by spreading them out carefully, skillfully tucking the corners around the odd shape.
I popped the latch on the beer cooler that contained my necessary supplies. Taking a seat, I examined the contents. There were all types of sutures, tape, gauze, vials of drugs, and even surgical instruments in sealed, sanitary packages. “This is what he gives the guards here?”
“He doesn’t want them going to the hospital. Raises too many questions,” Clarence said.
I looked up sharply. “What if they die?”
“Then some of the guards get burial duty.”
I looked out the window. The sky was turning pink. “What about the pets?”
“They don’t bury them out there. Guards go behind the guardhouse, that’s out past the maze. Pets go in the cellar. That’s my job.”
“The cellar? In the house?” I imagined piles of bodies festering below us. It made my skin crawl.
“In barrels. I fill ’em with cement and every other week the guards go out to the lake and dump them,” he answered.
“Like the mob.” If Lake Michigan ever dried up, I was willing to bet they’d find hundreds of such barrels. And crates, and probably shoes perfectly preserved in bricks of concrete. “Well, thank you, Clarence. That was enlightening.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for your young man” was all he said. Then he left.
I took the paper and pen he’d brought and went to my bedroom. I didn’t know how I intended to get the letter to Nathan, or what I should even say. “Hey, don’t be so hard on your runaway gay son” didn’t sound quite assertive enough, and “Get over it, you big, stupid baby” was more aggressive than I’d like to be.
Groaning in frustration, I went to the window. I’d have to close the curtains against the sunlight soon, but in this faint predawn, my gaze fell on something I hadn’t noticed before. A slight gap in the ivy-covered rock wall that surrounded the property. A gate. There were no guards.
I wanted to run downstairs and check it out immediately, but bursting into flames didn’t seem like the best way to start the day. I shut the curtains and went back to my letter.
Nathan,
Ziggy is with me. Wait for me at the gate in the sidewall after sundown. Don’t be late, I won’t be able to meet you after Cyrus wakes up.
Carrie
Dawn came, but I couldn’t sleep. Not until I knew Ziggy had survived. Eventually, exhaustion overtook me as I dozed off in one of the parlor chairs. It was around nine when I woke to the sound of labored footsteps coming through the door. Ziggy hung weakly from Clarence’s frail shoulders as the older man guided him in.
“Give me a hand,” the butler rasped, and I hurried to his side. Ziggy whimpered as he leaned against me, and I felt his nakedness through the sheet he’d been wrapped in. When I laid him on the couch, I saw the fresh bites that marred almost every inch of his skin.
And I saw the one I’d made. My stomach soured.
“Ma’am,” Clarence said, bowing stiffly as he handed a bundle of clothes toward me. It was Ziggy’s borrowed pants. On top was a folded note.
I looked from the livid purple bruise of a hand print around Ziggy’s neck to the gleaming white paper and snatched the clothing and note from Clarence’s hands. Shaking with rage, I unfolded the missive.
I only said I wouldn’t kill him. Enjoy what’s left.
I crumpled the note in my fist. “Clarence, if I needed you to send something to someone,