Dark Needs at Night's Edge (3 page)

N
éomi blinked, her strong night vision returning slowly. Even after all these years, she was still surprised that she was unharmed.

She recognized the sharp, low car from last night, so markedly different from the trucks that usually chugged by on the old county road. Which meant…which meant…

He's returned! The grave-eyed man who came here last night!

The paper forgotten, she materialized to Elancourt's landing, overlooking the front entrance. She moved as if to clutch the sides of the window there, her arms floating outspread.

And there sat his car in the drive.

Won't you move in?
she'd wanted to beg last night as the man had examined the manor. He'd tested the columns, drawn sheets off some of the remaining furniture, and even yanked on the radiant heater in the main salon. Appearing satisfied that it was solid, he'd followed the contraption's underfloor pipes by stomping on the marble tiles.

The heater will work,
she'd inwardly cried. Ten years ago, the manor had been modernized by a young couple who'd stayed for a time.

Yet she couldn't relate the merits of Elancourt to this mysterious stranger. Because she was a ghost. The act of speaking, or at least talking in a way that others could hear, had proved impossible for her, as had making herself visible to others.

Which was probably for the best. Her reflection was haunting even to her. Though Néomi's appearance was a close facsimile of how she'd looked the night she died—with the same dress and jewelry—now her skin and lips were as pale as rice paper. Her hair flowed wildly with rose petals tangled in it, and the skin under her eyes was darkened, making her irises seem freakishly blue in contrast.

She focused on the car again. Deep masculine voices sounded from within it. Was there more than one man?

Maybe there'd be two more “confirmed bachelors” like the handsome couple who had lived here during the fifties!

Whoever was within the car needed to hurry inside. Autumn rains had been tentatively falling all night and lightning had begun flaring in a building rhythm. She hoped the men didn't catch the front façade lit by the glow of lightning. With its arches and overhangs and stained glass, the manor could appear…forbidding.

The very Gothic traits she'd admired seemed to drive others away.

The vehicle began to rock from side to side on its wide wheels, and the voices grew louder. Then came a man's bellow. Her lips parted when two large boots kicked through the back window, shattering it, glass spraying out into the gravel.

Someone unseen hauled the booted man back inside, but then a rear door began to bulge outward. Were cars so weak in this age that a man could kick it out of shape? No, no, she'd dutifully read the crash test reports, and they said—

The door shot off its hinges, all the way to the front porch. She gasped as a wild-eyed, crazed man lunged out of the vehicle. He was manacled at his wrists and ankles and covered in blood. He immediately fell into a deep slick of mud, only to be tackled by three men.

One of them was her prospective tenant from last night.

She saw then that they all were covered in blood—because the chained one was spitting it at them as he thrashed.

“No…no!”
he yelled, struggling not to enter the house. Could he possibly sense there was more here than could be seen? No one had before.

“Conrad, stop fighting us!” the tenant said through gritted teeth. His accent sounded Russian. “We don't want to hurt you.”

But the madman named Conrad didn't let up one bit. “God damn you, Nikolai! What do you want with me?”

“We're going to rid you of this madness, defeat your bloodlust.”

“You
fools
!” He laughed manically. “No one comes back!”

“Sebastian, grab his arms!” this Nikolai barked to one of the others. “Murdoch, get his damned legs!” As Murdoch and Sebastian rushed to action, she realized that they both resembled Nikolai. All three had the same grim expression, the same tall, powerful bodies.

Brothers.
Their captive must be one as well.

They carried the bloody and flailing Conrad toward the front double doors. Blood in her home. She shuddered. She detested blood, hated the sight of it, the scent of it. She'd never forget how it'd felt to be bathed in her own, to have it thicken and cool around her dying body.

Hadn't Elancourt seen enough of it?

In a panic, she raced downstairs and shot her hands up, exerting an invisible force against the doors. She used all her strength to keep them sealed tight. No one could bust through this hold—

The doors flew open. The men barreled through her, making her shiver as though she'd walked through a cobweb. A gust of wind rushed inside, following them in to stir the leaves and grit coating the floor.

Just how strong were they? Yes, they were huge, but she'd held the doors with what had to be the strength of twenty men.

Once inside the darkened room, Nikolai cast a chain across the floor with no care for her Italian marble.

The lunatic broke free once more, making it to his feet. He was towering! He lumbered toward the door, but his bound ankles ensured that he careened into an antique armoire covered with a sheet. It collapsed under the impact.
Crushed.

She'd had to dance two performances to afford that piece, and remembered lovingly polishing it herself. It was one of the few original furnishings that remained.

After Murdoch and Sebastian hoisted him out of the wreckage, Murdoch wrapped his thick arm around Conrad's neck, cupping the back of Conrad's head with his free hand. She could see that Murdoch was tightening this hold with all his might, his face drawn with the effort, the muscles in his neck standing out with strain.

Somehow Conrad was unaffected for long moments. Eventually, his thrashing eased and he went limp. While Murdoch laid him on the ground, Nikolai hastily affixed the chain to the same radiator he'd tested last night, then attached the other end to Conrad's handcuffs.

That's why Nikolai had been inspecting it? Because he intended to jail this lunatic here?

Why here?

“Could you have found an eerier place to keep him?” Sebastian said between breaths as they all stood. At that instant, lightning crackled just outside. The high stained-glass windows were broken in places and cast tinted light, distorting the shadows within. “Why not use the old mill?”

“Someone might come across him there,” Murdoch answered. “And Kristoff knows about the mill. If he or his men discover what we're planning…”

Who's Kristoff? What are they planning?

Nikolai added, “Besides, Elancourt was recommended to me.”

“Who would ever recommend this?” Sebastian waved a hand around. “It looks straight from a horror movie.” She wished he was wrong, but a bolt flashed then; hued shadows appeared to slither and pounce. Sebastian raised his brows as if his point had been made.

Nikolai's gaze focused on his brothers' faces, studying their reactions as he answered, “Nïx did.” He hesitated, seeming not to know if they'd laugh, rail, or nod.

Murdoch shrugged and Sebastian nodded grimly.

Who's Nïx?

Sebastian glanced around. “Raises my hackles, though”—another flash of lightning—“almost like it's…
haunted
.”

Sebastian gets a cookie.

“And you know that's something for me to say. It's spooked Conrad as well.”

Yes, because otherwise he clearly would be fine.

“The weather makes it seem worse.” Nikolai ran his hand through his wet hair, then wiped his face with his shirttail. “And if there are spirits lingering about? You forget what we are—any ghosts would do well to fear us.”

Fear them? No living thing could touch her.

“It's actually ideal because the place scares people away,” Nikolai continued over another bout of thunder. “And the Valkyrie compound isn't far from here—not many from the Lore will venture anywhere near their home.”

Valkyrie? Lore?
She remembered a newspaper article a few years back on “Gang Speak.” These men were speaking Gang. They had to be.

Murdoch said, “Perhaps the Valkyrie won't appreciate vampires so close to Val Hall.”

Vampires? Not Gang? They're all mad. Mon Dieu, I need a bourbon.

“Is it even
habitable
?” Sebastian asked in a scoffing voice.

Nikolai nodded. “The structure and the roof are solid—”

As rock.

“—and once we do some modifications, it'll be suitable for our purposes. We'll fix just what we need: a couple of bedrooms, a shower, the kitchen. I already had the witches come around today to do an enclosure spell along the perimeter of the estate. As long as Conrad's wearing those chains, he can't escape the boundary.”

Witches? Oh, come now!
Néomi moved to rub her temple, felt nothing, but was somewhat soothed by the familiar act.

In the lull, Murdoch cased the main salon, plucking at cobwebs. “Conrad knew we were going to be at the tavern.”

“No doubt of it,” Nikolai answered, crossing to a dirt-caked window to glance outside. “He was awaiting us. To kill us.”

“Obviously he's gotten good at it.” Sebastian patted his ribs in an assessing manner and winced. Looking more closely, she could see that they all seemed injured in some way. Even Conrad appeared to have been clawed across the chest by some beast. “He likes it.”

Likes to kill? A murderer in my home.
Again. Was he the same kind of man as Louis—one who would stab a defenseless woman through the heart?
Tamp it down, Néomi….
The wind picked up.
Control the emotion.

Murdoch said, “I suppose he'd have to, if the word about his occupation is true.”

A
professional
killer?

“Finding him now…it couldn't come at a worse time,” Sebastian said. “How are we going to manage this?”

“We fight a war, deceive our king, try not to worry about our Kaderin and Myst, all the while attempting to salvage Con's sanity,” Nikolai replied evenly.

Murdoch lifted a brow. “And here I thought we would be busy.”

The brothers began exploring nearby rooms, testing wood for rot and pulling sheets from furniture, examining their surroundings.

In the past, she'd been fortunate with those who'd occupied Elancourt. Nice families had come and gone, a few harmless vagrants. Nothing about these men said
We're nice and harmless!

Especially not the chained murderer. He lay on the floor, blood collecting at the corner of his parted lips to drip down.

Drip…drip…
A crimson pool was stark against her marble. Just as before.
Tamp it down. Control it.

The madman's eyes flashed open. She couldn't warn the others! In the space of a bolt of lightning, he somehow shot to his chained feet, hobbling forward with unnatural speed. Before she could even raise her arms to exert pressure against him, he'd stretched the chain taut…the radiator was bending under the pressure.

He couldn't break it. Imposs—

Like a whip, it snapped free as he charged across the room for the door—the door where she stood. As she stared in disbelief, the radiator trailed in his wake, destroying everything in its wildly sweeping path.

Suddenly, the underfloor web of attached heating pipes burst up through the floor, foot after foot of groaning metal and exploding marble and splinters.

The three men dove for him once more, the pile of them skidding to a stop right at her slippers.

She gaped. Her home, her beloved home. In fifteen minutes, the madman had wrought more destruction to Elancourt than it had sustained in the last eighty years.

Her hands fisted.
Control it.
But her hair had already begun to swirl about her face, rose petals floating in a tempest around her body. Outside, the wind kicked up, streaming through the holes in the high windows, sweeping the grit and dust until she was able to see all the destruction.

The marble! When her eyes watered with frustration, rain poured outside.

Tamp it down.

Too late. Lightning bombarded the house, illuminating the night like successive bomb blasts. From under the pile of men, Conrad yanked his head up at her.

In a flash, Néomi twisted round, sweeping her hair over her face as she dissipated. Reemerging on the landing, she gazed down at him.