Dragon Moon (24 page)

{
Peter, you could go for the key, you know. I've a fairly good idea where Mum keeps it.
}

{
This is quicker,
} I say, drawing in a breath, raising the tire iron over my head. I swing again and once again. The lock holds.

I can hear Chloe's laugh through the door. {
Silly,
} she mindspeaks. {
It might be quicker if you go down the corridor to my parents' room and look in the top drawer of —
}

“I don't need to do that!” I shout, swinging the tire iron again, as hard as my body allows, the shock of the impact numbing my hands, the hasp tearing free of the wood, the padlock shattering into pieces and falling to the floor. Throwing the bar away from the door, I open it.

My bride greets me in her human form, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped together, tight to her chest in an adoring pose. “My hero,” Chloe says, her voice mock serious.

I frown at her obvious teasing. “The door's open isn't it?” I say.

Chloe nods. “And a key might have made a whole lot less fuss,” she says, grinning. She gets up and comes to me, wrapping her arms around me. “It looks like you might get to be a little bit too stubborn sometimes. But” — she kisses me — “this time I think it was cute.”

I hold her, return her kiss, revel at the softness of her lips, the press of her body against mine. I'm tempted to hug her as long as she permits, but I know too well that Charles and Samantha Blood will return soon.

Breaking free, I say, “We have to go.”

Chloe nods, but doesn't move away. She stares into my eyes, smiles.

I shake my head. “We need to get away from here,” I say.

Still she stares. “I'm glad you're here.”

“Me too.” I look at her clothes laid out on her bed. “Where can we find suitcases?”

“You don't get it. I think I'm really falling in love with you. I never was sure I could feel like this.”

I sigh. “Chloe, I'm glad. I love you too, but we have to go. What about Philip?”

“This is his home. He doesn't want to leave.”

I shrug. “Then we need to go.”

Chloe nods, motions for me to follow her and leads me to her mother's room. I stand by, tapping my foot while she rummages in a closet and finally comes out with two leather suitcases. She hands them to me, gives me an impish smile, says, “I need to find a couple of other things,” and goes back into the closet.

She emerges a few minutes later with a small wicker box and an ancient book, its leather binding cracked and peeling.

“What's all this?” I say.

“Oh, all of Mum's herbs and roots and leaves, all the ingredients ... and her recipes, everything we need to make potions, especially wedding potions.” She giggles. “Mum may be mad now, but she'll be furious when she finds all this gone.” Chloe smiles wide enough to show all her teeth. “But you didn't think I'd go away with you without knowing how we could finally wed each other properly. Did you?”

“Mum, we're on our way,”
Chloe mindspeaks to Samantha Blood as we speed through the valley in the Jeep.

Chloe winces at the cold tone of her mother's thoughts.
“It's not fair of you to be like this. I'm your daughter. That should matter to you. I've done you no wrong.”

Samantha's harsh laugh fills our minds.
“Who said you'll ever get Henri back? My husband isn't the only Blood who can best Peter in a fair fight. Look at Derek and look at Peter and tell me which one is more powerful.”

Chloe shakes her head, bites her lip. She shuts herself off, accepts no further thoughts from her mother, though the woman keeps calling out, scolding her the whole time it takes us to exit the valley and skirt around the steep sinkhole in front of the pass.

My bride stares through the windshield as we drive. Her legs drawn close to her, her bare feet on her car seat, Chloe says nothing, and hugs her knees.

I resist the desire to stop the car and take her in my arms. Likewise, I avoid trying to talk her out of her mood. Her mother has injured her and nothing I can say or do will heal that wound.

Reaching for her, I rub her cheek with the back of my hand. She leans into my touch and I smile. It's enough for me now to have her by my side. We have years for talking.

The terrain passes and I barely take notice of it. Samantha Blood's warning impresses me as a sincere threat. What to do now that my mate sits safe and secure at my side occupies my thoughts. I weigh our options, try to decide the best way to travel back to Miami — without papers or enough money to buy our way.

Chloe finally turns to me, as we drive out of Cockpit Country, onto the road to Windsor. “We have to go to Kingston,” she says.

I look at her, cock an eyebrow, say, “Now?”

“Claypool and Sons is in Kingston. Virgil Claypool will be holding all of Derek's messages for Pa. Don't you think we need to see what they say?”

“Sure.” I look at the sun, how low it sits in the sky. “It's going to be dark soon. What good will it do for us to get there after the office closes?”

Chloe shrugs.

“Kingston can wait until tomorrow,” I say. “We can stop at Bartlet House for the night.”

“And do what?” My bride grins at me, puts her hand on my shoulder.

I smile at her touch. “Whatever we want, Chloe,” I say. “Whatever we want.”

22

By the time we reach Bartlet House, the day has turned dim. Shadows stretch over us as we make our way up the driveway. To my relief the yellow Land Rover, while now covered by a canvas tarpaulin, still remains parked by the front door where I left it. I hope that the small magnetic box holding the car's spare key remains in place where Granny said he secreted it — inside the front driver's side tire well.

I'm well aware that we're driving in a Jeep that belongs to two missing men. “We can get rid of this car after dark,” I tell Chloe, then point to my car. “We can use that one tomorrow.”

She nods, gets out of the Jeep at the same time as I do.

Silence greets us.

No household staff comes out to welcome us. No watchdogs show themselves. No horses bray or whinny in their stalls. Chloe follows me to the stable. “This must be what a ghost town feels like,” I say, throwing open the door, finding each stall empty, the dirt floor raked clean of any sign of hay.

Chloe puts her hand on my shoulder. “I told you Derek closed up the house,” she says.

I nod. “It's still spooky,” I say. I go back to the car, pull off the tarpaulin and feel for the small box in the tire well. Once I find it, I pull it out, open it and show Chloe the spare key.

She smiles, says, “Too bad you didn't hide the house key in there too.”

Too bad indeed. I test the front door, find it locked. We walk around the house, find every window closed, every door locked too. At the veranda door, Chloe says, “We don't have to stay here. We could stay at one of the hotels on the coast.”

I think of all the nights I just spent sleeping in the cell beneath Chloe's house — the miserable and meager rest I had, both in the cave and in the Jeep. Shaking my head, hard, I say, “No,” and slam my shoulder into the veranda door. The door shudders, but doesn't give way.

“I want to sleep in my own damned bed tonight!” I say as I smash into the door again, the frame splintering but still holding.

Chloe stares at me, a bemused smile on her face. “It might have been easier to drive to a hotel,” she says.

Glaring at her, I thud into the door again, splinters flying as the frame gives way. Pushing the door open, I give Chloe a triumphant smile and motion for her to enter.

Inside, the only light comes from around the edges of the drawn curtains and closed shades. Sheets cover all the furniture. The air is warm and stale, as if the house has been closed for weeks. Chloe wrinkles her nose at the musty smell, watches as I flick a wall switch.

Lights go on. “At least we still have power,” I say, going to the thermostat, turning it until the air-conditioning kicks on. Just the drone of the compressor and dull whir of the fan operating makes the house feel less dead.

“And not much else,” Chloe calls from the great room.

I join her. Except for two CDs and one videotape, the entertainment center's bare, all electronics gone. In the kitchen we find the pantry and the freezer devoid of food, all the smaller appliances missing too.

Chloe picks up a phone, holds the handset so I can hear the dial tone. “They haven't turned off the phone yet,” she says.

“Great!” I take the telephone from her and dial Lamar Associates in Miami. A recording comes on, Sarah's voice, explaining the office has closed for the day and detailing the company's business hours. I disconnect and dial Arturo's cellphone number. It rings at least a dozen times before a mechanical voice asks me to leave a message. I hang up.

Chloe puts her hand on the phone when I start to dial Claudia Gomez's number and says, “Peter. They're all going to think Derek is you. You have to know that. What are you going to accomplish by calling any of them now?”

Hanging up the phone, I sigh. “I just want to know that Henri's okay.”

“We'll find out at Claypool's tomorrow,” Chloe says. She hugs me. “I'm sure Derek hasn't harmed Henri. He has no reason to.”

My bedroom is as stripped as the rest of the house, my clothes all gone, the mattress bare. Chloe goes to the linen closet and returns empty-handed. “They've taken everything,” she says. “We'll have to use the sheets on the furniture to make the bed.

I shrug.

“Of course.” Chloe approaches me, puts her arms around my neck, smiles at me, her lips only inches from mine. “We could use it just as it is.” She kisses me once, softly, then backs up, saying, “You know what we never got to do on our wedding night?” as she pulls off her top — revealing her bare chocolate breasts, her dark soft nipples just starting to grow taut.

Shaking my head, I breathe deep at the sight of her. Chloe and I have spent so little time together. Nothing would be nicer than to lie down with her, forget my responsibilities for a while. But I know there are things we have to do. “We have to get rid of the Jeep yet,” I say.

“We will.” Chloe grins a bad girl grin at me, undulates her hips as she shimmies out of her jeans. “We just should do this first.”

“We need to find food.”

Chloe makes a fake pout. “I'm not hungry.” She pulls down her powder blue bikini panties and kicks them out of the way. “I want something else.”

Watching me as I stare at her, she flops back on the bed, naked, lying on her back, her legs spread, every part of her in view. “It's your turn now,” she says.

I stand at the foot of the bed and fight to control my body. But my loins stir anyway. I can't turn away. I can't keep my eyes off her. “We need to leave early in the morning,” I say. “We should rest.”

Chloe moves down in bed, reaches with her foot, pushes it against my crotch. “There's plenty of time for that later,” she says, rubbing me with her foot, smiling at my hardness.

After lovemaking, after we've disposed of the Jeep, after we've hunted and fed together, after we've made love again in our natural forms, after we've returned home, Chloe and I gather up sheets and make the bed as best we can.

Because Elizabeth preferred sleeping in her natural form and I preferred my human shape, we often slept separately. Chloe delights me by joining me in bed, snuggling close, her head on my arm, her bare back pressed against my front, her smooth skin warm against mine. “I hope you don't mind,” she says. “I'm used to sleeping in my human form.”

Her body heat wakes me in the middle of the night and I attempt to pull away — to cool myself. But Chloe moans in her sleep and pins my arm with her head. I grin and cast off the sheets instead and Chloe pushes against me. Embracing her, I put my lips on the back of her neck and, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, loving being so close to her, I drift off again.

The touch of hands on my body, holding me, stroking, teasing and then the touch of lips on my flesh, rouse me from deep slumber. I lie half awake, my eyes closed, and let the hands move me where they will — let the lips, the mouth, bring me to a sore, but willing tumescence.

When Chloe rolls me onto my back, straddles me and slides me inside her, I smile at the warm, wet pleasure of her and reach up with both hands to fondle her breasts. But they're fuller than I remember, more pendulous. I crack my eyes open — just enough to see that the first rays of daybreak have already penetrated the bedroom. Then I open my eyes farther and see the pale skin and the blond hair of the woman above me.