The Eye of the Wolf (33 page)

Mikayla
gagged as the smell reached her nostrils and her hands and feet slipped in the
blood. A scream erupted from her lungs, echoing off of the walls, ringing in
her own ears as her eyes locked with the unblinking stare of Rene Dejeune.
Blood dribbled between his lips, pooling under his head in a brilliant red
puddle. His lips moved silently, working to form one word. His hand gripped her
wrist, pulling her closer to him. He looked into her eyes, seeing her for one
moment before his last word escaped his lips and his grip relaxed, releasing
Mikayla.

She
scrambled back, tried to gain her feet, tried to gain solid ground as her heart
raced and her breathing hitched. There was screaming. It was only later that
Mikayla would realize the screaming had been her own.

She
straightened when her feet hit the solid marble floor again and panted,
desperate for air, panic setting in. Stars exploded in front of her eyes and
she crumpled next to the body of the former royal historian, his dead eyes
staring up, silver scissors sticking out of his stomach. Crimson blood blooming
across the shining marble floor.

The
cool cloth was comforting. It reminded her of the times when she had had a
fever as a child. Her mother would lay a cool cloth on her forehead to bring
down the fever and soothe the child. The voice that spoke to her was soft,
soothing with a faint lilt of northern Ireland, just as her mother’s had often
carried that sound of the homeland she had never known. The voice told her not
to worry, nothing was going to hurt her, but she needed to open her eyes.

Mikayla
murmured softly in her sleep, asking to be left alone to sleep. She didn’t want
to go to school today. The teachers would understand that she was sick. She
didn’t need to go to school. The voice was soft and promised she would be better
soon. It also stressed that it was important for Mikayla to open her eyes.

Mikayla
murmured again but obliged her mother’s voice. Her eye lids fluttered open, and
she moaned as light blinded her and her head throbbed. The pain was
excruciating, bringing tears to her eyes. She closed her eyes again and
whimpered.

“Doctor
Knight, you must open your eyes.” Kankaredes words were clipped. Impatience was
strewn throughout his being as he stood next to the hospital bed gripping the
bars that prevented patients from climbing from the bed without assistance. He
shook her shoulder roughly earning a moan from Mikayla and a complaint from the
nurse who hovered nearby.

Mikayla’s
eyes flew open, a scowl written across her face. Her eyes first focused on
Kankaredes’s angry face before shifting to the light above her bed. The ceiling
above the metal shade was antiseptic white and the air smelled strongly of
Formula 409. The smell that said hospital. She shifted her head to the side as
a gentle hand laid the cool cloth on her forehead again. Blue eyes under a
white nurse’s hat smiled.

“Now,
Doctor Knight, you just rest. Don’t let that brute of a man scare you so.
You’ve have an awful knock upon the head. Rest yourself.” The nurse smoothed
Mikayla’s hair away from her eyes. Her hands were cool, comforting.

“Doctor
Knight?” Kankaredes demanded her attention. His words clipped, authoritarian.

Mikayla
flicked her eyes in the direction of Kankaredes and ignored the pain that burst
in front of her eyes as she moved her head. She moved her eyes back to the
nurse. “How did I get here?” she asked with uncertainty. She knew she was in a
hospital, but she didn’t understand how she had gotten there. She remembered
the stickiness of the blood, the sudden pain, and then nothing until she had
opened her eyes to stare into the bottomless black of Kankaredes eyes. Her head
spun, like it will do after too many trips on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

The
nurse patted Mikayla’s hand and took her pulse, noting the scrambling of her
heartbeat and the panic in her eyes. “The paramedics brought you in, Dear,
after you were found by some people who came through the museum and found you
lying there. I’m sure you gave them quite a fright. I know you gave me quite a
fright what with all that blood soaked into your clothes.” She patted Mikayla’s
hand again and rose from her stool. “Now, Mr. Kankaredes, I suggest you go
easily on this young woman. She has quite a bump on her head.”

The
nurse moved out of the room. The crepe soles were soundless against the
linoleum floor. The smell of antiseptic trailed in her wake. Mikayla watched
her moved from the room and then warily turned her attention to Kankaredes who
tapped a foot impatiently on the floor.

“What
happened, Doctor Knight?”

Mikayla
stared at him through her lashes. His eyes were empty of emotion, void of the
soul reflected in all other eyes. Panic bubbled inside of her, and she fought
the wave of sickness that washed over her as she remembered the smell of the
blood, the slickness under her hands and feet. She gagged slightly and closed
her eyes. She whispered. “I found him, lying there next to the glass case.”

Kankaredes
pursed his lips. “Was he already dead when you found him, Doctor Knight or did
you kill him?”

Mikayla
shot up in the bed. Her eyes leveled on Kankaredes, flame shooting through the
blue. “What did you say?” Hysteria tinged her voice. Her head spun sickenly;
bile rose in her throat. As the world moved in a slow circle around her and
wavered, Mikayla sank weakly to the bed. Weakly she whispered again, trying to
keep her head attached. “What did you say?”

Kankaredes
leaned on the railing until his face was directly above Mikayla’s. His eyes
pierced through the pain, threatening. His breath smelled of rotted cabbage,
causing Mikayla to cringe and turn her head away. “Was he already dead when you
found him, Doctor Knight, or did you kill him?”

Mikayla
stared into his eyes, frozen. Her mouth moved dumbly as her mind screamed in
denial but no sound would come out. Her mind was blank, only terror and
confusion burst through the wall. She tried to speak, to deny, to explain, but
there was nothing.

“Well,
Doctor Knight, have you nothing to say in your defense?” Kankaredes continued,
precision snapping out the words. “Once you were found with the body of
Monsieur Dejeune, Her Royal Highness, Princess Victoria came to me and the
chief inspector with a concern that you might have been involved in the murder
of Monsieur Dejeune and the death of the king. She explained how she had found
you just days ago in the King’s chamber where you emerged through a secret
passageway.” He waited a beat, his mind calculating. The plan had taken a new
turn with the failure of Dejeune to carry out his task, but this new twist
might be more successful than even the death of the pretty professor. She would
certainly be out of the way if she were the main suspect in a bloody murder.

Emptiness
filled Mikayla’s mind. She was incapable of coherent thoughts and words.
Nothing but shock and horror filled her system, her nerves snapping. Her heart
raced, the beeps of the monitor racing to keep up. Her breathing shallowed, a
pant similar to a dog who has played too much. She knew her eyes were larger
than saucers, the fear that laced throughout her system reflected in the dark
blue. No words escaped her mouth. She clutched at the blanket and shrunk into
the covers, cowering beneath, trying to disappear.

Kankaredes
smiled, thin, sharp teeth gleaming in the bright hospital light. He didn’t try
to hide his pleasure. He didn’t try to soothe her; he wanted her petrified of
him, of everything. “When you ran him through with the scissors, did he beg for
his life or did he go quietly? Did you relish the feeling of his blood on your
hands, Doctor Knight, knowing it would give you something to write about in
your book?” Mania creased his features, twisting them into evil.

Mikayla
clutched at her covers, shrinking from the twisted man who leaned over her.
Moans slipped through her lips and tears coursed down her cheeks. Her entire
body was paralyzed with sudden fear. Sudden comprehension of the situation. She
gasped for air, trying to breathe, trying to reach the surface. She felt as if
she were drowning, the pressure of the water squeezing her chest.

“Well,
Doctor Knight, have you nothing to say? Have you no defense?” Kankaredes
practically cackled. The Wolf’s plans were going smoothly, better than even the
Wolf could have imagined.

Mikayla
whimpered softly. The pain in her head blinding. She shook her head slowly and
moaned. This couldn’t be. This was some sort of nightmare. If she could just
force herself to wake up, she would find herself safe in her bed, the gentle
ocean breezes blowing through her window. Monsieur Dejeune at the museum
tending to his precious artifact restoration. If she could just wake up, there
would be no blood, then Dejeune would smile coolly at her and offer his best
guess as to the meaning of some obscure document. If she could just wake up.

Tears
crept down her cheeks. For herself, caught in an impossible night terror that
she couldn’t wake from. For Dejeune, who had been slain with the very scissors
he had been cutting articles from the newspaper with. A silent sob filled her,
willing her simple world to return.

Will
pushed open the door to the hospital room. His hair was mussed from the wind
during the drive across the island. His face was set in a grim frown, but his
eyes belied the sorrow and worry that had filled him since the phone call had
come from the island’s inspector. His heart raced in his chest; the thought of
injury to Mikayla filling him. He had known that she was fine, but he had had
to see for himself.

Now,
he stood in the doorway, the inspector at his back, watching the Royal Minister
interrogating her. Any calmness that had come over him upon arriving at the
hospital disappeared into rage. He pushed the door hard enough to have it
bounce off of the wall with a bang. He strode quickly over to the bed and
shoved Kankaredes away from the bed. The red color of rage danced in front of
his eyes and flashed at Kankaredes as he struggled for composure. Kankaredes
shook off the hand of the inspector whom had rushed to help him. He
straightened the sleeves of his suit coat and adjusted his silver tie before
facing Will.

“Out!”
Will’s command was low, a growl in the silent room. His hand rested
protectively on Mikayla’s, a thumb moving slowly against her skin, comforting.

Kankaredes
straightened and looked down at the prince who would dare order him. He bowed
his head slightly, but offered none of the genuflection that was expected when
a Royal Minister was faced with a member of the royal family. He had no respect
for the Dauphin. The Dauphin was nothing. “Your Highness, I was simply
gathering information. After all, Doctor Knight is a guest of the royal family.
She is also a suspect in a murder investigation.” His relished in that fact and
a smirk quirked the corners of his mouth.

Will
stared at the Royal Minister with cold eyes. “I told you to leave, Antonio, I
suggest you follow my order.” He kept his eyes leveled on the Royal Minister’s
face. He made no move, simply stood his ground, between Kankaredes and Mikayla,
whose weeping had subsided. Her eyes stared up at Will’s back, astonishment
written on her face.

Kankaredes
merely nodded and withdrew from the room. At the door, he took one leveled look
at the woman on the bed, protected by the prince of the royal family. “This, my
dear, is not finished. I will get to the bottom of this, and when I do, I will
see you receive the fullest punishment under our laws.” He swept from the room,
taking the coldness with him that seemed to follow him everywhere.

Will
looked to the inspector and nodded. The inspector stepped to the bed and looked
down at Mikayla. He cleared his throat and stumbled over his words. Mikayla’s
eyes grew wide in shock and pain as she heard him charge her with both the
death of the King and the death of Rene Dejeune. She was their number one
suspect. She had believed it was just a nightmare, yet, here she was fully
aware of the pressure of Will’s hand on her own, her heart racing, her
breathing shallow with a man telling her she was the number one suspect in two
murders. It was impossible. Things like this didn’t happen to people like her!
She lived her life in total obscurity; she was invisible to people. She wasn’t
a murderer!

Suddenly,
Mikayla found herself sitting up in her bed, clinging to the hands of the
inspector, pleading for him to believe her that she wasn’t guilty. Hysteria
tinged her voice. She didn’t know what had happened. She didn’t know anything.
How could it be? The inspector bowed and withdrew as tears flooded down her
face and her own wailing echoed off of the walls. She felt gentle hands drawing
her back down on the bed, smoothing her hair, speaking softly, telling her not
to worry. Will’s voice filled her head, telling her he was there, to protect
her and to find the truth. Then, the soft voice of the Irish nurse was there,
her hands cool on her brow, and the pinch of the needle sliding into her arm
before the world became muted, a blur of sound and color, and then, there was
nothing, just blackness.

Throughout
the night, Will watched her toss and turn in sleep. Whimpers and quiet pleas.
Tears wet the pillow and hands clenched and unclenched at the blanket. Occasionally,
she would start to waken; the nurse would come and slip her back into the
darkness with a simple injection. Mikayla would still for a few hours and then,
the nightmares would begin again.