The Haunting of Brier Rose (24 page)

"Rose!" he exclaimed.

She moaned and drew her arm over her forehead.

Taylor placed his palm on her elbow and gently squeezed.
"Rose, wake up."

Rose’s eyelids fluttered, and for a moment she gazed skyward
until she realized she was not in Taylor’s bed any longer. Shocked, she
scrambled to a sitting position, leaning on one hand while she raked her fingers
through her mane of rippling hair. Taylor watched the movement, wishing he had
thought of brushing her hair from her face, for he longed to caress her.

"Taylor, what am I doing out here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question."

"I—I must have walked in my sleep."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm just a bit cold."

"I can fix that." Taylor smiled and put down his cane.
"Come here." He put his hands around her delicate waist and helped
her to the ground. Then he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around
her. She didn't protest and instead held him tightly around his neck. He ran
his hand over her hair, surprised to find it touched with dew. She must have
been outside for quite a while.

"Did Seth come to you last night?"

"Yes," she remarked, dragging her hands down to rest on
his chest. "But he didn't take me out here. I don't understand how I got
out here."

"Never mind that. You're frozen. We'd better get you to the
house."

Suddenly she pulled back. "Listen!"

"What?"

"I hear them!"

"Hear who?"

"The dogs! They're coming!" She grabbed his arm.
"Taylor!"

Then he heard it, too, a snarling, growling sound coming from the
herb garden. Taylor glanced in that direction and caught a glimpse of four black
shapes in the fog.

He needed no further proof of danger. Swooping down for his cane,
he clutched Rose's hand and dashed for the back door, ignoring the screams of
protest from his leg. The dogs pounded the ground behind them and were close on
their heels as they gained the flagstones of the patio. Taylor could hear their
jaws snapping and their labored breathing mere inches from his feet. He pushed
Rose ahead of him and whipped around, brandishing his cane. The four Rottweilers
bared their fangs and growled, pacing around him as if looking for an opportunity
to dive at him.

"Taylor!" Rose cried.

"Get in the house!" he shouted over his shoulder. One
of the dogs leapt for his throat. He swung the cane and caught the dog in the
rib cage. It fell, howling in pain, while the other three charged. Taylor
staggered back, lashing out with the cane, and managed to hit a second dog in
the head. By that time, however, the first dog had recovered. He grabbed the
leg of Taylor's jeans and jerked his head, nearly toppling Taylor to the
ground. If he went down, his throat would be ripped out in a second by the
dogs. Frantically, he jabbed the Rottweiler in the chest with the end of his
cane while he half-dragged the animal to the door.

Then Rose appeared at his elbow and bashed a wrought-iron chair
across the dog's back. The Rottweiler rolled away, yelping in agony. Taylor
managed to pull open the door while he fended off another dog, and Rose threw
another chair in the path of the remaining animals. Then Taylor pushed her into
the house and fell in backward, hanging on to the handle of the door for dear
life. If the dogs got in the house, he and Rose wouldn't stand a chance of
surviving an assault in the hallway.

Taylor threw his weight against the door and locked it. Immediately,
the dogs fell silent. Shaken, he looked out the window beside the door and
watched the dogs pacing the flagstones. Taylor remained at the window, his
heart pounding like a jackhammer, until he saw the dogs take off toward the
herb garden. Then he turned.

Rose was standing near the kitchen doorway, her face white, and a
knuckle to her lips. He tried to smile in reassurance, but his leg was a column
of fire that consumed the grin before it made it to his mouth.

"Taylor, are you all right?" She ran to his side and
took his upper arm.

"Yeah," he panted and put his arm around her shoulders.
"Whose dogs are those?"

"I don't know. I think they're wild."

"God." He looked down at his tattered pant leg. "I
hope they're not rabid."

"Did you get bitten?"

"Amazingly enough, no."

She squeezed his arm and he felt a warm feeling flood his senses.

"You throw a mean lawn chair," he commented, heading toward
the kitchen with her still tucked under his wing.

"Don't joke around, Taylor. They could have killed
you!"

"But for some reason they didn't. Beats me why."

"I'm going to call the dogcatcher as soon as they're open.
We've got to get rid of those dogs before they really hurt somebody."

"In the meantime, I'm going to make you a cup of coffee."

"I'll make it. You look as if you're in pain."

"I am. This damn leg of mine is a damn curse."

"Sit down, Taylor," she urged.

He complied, grateful to take the weight off his leg. He sighed
and eased his leg out straight in front of him. He ignored the throbbing in his
calf and watched Rose as she reached up to the cupboard for a coffee filter and
ground a handful of beans. "I might as well make enough for Bea," she
commented with a smile, but the grin was only a shaky imitation. "After
all that racket, I'm sure she'll be down, wondering what the fuss was
about."

Taylor nodded, enjoying the sight of her puttering around the
kitchen in the faint glow of the light above the sink. There was something
intimate about sharing the kitchen so early with Rose, and he fervently hoped
that Bea wouldn't come down too soon and break the spell. He wished he could
spend more mornings smelling the earthy fragrance of brewing coffee and watching
Rose arrange cups and saucers in her careful, quiet fashion. Yet if he didn't
do something to stop Seth Bastyr, this would probably be the last day he ever
spent with her.

"I forgot to wish you happy birthday," he remarked as
she carried the cups to the table.

"Thanks," she replied. She slid his coffee in front of
him, and her hands shook enough to rattle the china.

"Are you going to be okay?" He touched her wrist.

She sank to the chair nearby without breaking eye contact.
"I'm scared."

Taylor curled his hand around hers. "So am I. But we'll get through
this. Somehow."

"Those dogs," she swallowed. "When they attack, I
can hear them calling my name."

"Your name?"

"Yes. Roselyn, Roselyn, Roselyn. When they snarl I can hear
my name."

"I didn't hear it."

"Maybe I'm just imagining it." She wrapped her long
fingers around the base of the cup. "But I wonder if they're normal dogs,
or if they're—"

"Part of the Bastyr clan?"

"Yes. I know it sounds crazy, Taylor." She shook her
head and looked down. "I feel as if I'm losing my mind."

"You're not. There's a reasonable explanation. We just
haven't found it."

"Bea told me that the Bastyrs have weird powers and that
Seth is the most powerful one of all. But what is he? A man? A hypnotist? Or a
vampire, like you've said?"

"If Seth Bastyr is a man, Rose, he's the embodiment of evil.
His aura is black." Taylor took a drink of the steaming coffee. "Come
to think of it, maybe the dogs are connected to him, because they have black
auras, too."

"I don't think they're normal dogs. I've never had an animal
attack me or even nip me. Never." Rose sipped her coffee and glanced at
the doorway to the morning room. "And something else is odd."

"What?"

"It isn't like Bea to sleep through so much noise. I thought
she'd be down by now."

"I was hoping she'd take her time." He stroked Rose's
wrist, but she remained looking at the door.

"Maybe I'd better go see if she's all right."

"She's probably sleeping, Rose. Just relax for a minute."

"I can't." She stood up. "I have an awful feeling,
Taylor, that this day is going to be filled with trouble. Starting with those
dogs."

He rose. "I'll come with you, then."

Edgar swooped down and alighted on Rose's forearm as she and
Taylor walked up the stairs. Though Rose stroked the raven, her eyes were
focused on the floor above, and Taylor could tell that her thoughts centered on
Bea. When they reached the top of the stairs, she paused and sniffed.

"What's that smell?" she asked.

She had heard the dogs before he had. And now she smelled
something. Apparently her senses were much more acute than his. Taylor inhaled
but didn't notice anything different.

"Smoke!" she cried. "Down there!" Rose
pointed to the end of the hall, where a puff of gray billowed from under Bea's
door. "Bea's apartment!"

She broke into a run as Edgar flapped away squawking and headed
in the opposite direction from the smoke. Taylor sprinted down the hall behind
her, sure now that Rose's feeling of doom was an accurate forecast for the day.
She gained the door before he did and reached for the knob.

"Wait!" Taylor cried. "Feel the door first."

She tested the wood with the palm of her left hand as Taylor came
up behind her.

"Is it hot?"

"No."

"Okay. You can open it."

She turned the knob, but it rotated only halfway. "The
door's locked," she exclaimed in a voice shrill with panic.

"Stand back." Taylor dropped his cane and then threw
his shoulder against the door, but it remained tightly shut. "Damn,"
he gasped, holding his bare arm. "I'll have to try kicking it down."

"But your leg—"

He ignored her words and the pain in his leg and backed up a
pace, turning sidelong to the door. Then, standing on his bad leg, he kicked to
the side, hitting the door near the latch. It burst open onto a room full of
rolling smoke.

"Bea!" Rose cried, stumbling into the cloud.
"Bea!"

Taylor coughed and held his hand over his nose. His eyes stung as
he strained to see Bea's parlor through the smoke. He bumped into a chair and
knocked over an end table, sending something that sounded like china crashing
to the floor.

"Bea!" Taylor yelled. Neither of them got a response.

A strange sound crackled in the kitchen up ahead. Taylor grabbed
Rose's hand. "The
fire's
in the kitchen! I'll go
look there. Any other rooms on this side?"

"A bedroom."

"Check it!" He coughed and peered to the side. He had
to get some kind of protection for his bare skin. A wet blanket would be ideal,
but he would have to make do with the objects in the parlor, and the only
available fabric was the long drapes near his elbow. He yanked the heavy curtains,
pulling the fixtures out of the woodwork, and slid the rod out of the rings.
While Rose headed off in the direction of the bedroom, he swirled the fabric
over his head and shoulders and plunged through the smoke toward the kitchen.

Taylor groped his way across the parlor, stubbing his toes and
knocking over furniture until he reached the kitchen. Flames licked the floor
of the kitchen and leapt from a tall wastebasket to the towel hanging on the
door of the refrigerator, but the fire seemed to be confined to a small area.
Whatever was in the wastebasket burned like rubber tires, filling the apartment
with a stench that made him feel lightheaded and
nauseated.
Then he caught sight of Bea in her blue housecoat, tied to a chair on the other
side of the room. She was slumped in her bonds, her head hanging and her feet
and legs lashed to the chair.

Taylor felt a dark shaft of dread at the thought that she might
already have succumbed to smoke inhalation. For Rose's sake, he prayed that Bea
was still alive.

"Bea!" he gasped, hunching beneath his fabric cloak as
he hurried to her side. He picked her up, chair and all, and retraced his
steps, straining with the weight of her ample body. The curtain dropped from
his shoulders as he passed the wastebasket, and he felt heat from the fire on
his
bare back
.

Ignoring his cramping muscles, he hobbled into the parlor.

"Rose!" he yelled. "I found her!" His voice
came out hoarse and ragged from the smoke, and the words burned in his throat.
He ran his tongue over his lips and struggled across the room to the door and
out to the hall, where he set down Bea and the chair.

Gasping for breath, he leaned closer and eased back Bea's head,
all the while wondering if Rose would soon find her way out of the apartment,
or if she had even heard him. What if she had collapsed from the smoke? He
couldn't think about it for a moment, not until he saw to Bea.

With tender fingers he felt the side of her neck and sensed a
faint pulse. Heartened, he gently patted her cheek. "Bea, Bea! Wake
up!"

He fumbled with the clothesline that was wrapped tightly about
her torso, hands and legs, all the while throwing glances over his shoulder to
see if Rose had found her way out of the smoke yet. He caught sight of Bea's
eyelids fluttering open and felt a rush of relief. She would be all right.

Then Rose burst from the apartment, holding the skirt of her
nightgown to her face. Her eyes streamed with tears. "You found her!"

"Yes. She's breathing. But just barely."

Rose sneezed and coughed as she stumbled forward.

"Here, Rose." Taylor held up an end of the rope.
"Take over. I'm going back in to put out that fire."

"No, Taylor. I'll call the fire department."

"It might be a while before they can get out here. I'll see
what I can do."

"No, Taylor!"

"Mr. Wolfe." Bea moaned, which caught Rose's attention
and gave him enough time to slip away.

Rose blinked her watering eyes as she tried to untie the
clothesline, but she could hardly see through the bleariness caused by the
smoke. Her hands shook, and she kept stopping to encourage Bea, who coughed and
sputtered and closed her eyes as if exhausted. The woman's face was unnaturally
flushed from the fire, as were her hands and knees, and Rose only hoped that
she hadn't been seriously burned.