Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JADEON
Present Day
My old life had bled away.
I stood on the castle steps and scanned the interior, hoping to detect Alex inside and that he was okay. On entering it was a pleasant surprise to see that nothing had changed in all these years, though a musty aroma now hung in the air.
I craved being human. I wanted to walk in daylight, dine on an eight-course meal, and sip a fine wine out of a crystal glass.
These were stupid things. I yearned for Alex.
Hands in my pockets, I strolled into the entrance hall and lingered under the familiar crystal chandelier. Piano music played in the far corner of the great hall. The music paused for a moment, only to begin again.
Alex had for a moment sensed me.
Closing my eyes, I dreaded seeing him, fearing having to face the boy I had left behind and scared of what I might find.
Moonlight lit up the regal entranceway throwing dark shadows over the walls and stairway, the red worn carpet crushed underneath my feet.
Painting after painting of ancestors glared down.
A knot in my stomach caught me and I reeled at the thought of reuniting. I was full of guilt. My anxiety welled. After chasing shadows for so long all that was left was numbness. And now, here within these walls, I was unraveling.
The music got louder.
He had not changed. I lingered at the doorway watching him, taking in the image of my brother as he gracefully struck the keys. A sob caught in my throat. Alex must have assumed me dead.
He may very well have wished it.
I scanned the great hall and cringed at the layer of dust on everything. The room was in a state of disarray. This reflected his spirit. Alex peered up at me but continued to play.
I deserved it. Tears rolled onto my cheeks.
Alex thought me to be an apparition, his wishful thinking gone mad.
My heart ached with the weight of what I had done to him, to myself, to our family. I had failed to protect us all. But standing here now, watching him so shattered, was more than I could bear. This pain . . . it was worse than the curse that ran through our blood.
I drew toward him. “Have the visions of me ever spoken to you?”
“Not until now.” Alex ceased playing.
“How will you ever forgive me?”
In his eyes, I saw it, the slow recognition, the quiet grief, as he realized he was seeing his brother again after lifetimes of being apart.
He considered me, then leapt up and ran to me.
I enfolded him in my arms.
“I sent you messages,” I said, “telepathic signals to tell you where I was.”
“I am not too good with that,” he whispered. “It’s easier up close.”
Were these his first words in years? Shaking, I studied him. Anguish tortured my breaths.
Alex’s legs gave way. I caught him.
With my arm around him we walked to the anteroom, though the layers of dust were so thick. We only stayed a few minutes and eventually sat down on the main foyer steps.
I was home.
It was difficult to look at Alex.
Please do not hate me.
“I don’t,” Alex said. Wide-eyed he stared at me with that familiar fresh-faced innocence. He kept prodding me until I grabbed his pointed finger and with an affectionate smile shook it.
“Tell me then,” he said. “He still has her?”
Finding the strength to talk, I relayed to Alex my attempts to track down Orpheus who had evaded me at every turn, cruelly teasing me, allowing me to get close enough to sense Catherine’s presence but not see her.
Time and time again I was left standing where she had once stood.
The only clue that she had ever been there at all was her faint perfume.
I had gone out of my mind obsessing over them.
This had been his plan all along, to make us suffer, slowly, over decades, just as Daumia had suffered because of us.
In losing his great love, he decided our happiness would become his to destroy, our pain his inheritance.
With shame I faced up to the fact I had abandoned Alex.
He seemed not to care, overjoyed to have me back.
He gave me another prod.
With a heavy heart I explained Orpheus had kept Catherine prisoner for several years until her hair, which had been shaven short while a nun, was allowed to grow long.
He had waited patiently for her girlish figure to become fully matured.
Finally, when Orpheus had found both her features and characteristics most pleasing, he had done the unthinkable. He had transformed her into a vampire.
All this I had detected but had never seen. I had not given up, relentlessly following them around the world.
Eventually Orpheus’s scent had grown cold.
Looking at Alex, the guilt weighed heavily. His clothes and skin were filthy and his hair disheveled. I had to take care of him, make it up to him.
But this was not enough.
Alex had lived a life of solitude for two hundred years. I wondered how he would ever forgive me, for I would never forgive myself.
First I endeavored to clean him up but soon realized there was no electricity within the castle.
I guided Alex outside. Stripping both myself and Alex naked, I waded with him into the water until we stood waist-deep and then scrubbed him with ancient soap until he was clean again.
I wrapped him in a towel and provided fresh clothes.
Lying upon our father’s old four-poster bed, the mattress having disintegrated and leaving nothing but a wooden frame, with Alex resting his head upon my lap as he used to do in years gone by, we enjoyed the closeness we had once shared as if nothing had ever changed.
We spoke tirelessly, sharing stories of our adventures, laughing at each other’s exploits.
As only Alex could, he awarded no blame to me for being away.
Instead he melted against me, helping ease my interminable guilt.
Alex questioned me relentlessly, seeing the modern world through my eyes.
I was a little more familiar with the twenty-first century and had even learned the skill of driving.
“I have a silver Jaguar,” I said. “I can’t wait to take you for a spin.”
“So much has changed.” Alex sighed.
“Why did you never leave St. Michael’s?”
“For the longest time, I was nervous I’d miss you if you—”
I bit my lip, as though that may quell this irrepressible guilt.
“Then,” Alex continued, “I kind of enjoyed my own company.”
“I . . . let you down.”
“When you left I had time to think about a lot of things. I should have seen through him. I should have sensed he was manipulating me.”
“I should not have left the castle,” I said. “It was my duty to fight at Father’s side. Looking back, it felt right to guide Orpheus away, but he pulled the oldest trick in the book when he divided and separated us. That’s why he—”
“He hasn’t won. I just don’t understand why he hated me.”
“We do not think like him because we are so removed from his world. How could you have suspected? We were sheltered from all things of this nature. Father should have been clearer. Shoving a book at me didn’t cut it.”
“I tried to keep this place up but after a while I lost the will,” Alex said.
“Who cares about the dust? Still, it might be a good idea to refurnish the place, modernize it perhaps.”
“Does that mean men will come here?”
“I can deal with them.”
“We will need money.” Alex stretched.
So many artifacts here were priceless. There were so many remarkable pieces we could sell. We could restore the castle with a quiet, steadfast respect for every stone and story it carried. “We can sell one of the paintings, perhaps two.”
“Yes, let’s start with the Joseph Turner.” Alex remembered how Orpheus had once admired the artist’s work.
“So we must find an art dealer.”
“Let’s do it!” Alex sat up.
“Sounds good to me,” I said, and from out of my jacket pocket I pulled out my mobile phone.
“You have one?” he asked curiously.
“You can have it after,” I said, smiling and searched online for a local art dealer.
I dialed the number and waited for an answer.
“Hello, St. Clare’s Art Gallery,” the female voice said.
“Good evening. I have a painting I wish to sell. Do you buy paintings?”
“Yes, sir, we do. Is it by a local artist?”
“Yes, but he’s dead now.”
“Well, sir, then your painting may be quite valuable.”
“Perfect. May I bring it in for you to view?”
“Would I know the artist, sir?”
“Yes, perhaps. Joseph Turner.”
“The Joseph Turner?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Oh, bugger off!”
I heard the click of the phone. She’d hung up.
“Well that seemed to go well.” Alex had read my puzzled expression. “Turns out I am not the only person with a dislike of Turner.”
“I think I know of the perfect place to sell the painting,” I said. “Fancy a trip to London?”