Twilight's Possession - Burning Hunger Part 9

What to do?

She wandered slowly down the rest of the drive, which opened up onto a rural road cutting through thick forest. Looked pretty remote. She could be walking for miles before she ran across a neighbor.

Better head back.

She did a one-eighty and trudged back to the house. Luckily, she realized as she tromped across the porch, she hadn't locked herself out. She let herself in the building but refused to head back up to her room. She'd spent way too many hours cooped up in there already. Besides, her new freedom provided the perfect opportunity to snoop.

After walking around the living room, opening the drapes and windows to let some of that wonderful fresh air inside, she started inspecting her surroundings more closely. If she couldn't leave then she'd keep herself occupied. Maybe she'd learn something handy about her captors, even discover some information she could use later.

She headed for the dark walnut bookcases lining the living room wall first. There were a few books-James Rollins, Dan Brown...Anne Rice?

Her Chippendales liked vampire novels?

A hazy image flashed through her mind-of eyes dark with hunger. White teeth, sharp and elongated, like a dog's canines glittering in dim light.

Weird.

The achy spots on her neck and shoulder throbbed. Wincing, she rubbed at the pain. A s.h.i.+ver snaked up her spine.

Was that image some kind of memory? From a dream maybe? Or a movie she'd watched a long time ago?

Cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and hurried to the window. The chilly, damp air wafting through the windows, stirring the drapes wasn't helping. Window closed, she headed back to the bookshelf.

Further over were some more books, nonfiction. Again, the subject matter was vampires. Ick. Vampire movies seriously creeped her out. She'd barely managed to sit through Interview with a Vampire the one and only time she'd tried to watch it.

Another chill charged up her spine. The hairs on her nape stood on end. She scrunched up her shoulders and tightened her arms around herself. She was getting a serious case of the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. Time to move on.

The kitchen. That had to be a vampire-free zone.

As it turned out, it was not only a vampire-free zone but also a food-free zone.

And then she remembered what they'd said immediately after kidnapping her-talking about her need to "feed" as if it was a foreign thing to them.

Maybe eating wasn't entirely strange to the Chippendales, but storing and preparing food at home most certainly was. She searched the fridge and every cupboard and didn't find so much as a breadcrumb or bottle of beer. Her old college boyfriend hadn't been anywhere close to Mr. Betty Crocker but he usually had a bag of chips and some Budweisers on hand. This was bizarre.

The hairs on her arms decided to stand on end too.

Rubbing a shudder away, she headed toward the foyer, pa.s.sing though a dark-paneled office housing a gorgeous desk and more matching bookcases. She poked around the uber-tidy room. There wasn't a sc.r.a.p of paper to be found, not a utility bill or even piece of forgotten junk mail. The trash bin was empty. The desktop, polished to a gloss, was empty. She didn't find a single photograph or family memento. It was completely devoid of life.

Who were these guys? And where'd they come from? She climbed the stairs, her hand tracing the top of the mahogany stair rail. Time to check out their bedrooms.

People didn't just materialize out of nowhere. They had pasts, families, parents, siblings, jobs and childhoods. Somewhere in this house there had to be some hints into who her captors were. And she was determined to ferret them out.

For some reason, it mattered to her.

But just as she shuffled into the first room, flipped on the light switch and swept up the one and only photograph she'd found thus far in the house, the shrill ring of the cell phone caught her ear.

Marek? Had to be.

Did he have news? Had they solved the code?

The mystery of her abductors forgotten, she raced back to her room, eager to catch the call.

Chapter Seven.

It couldn't be!

It was impossible.

She was dead.

Long dead. Slaughtered decades ago.

Dayne's eyes tracked the Watcher as the robed, hooded figure trotted down the corridor in the opposite direction from where they were headed. Her galloping gait was eerily familiar, an unsettling reminder of his sister.

It was the lively bounce in her step, so unusual a trait in a Watcher, even a young one.

But Rane couldn't be a Watcher. Life-long servants of The Keeper, they were chosen before birth, raised from infancy in seclusion and taught the sacred rituals before they could speak. Before they could know life outside of the Zal Halirgi.

Up until her death, Rane had enjoyed a normal life as the pampered second child, the youngest of two.

"This way," their guide, The Keeper, murmured, pus.h.i.+ng a heavy door open and motioning with his hand for Dayne to pa.s.s through the portal ahead of him.

Dayne stepped past with care, fearful of stepping on The Keeper's golden garment. Resembling a medieval robe, complete with the huge sleeves that dragged on the floor as he walked, it conveyed the importance of the man's station far more clearly than his withered and wasting form did.

"We're sorry for coming so late," Marek said, following behind. "We were held up-"

"No need to apologize." The Keeper waved a heavily wrinkled hand, motioning Marek past before following them. Pulling the door closed behind them, he stopped a mere footstep inside the inner sanctum, the room where the Book of Secrets was displayed. "It isn't the first time. I will remain with you until your task is complete." The Keeper urged them forward, toward the crystal pedestal sitting in the middle of the room. A single shaft of pure white light from some unseen lamp overhead cut a blade through the oppressive darkness. The floor, ceiling and walls, black as pitch, seemed to vanish into endless shadows.

Dayne's heart raced as he watched Marek gently lift the gilt cover off the Book of Secrets, revealing the black and red tome underneath.

What were these clues? How had Marek found them? And who was sending them?

Was there a traitor within the Rebellion or was this treasure hunt a ruse? While Marek was preoccupied upon their arrival, explaining the nature of their visit to a Watcher, Dayne had stepped away to contact his most trusted allies. None had claimed responsibility for the cryptic messages. Nor did they know who might have sent them.

If by some chance the clues were real and did lead Marek to the Triad, his allies-his dearest friends-might be discovered. They could be sentenced to death.

That was one risk he couldn't live with.

With thoughts of his sister clouding his mind, and Marek beside him, searching the Book of Secrets for the key to the Rebellion's failure, he planned his next move.

Nothing. He could find nothing tying the Book of Secrets to the numeric code Brea had transcribed for him. Not in the beginning. Nor at the end.

Was she mistaken? Were they looking in the wrong place? The book was too heavy to lift so searching the platform it lay upon was impossible. His hope faltering, he looked at Dayne, who looked as puzzled as he felt.

There was nothing to be seen on the walls. At least, not without perhaps that special light.

He hadn't thought to bring it along.

He tried the cell phone again. He'd tried to contact Brea just after they'd arrived, but she hadn't answered.

It rang once, twice, three times. She wasn't going to catch it before it switched over to voice mail.

Where was she?

He punched the b.u.t.ton, cutting off the call and handed the phone to Dayne.

"I'll keep trying," he promised.

"Thanks." He stared at the numbers, written in looping, feminine handwriting. She'd seemed so sure about this. Seemed so sure he'd be able to solve it.

She'd looked at him like he was her savior.

He didn't want to fail her. But h.e.l.l, what did she expect? He was no one's savior. Case in point-he was about to let Kaden down too.

"Still no answer. Perhaps she's in the bathroom. I'll try again in a few minutes." Dayne pocketed the phone and tipped his head, indicating the paper with the code. "Maybe it was just a prank?"

He refused to believe that. No one but he and Kaden knew the Triad's curse had been activated. He and Kaden...and of course, whoever was responsible for the curse.

Could Dayne be the culprit?

A huge weight landed in his gut.

There'd never been any question about Dayne's feelings for Marek's family. It started so many years ago, during the raid. Dayne's parents had been involved with a fringe political group who'd wanted to expose the Sons of the Twilight to the human political powers, thinking they'd gain financially.

It had been a terrible day. A day no Son of the Twilight would ever forget, now that it had been recorded in the Book of Secrets. No doubt Dayne hadn't forgotten either. Or forgiven.

But surely he knew what a catastrophe it would be for Kaden to die.

Marek narrowed his gaze to the paper. They were columns of numbers, three numbers in each series, separated by dashes.

Could they be page numbers?

The first one was one thousand forty-three. He gently turned the pages, stopping on the designated page. He searched the page for a sign, a symbol, a clue.

Just lots of words.

He skimmed the page. It was a chapter about the laws of the humans. Nothing about the Triad or the curse.

He closed the book and shook his head. To think he was this close-inches from the answer-and yet he lacked the brainpower to see it. He had never felt so helpless.

He looked at the column again. If the first was a page number, what could the second one be? He looked down at the book, willing it to declare its secrets.

There were page numbers. Paragraphs. Lines. Letters.

The second number was twenty-eight. He counted down to the twenty-eighth line then over.

Shoot! Not enough letters in the line.

He went backwards. Last number as the page. Second number as the line. Third number as the letter.

The result-B.

He did the same with the second line of numbers. Then the third.

B. T. R.

Wasn't making much sense yet. He tried a few more.

H. U. P.

d.a.m.n.

He kept going, hoping if he took it back to Brea, she'd be able to figure out what it meant.

T. W. E. I. N. B. C. P. Y. I....

No use trying to read it. Obviously the letters were shuffled. Or he'd done something wrong.

Dayne was standing next to The Keeper, by the door. Their conversation, carried out in hushed whispers, didn't quite reach his ears. Dayne was nodding, his expression dark, his eyes cast down. His hands were balled into fists and tucked behind his back.

A trickle of concern wormed its way through Marek's insides. Could he trust Dayne?

Seeming to sense Marek's gaze on him, Dayne looked his way. Their gazes tangled and held, and an invisible current of energy charged between them. Dayne's lips parted then the corners lifted into a semi-smile. "Are we finished here?"

"I guess." Marek crossed the room, headed for the door. He wasn't convinced he'd solved the code but what else could the numbers mean? "I'm sorry to keep you so late," he said to The Keeper who stood sentry, bent and brittle as a dried twig, a notable contrast to Dayne's youthful strength and vitality.

"It was no trouble." The Keeper's eyes, the shade of morning fog, met his. "You found your answer?"

"I hope so."

"As I said, you may stay as long as you need."

Marek stopped walking. Why was he in such a hurry to leave? If the Keeper was in no hurry to chase them out, he needed to take his time. This was his only chance to solve the clue. The paper crackled as he unfolded it again to take one last look at the code. What else could the numbers mean?

The end is just the beginning.

Unless...