Under Lock And Key. Sylvie Kurtz

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СКАЧАТЬ do things my way, you don’t get paid. Got it?”

      Ray pushed away the powerless grip. The nerve of this pawn to think he had any say over the direction of play. “All right, don’t have a hissy fit.”

      I’m in charge, Ray reminded himself. He couldn’t hide the smile coming from deep inside, and he tasted once more the sweet flavor of power. His power over people like the contact; people who usually considered him scum.

      Who was scum now?

      “So,” Ray said, blowing more smoke straight at the aristocratic nose, “what do you want?”

      “I need her running scared.” The contact paused.

      Lightning cut jagged lines across the black sky. Thunder boomed farther to the south. One of Ray’s greatest skills was reading people, and what he saw now was desperation. This desperation would buy him his crown. “I don’t come cheap.”

      “Once Melissa Carnes is off her land, you’ll get your slice.”

      “I like my cake with lots of icing.” Ray savored the thought, the power. His, all his.

      “There’s enough to go around.”

      Ray blew another string of smoke rings and marveled at their perfection. “Did you read about the mason who broke his leg at the witch’s castle?”

      “What does that have to do with anything?”

      “Ever heard of the telephone game?”

      “I don’t get it.”

      Of course not. “How do you get rid of a witch?”

      Impatience wrenched the contact’s pretty features into their true plug-ugliness, so Ray gave the brainless cockroach its answer. “With a witch-hunt.”

      Chapter Two

      A noise disturbed Melissa’s gloomy thoughts. Her ears, tuned by years of living nearly alone in her immense castle, picked up the discordant sound. She listened, wary, then plopped her paintbrush into a jar of water. Someone was at the gatehouse.

      The same thing happened every year around this time. The seasonal storms and the threat of tornadoes made a perfect backdrop for the dares and counterdares of local high-school kids. What could be more ghoulish than catching a glimpse of the witch when the heavens roiled with evil?

      Why couldn’t they leave her alone? What had she ever done to them?

      Fists tight at her sides, she marched down the creaky wooden steps. She’d had enough and wasn’t going to take the taunts this time. They wanted the witch; they’d get the witch. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she donned her black poncho, its hood strategically placed for the best effect. She grabbed the flashlight on the small table by the door and strode across the courtyard.

      Melissa paused by the gatehouse door, listening for the telltale noise of the thrill seekers’ presence, and heard nothing. Flashlight in hand, she readied to illuminate her pale face and set the fear of God into the little hoodlums.

      She threw open the heavy door, placed the flashlight in its most effective position for fright and gave them her best cackle. She expected shrieks of terror. Instead, she heard a soft moan like that of a wounded animal. Turning her light on the crumpled body at her feet, she took in the bloody face and muddy clothes.

      Stiletto-sharp instincts honed by pain and hatred told her to shut the door and ignore the wounded man on her doorstep. She didn’t need a stranger intruding on her privacy. Frenzied lightning, followed by a deep rumble, seemed to second her decision. The wail of tornado sirens from town added urgency.

      Melissa stood frozen, grasping the door like a lifeline. If she left him there, he might die. The sky quieted. The hard beating of her heart and the shallowness of her breath replaced the thunder. Pollen-laden rain streamed down her face.

      Sighing regretfully, she crouched next to the man. As much as she’d like to, even the witch in her couldn’t leave a wounded man out on a night like this.

      “Grace!” Her shout competed with a new crash of thunder and the whip of the wind for her housekeeper’s attention. “Grace!”

      At six feet, Grace Jackson towered above many men. Her checkered past afforded her as much notoriety as Melissa’s reclusiveness did. Most townsfolk had learned to fear Grace Jackson’s wrath as much as Melissa’s alleged hexes.

      The door to Grace’s apartment opened. “What are you doing down there, child?”

      “I need your help. I can’t move him by myself.”

      “Him? What are you talking about?” Grace snapped on the dim light above the stairs and moved down the creaky wooden steps with a lightness that belied her two-hundred-pound bulk.

      “Lordy!” Grace whistled. “What happened to him?”

      “Don’t know. I found him on the doorstep.”

      Grace bent down to examine the man draped across the top of the steps. She swiped the mud off his cheek. “This man’s gonna bring trouble. I feel it in my bones.”

      “Trouble or not, we need to get him out of the rain.”

      With a sigh, Grace hefted the stranger up in her capable arms. “Take his feet.”

      They moved him inside, then Melissa closed and barred the door behind them.

      “Upstairs to my apartment,” Grace said, adjusting her grip under the man’s arms.

      Melissa nodded and helped Grace carry him to her apartment. Once they’d settled him on the bed in the spare room, Melissa was only too glad to let Grace take over. A stranger—a man, at that—was something she’d rather not deal with. Especially not tonight when the longing for normalcy stirred such deep cravings.

      She stood, intent on returning to her own tower, when Grace looked up at her and said, “What are you waiting for, girl? I’m gonna need your help.”

      “Me?” Melissa brushed a hand to her chest. “What for?”

      “He’s deadweight, honey. I can’t strip him out of them wet clothes by myself.”

      Melissa reluctantly shed her poncho, shaking off the excess water before she hung it on the knob.

      “I’ll need more light,” Grace said.

      Melissa nodded, then extracted a black silk shawl from her pocket and carefully arranged it around her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered before Grace turned on the light in her spare room.

      Grace sat beside the unconscious man on the twin bed. “Help me hold him up so we can see where he’s hurt and get them wet clothes off him.”

      “Grace?” Melissa’s voice wavered with uncertainty.

      “Missy, we gotta see how bad he’s hurt,” Grace answered with a touch of impatience. She ran her hands over the prone figure with the practiced ease of a nurse. Melissa watched, fascinated СКАЧАТЬ