Time Everlastin' Book 5 (8 page)

"Lachlan!" she cried,
scrambling off him. By the time she untangled herself from the
sheet, he swayed on his feet, hands capping his throbbing
head.

"Who's—"

"Alby," he rasped. "Stay
here."

"But—"

"This once, lass, mind
me!"

Lachlan ran from the room
but stopped short when he realized the twins in the nursery to his
right, wailed in fright. He swung open the door in time to see
Jondee, one of the male fairies, turn in his direction, a child in
each arm.

"I be stayin’ to quiet
them," he assured Lachlan.

After a moment's hesitation,
Lachlan beelined for the staircase.

Roan Ingliss and Winston
Connery, both looking as sleep-addled and perplexed as he, met him
at the top of the second floor landing. Two doors opened down the
hall. Without looking in that direction, three male voices shouted,
"Stay in yer rooms!" to young Kahl and Kevin, who, true to their
nature, entered the hall and ran toward the men.

"Tis coming from the
cellar," Lachlan said, deciding not to waste time arguing with the
boys.

He led the others to the
first floor, and slowed their approach to the door situated below
the staircase.

A second screamer chorused
with the first.

"Laura!" Roan bit
out.

He pushed past Lachlan and
dashed down the dark stairwell. Winston switched on the light,
descending behind Lachlan and in front of the boys.

Roan came to an abrupt stop,
roared in alarm, and pitched backward into Lachlan's arms. Lachlan
dropped him to the floor with a terse, "Get a grip, mon," and,
ignoring the shimmering, transparent ghost of a wildly gesturing
Stephen Miles, ran through him, toward what the boys had nicknamed,
"the murder room."

Seven months prior, Stephen
Miles, a reporter in search of a story at Baird House, happened
across Wade Cuttstone hiding in the basement room. The serial
killer dubbed "The Phantom" by the press, turned Miles into yet
another victim in The Phantom's psycho-impressive repertoire.
Since, Miles became a self-appointed watchdog at the manor, warning
the inhabitants when Cuttstone's wrathful spirit absorbed enough
energy to materialize. Cuttstone, too, had died at the manor,
during a fall from a third floor window, shortly following Miles'
death.

Until now, The Phantom could
do no more than terrorize the household with his visits—visits
frightening enough to chase off Roan's parents. No loss there. But
when Lachlan entered the south cellar, he knew immediately the
manifestations had progressed to something far deadlier.

How, he didn't know, and his
mind was too shocky to contemplate the possibilities.

Across the lantern-lit room,
a sobbing Laura sat in a heap against the east wall, the bare legs
beneath her short nightie folded against her chest. Between the
fingers of the right hand pressed to her brow, blood ran in
rivulets down the arm. Roan inched toward her. Oblivious to his
approach, she remained fixated on the abomination standing ten feet
away.

Winston stood at Lachlan's
side, breathing heavily like an asthmatic struggling for air. He
was about to take a step forward when Lachlan swung an arm across
his chest, curbing his intention to rush at Cuttstone.

Laura's sobs now under
control, allowed Four-year-old Alby Bennett's mewls of terror to be
heard in the otherwise thickening silence. Lachlan gestured for
Roan to help Laura away from the Phantom. Roan obeyed without
hesitation. Lifting Laura into his arms, he backed away from the
killer until he stood behind Lachlan.

"Alby," she
whimpered.

"I need to get you
upstairs—"

"No!" she whispered harshly.
"How can he...how can he...?

"Shhh," Lachlan hushed,
staring unwaveringly at the semi-phantom across from
him.

Eight-year-old Kahl and his
six-year-old brother, Kevin, sprinted across the room. They
squealed in protest when Winston snatched them into his
arms.

"Quiet, lads," he said in a
low tone.

"Let go of my brother!" Kahl
demanded of Cuttstone, his hands clawing at the arm encircling his
middle.

Lachlan's insides turned to
cold marble at the sight of The Phantom's slow-forming grin of
malice. A man born in 1811 and murdered by his bride and her lover
in 1844, a man still renowned as Scotland's most famous
ghost—although eight months prior he had been granted life—Lachlan
believed little could shake him. He quaked now. The killer's left
arm was wrapped about Alby's middle, securing the flailing boy to
his side as one might a sack of grain.

"Alby!" Kevin
wailed.

"Laddies, quiet down,"
Winston said, the tenderness he meant to project, overcome by his
rising fear.

From the corner of his eye,
Lachlan spied a blink of movement in the air. Swift and tiny. Then
another, both swallowed up in the long shadows on the far
wall.

"This is atween you an' me,"
Lachlan said to Cuttstone. "Let the lad go."

The Phantom's rictus grin
remained. Only the icy blue eyes altered, becoming harder, more
intense.

Cuttstone swung Alby up,
imprisoning him between a thick arm and broad chest. The boy went
limp, his round eyes beseeching the adults to rescue
him.

Lachlan's heart thundered.
His blood heated and flames licked at his willpower. The Phantom's
eyes, mouth, left arm, portions of his chest and legs, were solid,
while the rest of him was illuminated green mist contained in the
outline of the man he'd been.

In Lachlan's spirit days, he
would absorb available energies in the "grayness," the between
world, to venture among the living for intervals of time. He had
believed he alone had that ability until he had taught Beth after
her death.

Somehow, Cuttstone had
discovered its use. Minute claws of energy reached out from the
grayness, fingering the remaining parameter of the killer's
luminescent form, each stroke revitalizing him, bringing him
inexorably into the realm of the living.

Stephen Miles wasn't privy
to the offerings of the grayness. He hovered off to one side
between Lachlan and Cuttstone, gnawing a thumbnail as would anyone
caught up in a stressful situation.

Cuttstone released a low,
rumbling chuckle. The mist remaining on his chest and right leg,
solidified.

Lachlan breathed
sparingly.

A rumbling, reverberating
cackle came from The Phantom as his head solidified inch by
inch.

Lachlan took two steps
forward, his hands fisted at his sides. "I killed you once. God is
merciful to give me a second whack at you."

Cuttstone's grin faltered
but a second.

"Let the lad go," Lachlan
said. "Mon to mon. You and me. I can hurt you a wee or hurt you a
lot. The decision is yers."

With a snarl that spewed
foaming globules of spit from his mouth, Cuttstone flung Alby
aside. For a brief moment no one breathed, knowing the boy's impact
on the foundation wall would seriously injure or kill him. Two
winged apparitions appeared from the shadows, no longer four inches
but full human height, and two sets of arms whisked Alby from the
air and into their embrace. Deliah, Winston's fiancé and Baird
House's own fairy occupant, swung the boy fully into her arms,
freeing her queen, Blue, to fly and hover to Lachlan's
right.

"Die!" Cuttstone roared, and
lunged at Lachlan.

"No' likely," Lachlan
growled and surged forward.

Beth Staples came to an
abrupt halt at the bottom of the basement steps when her eyes
zoomed in on two men locked in a deadly struggle across the room.
She was oblivious to the other occupants. Fear riveted her
attention on the combatants, the hammering of her heart deafening
her to all other sound. A red, pulsing aura surrounded them,
growing brighter as seconds passed. Her mind couldn't decide
whether Lachlan was somehow dead again or if Cuttstone had somehow
learned to use the energies in the gray domain.

Neither prospect was
bearable but one or the other had to be fact. How else could the
men be grappling so fiercely?

"Beth!"

Startled, Beth blinked and
found herself staring into Blue's troubled gaze. "What's
happening?"

Blue glanced at the men.
"The Phantom is nearly solid."

"How?" Beth
gasped.

"Go to your
children—"

"Jondee's with them. Can't
you do something?"

"Magic could complicate the
situation."

"Die!" Cuttstone roared, the
sound blasting off the rock walls.

"Do something!" Beth
wailed.

"We must trust in
Lachlan."

An electrical tremor coursed
through Beth. "I won't lose him again!"

She pushed past Blue,
determined to reach Lachlan, determined to save him whatever the
cost.

"Aunt Beth!" Alby cried,
alerting the others in time for Winston and Deliah to jump into her
path, stopping her. Winston's strong grip held fast, not even
lessening when she smacked him open-handedly on the chest, her
frenzied concern for Lachlan overriding her reasoning.

Sharp intakes of breath rang
out when Lachlan swung an arm about Cuttstone's neck. Instead of
enclosing solidity, his arm passed through and the force of his
action sent him toppling to the floor.

"Lachlan!" Beth cried,
struggling to escape Winston's hold.

She stopped cold when
Cuttstone's crazed-brightened eyes speared hers. He came at her,
lips curled back like a rabid animal, foamy spit spewing between
his clenched teeth.

Time slipped into a still
frame, he alone moving and at a speed inhumanly fast. Beth had
thought fear could never touch her again since her return from the
afterworld. In death, she had learned to love and survive against
what some would deem impossible odds. The meek Beth who had first
come to Scotland, the Beth whose guilt over her mother's death had
rendered her an emotional cripple, was a distant memory.

The woman she was now would
not die without a fight, would not surrender her children, her
lover, her life, without challenging the whims of fate.

The still frame shifted.
Cuttstone was but a blur coming at her, his clawed hands stretching
out for her throat. From far away, Beth heard Roan release a feral
sound. Wings fluttered close by. Winston was in the process of
stepping between her and The Phantom when another blur rammed into
the frothing killer, both bodies hitting the floor.

Beth blinked, clearing her
vision. To her disbelief, Laura straddled Cuttstone. Her fingers in
his hair, she slammed his head repeatedly against the
floor.

"Laura!" Roan boomed, and
swung her off the killer. She fought him, as if infected with the
same rage that motivated Cuttstone.

Cuttstone rolled and
scrambled to his feet, his back to Lachlan, who rose behind him,
hunched in a predatory pose. Cuttstone snarled. His hands swiped
the air as if his mind couldn't lock onto which target he wanted
most. Before he could decide, Lachlan spun him around and drove an
uppercut into his jaw. Cuttstone fell backward, momentarily
stunned.

"Lachlan, behind you!" Beth
cried.

He glanced over his shoulder
and staggered around as a pinpoint of light grew larger by the
moment.

"Oh, my God!" cried a
feminine voice on the stairs.

Beth cast a brief look in
that direction. Laura's mother stood huddled on the steps, her eyes
ludicrously wide.

Guttural sounds issuing from
deep in his throat, Cuttstone swayed to his feet. His face
contorted in fear and resentment as he glared at the widening
aperture.

"Get back!" Lachlan ordered
the others, gripping Cuttstone's arm with both hands.

Everyone complied, Beth
reluctantly in Winston's hold, and Stephen Miles, who stared
incredulously at the portal that now covered one wall.

With a snarl that boiled up
from the roiling pit of his stomach, Lachlan swung Cuttstone toward
the effulgence. Short of entering it, Cuttstone dug his heels into
the floor and drove an elbow into Lachlan's chest. Lachlan released
an
umph
, the air in
his lungs forced out by the blow. He recovered with the ferocity of
a starving predator locked onto a prey.

Sucking in a roaring breath,
he sprang forward, wound his arms about Cuttstone's chest and
pushed off the balls of his bare feet. Both tumbled into the Light,
becoming swallowed up in the ethereal passage.

"Lachlan!" Beth
wailed.

Stephen Miles stopped his
approach to the portal, just long enough to convey a visual message
of sorrow to the stunned onlookers. Then, he, too, vanished inside
the Light.

In the span of a heartbeat,
the aperture closed.

In shocked denial, Beth
stood frozen, unaware of the others, unaware of anything but the
horrendous grief swelling behind her breast. Next she knew, a
tearful Laura applied a cold, wet cloth to her brow, snapping her
out of her stupor. She was in the parlor, sitting on the settee,
Laura kneeling in front of her. Alby sat curled between her and
Blue, pressed to Beth's side, sobbing, his face buried in his small
hands. Everyone in the household was present, all eyes on her,
their sorrow tangible, oppressive.