Eight
Tara breathed in the sweet scent, and sighed contentedly, curling in closer to the warmth beside her.
The warmth moved. Startled she blinked to wakefulness.
Ki’san pulled the earbuds away, his smile a little contrite. He was sitting up this morning, his back against the headboard. “I did not mean to disturb your rest.”
Suddenly Tara realized her leg was thrown over him, her arm draped over his bare waist. She was practically wrapped around him. He’d probably moved just to get far enough away to breathe.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, scooting back to her own side of the bed. She pushed herself to sitting. “I probably kept you awake with tossing and turning.”
“Did nightmares trouble your rest?” He gave her a puzzled look. “I thought you sleeping well.”
“Is it me—” Her brow creased. “Or are you suddenly a whole lot more fluent?”
“I have studied.” He held up her iPad. “Paris is the City of Light. Jaipur is called ‘the pink city’.”
“You learned that much English in one night?”
“I understood English always,” he rumbled. “It is the making the words of your language. Even now I hear I do not say the words right. You must teach me. Teach me to be better.”
“You don’t need my help. You sound great now.”
“It is your help I need.” His gaze was warm. “It is you I wish to talk to.”
A smile pulled at her mouth until she realized that she was the only one around he could talk to here.
“How are you feeling?” She glanced at his still-pink ribs. “Any more pain?”
“I am healed.” His fanged smile, white against his tan skin, dazzled her for a moment. “And much regret there is no more turtle pie.”
“You’re hungry? There’s plenty in the kitchen.”
She was shy getting up, but he threw the covers off without hesitation and stood. Utterly bare and completely at ease, his movements were inhumanly smooth as he reached for his clothes, the sunlight from the window turning his tanned back golden . . .
He glanced over his shoulder at her just as her gaze reached his buttocks. “Tara?”
“Getting dressed,” she mumbled. “Yes.”
She raced past him to the bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned her forehead against the wood, shutting her eyes.
Maybe there’s a secret passage in the closet. Or even better maybe the floor will open up and swallow me up right now.
But neither offered blessed escape, and Tara had to force herself to make eye contact when she emerged, dressed this time in dark jeans and a chambray shirt. He was waiting for her in the sitting room, dressed again in the brown alien attire and boots.
“Ready for breakfast?” she asked. “I know I am.”
Ki’san’s warm fingertips went under her chin to tilt her face up. “You have painted your face.”
“Oh, I—I just wanted to look nice.”
“You did not wear it before.”
“I didn’t yesterday. I wanted to get back out here before you vanished again.”
As if suddenly aware he was still cupping her chin, he lowered his hand. “I will not vanish.”
“Speaking of vanishing—Did you see Rose last night?”
“The spirit of this house? Yes.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Tara raised her eyebrows. “Seeing ghosts?”
“My world has many ghosts,” he rumbled. “Too many.”
She gave the room an uneasy visual sweep. “Is she here now?”
“No.” He seemed surprised that she’d asked.
“So, what does she do? Does she look around or scowl at us because we’re in her room, or what?”
“I do not think she sees us at all. She comes at the end of night, before dawn. She walks, slowly, through this room to the next and she holds her body—” He held his palms to her chest. “Her eyes are water. Then the sun comes and she is gone.”
“Her eyes are water? What does that mean?”
“Eyes—” His fingertip gently touched the top of her cheekbone, lightly tracing to her jaw. “Water.”
“We call that ‘crying’. She’s crying?”
“Yes.” His brow creased. “Do you cry, Tara?”
“Sometimes. Don’t you?”
“G’hir eyes water when something injures them. We do not cry like humans do.”
“You’re lucky. I wish I never felt bad.”
“We feel.” His eyes flashed. “G’hir feel pain, feel sorrow, feel grief. Our hearts cry; our eyes do not.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you. But the way it sounded—I just misunderstood.”
The storm in his eyes calmed and he gave a stiff nod.
“So Rose—she walks across the room, clutching her chest and crying then she just . . . vanishes?”
He indicated the windows. “When the sun rises.”
“Well I think I know why she’s crying. Her husband married her maid, Leta, days after Rose died—not just a servant but one not even old enough to vote. If women had the vote back then, which they didn’t.” At Ki’san’s puzzled look she explained: “Leta was very young, only seventeen when she married. And if my great-grandmother Leta was a maid here, I bet there was something going on before Rose died.”
His brow creased. “‘Going on’?”
“You know, between Allaster and Leta. They were probably fooling around while Rose was alive.”
His frown deepened.
“I mean,” Tara’s cheeks heated. “They were lovers.”
“But he had a mate—Rose.”
“I’m sure some g’hir men mess around on their wives, right?”
His eyes widened. “No.”
“No? Oh, come on! Some of you have to—”
“No!” his growl was sharp, final.
“So g’hir only marry once and never . . .stray?”
“Never.” He paused. “It is not this way for human males?”
“Some of them stray all over the place. My brother usually has at least two girlfriends he strings along, each hoping for a little blue box from Tiffany’s.”
“A g’hir would make a good mate then.”
“Yeah, but your people only marry once.”
“The males do.”
“What’s she like? I mean . . .” Tara cleared her throat. “Rose. What’s Rose like? I know it sound maudlin but I really want to know. What does she look like?”
“She looks—” Ki’san shrugged. “Like you.”
“Like me?” Then she laughed. “Oh, right. You mean ‘human’.”
“Yes. She is a human, like you.”
“I’d like to see her. I’ve never seen a ghost. Although,” she said as they entered the hall. “Maybe I’ll get to be a ghost too. All the women in the family are supposedly cursed, and I hear that’s a prerequisite for the job.”
“Cursed?”
“Apparently Rose jinxed Leta and all the Douglas women to follow her. You know, the usual—devastating heartbreak, early demise, dry skin in winter. Seems a bit like overkill if you ask me.”
“Why only the females? Are the males of your blood not cursed as well?”
“Yeah, now that I think about it, that is kind of sexist.” She gave a nod as she marched down the stairs. “I’ll call my brother and tell him that it’s only fair he’s cursed too.”
“I am not a Douglas male. But I too will share the burden of your malison.”
“‘Malison’?” She looked round at him from the dining room’s doorway. “Did you read a dictionary last night?”
He blinked alien eyes at her. “Yes.”
“Okay,” she mumbled heading into the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you read a cookbook too?” Her glance weighed the contents of the fridge. “I would judge my cooking to be ‘maladroit’ at best.”
“I learned to cook when young. It is one of the skills a g’hir warrior must master.”
“Why would a warrior need to know how to cook?”
“Meat one has hunted but none can enjoy serves no purpose. Herbs and plants to season cannot be taken from those that are poisonous.” He gave a small smile. “And there is flavor to be considered.”
“Makes me a little nervous. Trying to cook for a gourmand.”
“Then allow me to cook for you.”
“Really?” she said hopefully, then indicated the fridge. “But it’s human food. Will you know how to prepare it?”
“Human nutritional requirements are not so different from g’hir.” He opened a jar of saffron threads and took an appreciative sniff. “Although your seasonings are. And you will be here to guide my use of the equipment.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “Sure.”
Tara watched as he sorted different ingredients by scent, pulling some, asking her about the flavor and use of some of the canned goods. The stove was gas and he had no trouble handling the cooking pots as he managed to simmer sauces, chop and prep. Tara sat on a stool at the kitchen bar, out of the way, breathing in the mouthwatering scents of his cooking, fascinated as he worked.
When he placed the plate in front of her, all she could do for a moment was stare in appreciation.
“This,” she said of the artfully arranged sliced steak, the vegetables and the swirled sauces, “is way too pretty to eat.”
“It is much like a dish favored in the Atali Mountains—the region of Hir where I was born.” He placed another bowl of another sauce at her elbow. “Every family in the high north has their own way of preparing it. This is close to mine. Although we do not have saffron.”
As much as she didn’t want to disturb the beauty of her meal, she couldn’t wait to sample it.
The first bite made her go still.
His brow creased. “Tara?”
“Wow,” she held her hand over her mouth, talking around the mouthful. “This is amazing.”
Ki’san gave her a quick smile and took up his own fork. Tara took her time eating. Surprisingly it seemed to get better with each forkful.
“Okay, now I didn’t make this, so the credit goes to Hannah—” She hopped off the kitchen stool and pulled the cake carrier from the fridge. “But this is one of the wonders of the whole planet.” She placed the carrier on the counter and lifted the lid with a flourish. “Chocolate cake with whipped cream frosting and chocolate ganache topping.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “The scent is ambrosial.”
“And your new vocabulary has just described Tuxedo cake perfectly.” She fetched down dessert plates, cut him a large slice and herself a smaller one. “But wait till you taste it.”
He wound up have two pieces, rumbling happily, and though he sent a longing look at the cake, he declined a third.
“It’ll be here if you change your mind,” Tara promised, putting the carrier back into the fridge. “It’s a beautiful day. It’s too bad we can’t take a walk.”
“I am curious to see your clanhall.” He stood. “It says much about the history of a family.”
“’Clanhall’? Is that what houses like this are called on your world?”
He gave a huffing laugh. “There are no houses like this one on my world. This is a home for few, not many.”
“Few? There are a dozen bedrooms in this house. Plus the attic, but that was the servants’ quarters. They used to bring supplies in through that back door.”
He indicated the other door. “What lies through there?”
“Storage for the linen, locked closets for the silver and such.” She opened the simple door off the kitchen and led him down the hallway. “These rooms used to belong to the housekeeper. That one was her office, where she would meet with the cook and the maids. And through there—” Tara pointed. “Her bedroom. She was one of the few who had her own room. All the others, except the butler and my great-grandfather’s valet, had to share.”
He had to duck his head under the doorway to get inside. “I am glad not all your clanhall is so.”
“These were for the servants’ eyes only.” The nine-foot ceilings were higher than usual but not the soaring majestic heights of the other rooms. “Family and guests would never come into this part of the house. At some point, the housekeeper got to move out of these dinky, dark rooms and took the caretakers’ lodge for herself and her family. The current housekeeper—Hannah—is the granddaughter of the woman who ran the house when it opened—Mrs. O’Neil. Hannah still lives at the cottage with her husband.” Ki’san seemed relieved when they returned to the higher ceilinged kitchen. “In fact,” she continued. “It sounds like Hannah’s daughter and her family will be coming to stay this summer.”
“Will her daughter will serve here too?”
“Maybe.”
Likely Brice would sell Heatherbell when she was gone, but maybe the new owners would keep them on . . .
“And that,” she reminded forcing a bright tone as they walked through the dining room, “is the coat of arms that never belonged to my family in the first place.” She led him across the hall and pushed open the double doors. “This is the parlor.”
His step was light, graceful as a panther as he took in the room with interest.
Two striped silk sofas faced each other in front of the fire with a table between them. Chairs were set about in little groupings, with tables at hand for the serving of tea. The furniture might be set for conversation, but the brocades and silks, the use of marble and heavy curtains made this room about as warm and welcoming as a period room at a museum.
“Just the sort of space for a cozy gathering,” she joked.
“Who is she?” Ki’san indicated the portrait over the marble mantle.
“That’s my great-grandmother,” Tara said, coming to stand beside him. “Leta Douglas.”
She was older in this painting than she had been in the photo on Hannah’s mantle. Long gone were the plain black dress, the starched white apron and cap of a maid; this Leta wore fine, semi-sheer cream silk around her shoulders. That same fabric formed soft, draped sleeves, the bodice and waist of her dress were rich blue silk, and her blue skirt overlaid and softened by a translucent layer of the cream. Her blonde hair was worn up, Gibson-girl style, to show off her long white neck and rounded pink cheeks. Gone too was the pert, secretive smile; here she possessed an aristocratic bearing more befitting a lady at court than a former servant. Leta’s fine-boned face was in three-quarter view, her blue eyes distant, her curved left arm rested on dark blue velvet in a way that pointedly brought attention to her left hand—and her wedding ring.
Ki’san gave the portrait a puzzled frown. “This female cannot be an ancestor of yours.”
“What are you talking about? That’s Leta Douglas, my great-grandmother.”
“She cannot be.”
“I might be a brunette—” Tara held a lock of her long dark hair out for emphasis. “But my twin brother Brice has the same hair color as Leta here, and blue eyes too. She might have been a veritable social mountain climber, but she’s family.”
“I regret any affront to your bloodline.” He inclined his head. “Human heredity may differ from that of the g’hir.”
“Sorry.” Tara’s cheeks heated. “That came out a whole lot more prickly than I intended.”
“I offended you.”
“No,” She sighed. “I’m not upset with you. It’s just—their marriage may have been a scandal but that’s not what bugs me. It’s the secrecy of the whole thing, that my grandfather never mentioned his mother was once a servant here. That no one ever told me about it.”
“Is it not possible that these facts were painful to them? I do not understand the taint of this marriage but if it was a dishonor to your line they would not speak of it to a child.”
“Well, we are a family who likes to keep secrets.” She glanced at the painting. Even Leta’s gaze—steady, practical, fixed on the future—reminded Tara of her own father. Clearly neither of them had ever been overly troubled by sentiment.
“Come on,” She took a step back, away from the shrouds of the past. “I want to show you my favorite room in the house.”
Ki’san followed her to the far end of the parlor and she pushed the doors open.
“Take a look”—she turned on the lights—“at this.”
The soaring oval space, thirty feet by forty feet, had one wall that featured high arched enclaves with French doors leading to the petit gardens, the wall opposite lined with mirrors. The inlaid wood was a masterpiece of Victorian craftsmanship and three crystal chandeliers; the largest of them, set in a medallion at the very center of the room, warmed the cream and gold boiseries of the walls and ceiling. Mimicking eighteenth century style, ladies with rouged cheeks, wide, bright gowns and powdered hair smiled down at them from frescos in the ceiling.
“I have never seen its like.” Empty now save for the cream silk-covered chairs set at intervals along the mirrored side, Ki’san regarded the room with wide eyes. “What is the purpose of it?”
“To remind everyone who’d been to Versailles of the Hall of Mirrors.” She smiled. “But it always reminded me of a carousel. This is where the dances were held. I used to sneak in here as a kid and rollerblade.”
“Rollerblade?”
“Wheeled shoes that you roll on, great fun—especially at night when you’re supposed to be asleep. I must have been nine or ten, every chandelier lit, my nightgown standing in for a princess’s gown. Apparently while some little girls are content to play princess, I had to be a rollerblading princess. Grandpapa caught me mid-twirl”—she moved under one of the smaller chandeliers—“right about here.”
She raised her arms and spun, laughing at Ki’san wide smile. Tara stopped with the ball of her foot and, despite that jeans didn’t lend themselves to the grace of the movement, she curtsied, grinning up at him.
“This was of course, a high crime.” Tara straightened. “Akin only to treason against the Sun King,”
“Then you were much scolded for this great crime?”
“Hey, to be fair the room hasn’t seen a ball or even a party since the nineteen-fifties. It’s not like anyone was using the place, though I did scratch up the floor a bit during my finale. They should have confiscated my skates.” She shrugged. “But I get why they didn’t. I miss doing it though.”
“This hall is yours, is it not? Can you not ‘blade’ here?”
“No I—” Then she grinned. “I guess I could since it’s my house now. And if I still had a pair of rollerblades. But I don’t.”
“Are they something that could be made?” He indicated at her sneakers. “Perhaps from the shoes you wear now?”
“No, they’re more like boots. I might be able to get some rollerblades in Brittle Bridge if they have a sporting goods store there.” She glanced at his feet. “But I’ll have to special order yours.”
“Mine?”
“Well, I’m an adult now. I can’t just go rollerblading in the ballroom by myself.” She folded her arms. “I mean, that’s just crazy talk.”
“Is it simple to learn? This blading?”
“Rollerblading. And I bet you’ll skate circles around me your first time out.”
His fangs flashed in a smile.
“Come on, my laptop is in the library. Let’s figure out what size you’ll need and how quick we can get them here.” As they turned off the center gallery, she could see him following in the glass of the grand foyer’s mirror. He was a head taller than she, his shimmering eyes warm as they met hers in its reflection. “Do they have anything like skating where you come from Ki’san?”
“Miss Douglas?”
Tara gasped as she whirled about. “Hannah!”
Hannah shifted the bags in her arms as she crossed the center gallery from the rear of the house, her glance darting about the grand foyer, the curve of the empty staircase. “Who are you talking to?”
In the reflection in that opulent mirror no one stood behind her now.
How the hell did he—?
“Myself.” Tara wet her lips. “I’m . . . running lines.”
Hannah’s brow creased. “Running ‘lines’?”
“Yes. I’ve . . . decided to devote myself to the theater. Running lines is what we—theater people, I mean—call rehearsing.”
“I had no idea you were an actress!” The housekeeper’s expression was a mixture of interest and relief. “What play are you rehearsing for?”
“Which—? It’s new. Very new. Actually. I’m producing it. It’s called . . . ‘The Disappearing Guest’.” Oh, that is godawful! She’ll never believe— “It’s a working title, naturally.” She gave an airy wave. “We’ll probably go with something a little more splashy. And sophisticated.”
And believable.
“Well, you’re very good. Sounded very natural, like you were really talking to someone.”
“Thanks,” Tara smiled weakly. “I’ve had an excellent coach.”
“You’ll have to put up some tickets for us so me and William to cheer you on.”
“Of course.” She nodded. “I’d love to have you there.”
“I ran down to the Harris Teeter,” Hannah pivoted a bit, letting the butterfly logo on the bag she carried show. “So I best get everything inside and let you get back to it.” The housekeeper winked. “Break a leg.”
“Let me help you.” Tara dashed forward across the center gallery to take one of the bags. “In fact, I’ll get the door.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
The kitchen was unoccupied. A glance revealed the dining room was too.
“I dropped in this morning, thought I should go ahead get you stocked up again,” Hannah said. “It looks like you finished everything I sent you home with yesterday.”
“You were in the house this morning?” Tara set her bag on the counter. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Well, you said you were sleeping in and I didn’t want to wake you.” The housekeeper glanced her over as she unpacked. “I’m glad to see your appetite’s back. Must be all the rehearsing.”
Even at five-eight and half Tara had never weighed more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds in her life, and she likely was five down from that now. No one would believe she had eaten two pies by herself. Hannah and William were handling the trash too, she couldn’t say that she was tossing it either.
“New medicine,” Tara blurted. “It’s a side effect. It—uh—revs up the metabolism like you wouldn’t believe. I can eat all day long and not gain an ounce.”
“I’d like to get some of that myself.” Hannah sent a regretful look at her wide hips. “What’s it called? Can my doctor here get it?”
“It’s experimental, only available in Switzerland right now.”
“That’s a pity.” Hannah sighed. “What with summer coming. Well, hopefully they’ll approve it here soon.”
“Yeah, well, that where all the food’s going. You know, me, eating a lot. Speaking of summer, you know what you and William need before everyone gets here?” Tara clapped her hands together. “A vacation.”
“A vacation?” Hannah stared. “But Miss Douglas, we could hardly leave you on your own when—” Whatever she intended to stay vanished in a flush of her rounded cheeks. “I mean, you couldn’t possibly manage a house this size by yourself. And then there’s the gardens and the outbuildings and the follies . . .”
“Look—I could really use some time alone.”
The housekeeper stiffened. “It isn’t our intention to disturb you, Miss Douglas.”
“You aren’t! I just—I’m here to handle things on my own. My life . . . it hasn’t been like other people’s.”
From the look on Hannah’s face, standing here in Heatherbell, with the Douglas name and fortune behind her like a wall wasn’t winning Tara any sympathy.
Outside looking in is a hell of a lot different than inside looking out.
“You know what I see when I see you and William together?” Tara’s throat was tight. “I see something precious—time. I’d give it all to have what you’ve had, what you have now.”
“Oh,” Hannah’s lips trembled a little. “Miss Tara I’m so—”
“Don’t say it! Just don’t, okay?” She pushed her hair back. “Just take William and head out someplace great, go dancing on the beach. Enjoy yourselves and give me a couple days to—” Hot tears stung her eyes. “Have a little of what you two have had.”
Hannah softened. “My sister has a place in the Outer Banks she lets us use. Let me get the rest of the groceries inside and I’ll go tell William.”
He was waiting for her in Rose’s bedroom.
“That was really damn close!” Tara shut the door behind her. She’d waited downstairs until Hannah left and made sure the housekeeper’s feet were firmly on the path back to the caretaker’s lodge before racing up the stairs.
Ki’san stood by the partly closed curtains, his eyes glowing from the shadows. “Your servant has gone?”
“I sent her and William away—”
“You must leave too. You must gather your things and leave this house this hour. Now.”
“Wait, what?” She shook her head. “Are you saying you don’t want me here?”
“When you have gone—” His face turned toward the window. “I will return to my ship. I will await my people there.”
“Oh.” Her stomach sank. “If you don’t want to stay here . . . if you want to go—”
“I must go.” Ki’san stepped forward to catch her hands in his. “I do not know when my people will come but you—you must return to Newyork. You cannot not stay in this house any longer.”
“You can go if you want to.” Tara pulled her hands out of his grasp. “But you sure as hell don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I do not have that right.” His cheeks were ashen. “But I will not leave you alone within these walls. Within these walls of such evil and death.”
“What are you talking about?” She shook her head again. “What, because of the resident ghost? I’m not leaving because of a spirit I’ve never even seen!”
“Will you not do this?” His bright gaze was wild. “Will you not leave this place because I ask it of you?”
“I don’t even know why you’re asking.”
“If you will not go . . .” He shut his eyes for a moment. “Then there is something you must see. I pray to the All Mother that when you have seen for yourself, you will go.”
“See what?” She frowned. He was armed now, the weapon tucked into a hip holster. “What is it?”
He pressed to open the panel in the wall. He had his portable light in hand and activated it, imploring her with a glance to follow him inside.
“You want to show me something in the gentleman’s suite?” Taking another stroll through that narrow, dark and dusty corridor was hardly appealing and Tara indicated the doors behind her. “Hannah left. We don’t have to go through the passage. We can just walk down the hall to get there.”
“No, we cannot. It is not that way.”
“What do you mean ‘it’s not that way’? Is there’s another hallway in there? One that doesn’t go to the gentleman’s suite, but somewhere else?”
“Below, when your servant—Hannah—entered the hall. I fled through the former rooms of the keeper of this house—”
“The other passage comes up here from downstairs? Jesus, how many secret passages does this place have?”
“I followed from the first level and—” He waved her forward. “But if you will not go from this house on my word, you must see. When you have seen, you will go.”
Once they were inside the passage she tried to close the panel behind them and he caught her wrist.
“No. You must be able to see your way back if we are separated.”
“Hey, can I be danger-loving Daphne?” He frowned at her, and Tara gave back a nervous smile. “Sorry. I spent a lot of my childhood in bed with a remote in my hand. Look, I hate to ruin the mystery but we already know the identity of the evil real estate developer—it was my great-grandfather, Allaster Douglas.”
At the end of the passage, where off to the right lay the gentleman’s quarters, he stopped. Ki’san pressed his palm against another part of the wall on the left. He shone his light that way.
“A staircase?” Tara frowned. There were footprints in the dusty stairs, and from the size of them they could only have been Ki’san’s. “And this goes to the housekeeper’s quarters?”
“No.” His mouth was a grim line. “It does not.”
“Let me guess,” she muttered as they descended. “They put in a humidity-controlled dungeon-slash-wine cellar.”
“Do not be afraid.” His bright gaze met hers. “I would not bring you here if there were danger.”
“If there’s no danger, then why the hell do you want me to leave the house?”
“You are safe while I am here.” His face was troubled. “But I do not know when my people will come for me. I cannot refuse to go when they do. I will not have you here, alone, after I have gone.”
At the bottom of the stairs was a real, full sized door. Tara’s eyes widened as Ki’san’s push swung it open on its creaking hinges.
“A bedroom?” From the dust and cobwebs this room hadn’t been touched in decades but the furniture was all in place. The bed still had its covers. Flowers, long since crumbled to gray dust, once sat in china vases on the tables. The two dusty armchairs sat before the small brick fireplace that had once cheered the space.
The windows were wide but high up on the wall. Standing on tiptoe Tara could see out over the garden.
“I’m trying to think of where these would be along the back of the house . . .” But the château was so big, with so many windows, it would be easy to overlook these even if one was used to the place. She certainly had never noticed from outside that there were windows that led to no room or hallway she knew.
“What’s through there?” Tara asked, already heading to open another nearby door, revealing an en-suite bathroom, complete with clawfoot tub and pull cord WC. She shook her head. “Okay, admittedly this is all pretty weird. But, look, if Allaster were messing around with the maid this would be the perfect set up for their liaison. He could tottle off to his bedroom upstairs, sneak down here to meet Leta and be back in his own bed—all before his valet brought coffee and the newspaper in the morning.”
“The scents here are old,” he growled. “Confused. I cannot say if they are male or female, or how many.”
“Ki’san, if there’s a connection to the upstairs passage, why didn’t you see—or smell—this room when we were in there before? You could smell your way to the green bedroom.”
“There was no scent of outdoors, of fresh air, to guide me. No sunlight behind the upstairs door to mark it out to my eyes. This way smelled only of wood and dust to me.”
“Well, that certainly makes sense. And it’s not like I would have ever found it.” She folded her arms. “So what about this dusty little love nest is supposed to have me packing my bags and willing to fly into LaGuardia?”
In response Ki’san lifted the corner of the bedclothes and threw them aside.
“What—” Tara took a step forward, her gaze on the ragged, rust color than ran from the center to the very foot of the yellowed sheets. “What is that?”
“A scent I can decipher.” His face was grim. “Human blood.”
She froze. “How do you know what human blood smells like?”
“You cut your hand, in the medical bay of the ship. I treated you.” He frowned. “Do you not recall?”
“You’re right, I did.” She shook her head. “Sorry, this has me pretty rattled. Do you think . . . do you think someone was killed here?”
Ki’san’s gaze swept the bed. “I do not think any human could lose so much blood as this and survive.”
“So someone died here and . . . No, she didn’t.” Her wide gaze went to the ceiling, toward the lavish rooms above this one. “She made it upstairs, didn’t she? That’s why when you see her she’s holding her chest, why she’s crying. Someone murdered her, murdered Rose.”
“Her spirit wanders.” He shook his head. “I cannot say why.”
“We’d need a DNA test to know who this belongs to. I don’t think any work on something this old.”
“If the Karnack had full power I could test it, but it does not.”
“You could test it? Is that something that warriors learn how to do too?”
“I am not a warrior.”
“I thought—you said downstairs that cooking was something a warrior—”
“But I did not pass the final test. I cannot claim that name.” His gaze was wary. “I chose instead to leave the clanhall of my enclosure. I applied myself instead to the healing arts.”
“The healing—you’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
Tara covered her mouth, but the high pitched half-hysterical laugh escaped anyway. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I just thought, if there was one thing I was done with it was doctors.” She sent a weak wave at the door opposite from the tiny wooden staircase. “That goes down to the housekeeper’s rooms?”
“No. I thought to go to the Karnack, conceal myself there until nightfall, then I scented the doorway.”
“You mean it comes up here from outside in the garden? Show me.”
“Your servants—”
“Right. Show me after they’ve left.” She shook her head. “Most families have skeletons in the closet. We don’t even have closets; we have passages. With bodies.”
“There is no body.”
“No, just blood.” Tara shivered. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”