Dark Prince - Feehan Christine - Страница 38
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“That’s an interesting assessment, child, and I must say, I know what you mean. I’ve seen the very same thing in him. Taking his shadows away.” He repeated the words aloud, musing over them. “That’s it exactly.”
Raven nodded. “Like he’s seen too much violence, too many terrible things, and it’s pulled him deeper and deeper into darkness. When I’m close to him I can feel that. He stands like a guardian in front of some evil, malevolent gate and holds monsters at bay so the rest of us can go about our lives and never know we were even threatened.”
Father Hummer’s breath caught in his throat. “Is that how you see him? A guardian of the gate?” Raven nodded. “It’s an image very vivid in my mind. I know it probably sounds melodramatic to you.”
“I wish I could have said those very words to him myself,” the priest said softly. “Many times he has come here seeking comfort, yet I never knew exactly what to say. I prayed God would send help to him to find his answer, Raven, and perhaps he sent you.”
She was trembling, constantly fighting the torment in her head, the need to touch Mikhail, the idea that he might be gone from Earth. Raven took a deep, calming breath, grateful for the priest. “I don’t think I’m God’s answer to anything, Father. Right now I want to curl up into a little ball and cry.”
“You can do this, Raven. You know he lives.”
Raven sipped at the tea. It was hot and delicious. It put some warmth back into her insides, but it could never hope to heat the terrible emptiness, ice cold and grasping, that was devouring her soul. Slowly, inch by inch, that black hole was growing.
She tried to concentrate on other things, to enjoy her conversation with this man who knew and respected, even had great affection for, Mikhail. Raven took another drink of tea, struggling desperately to hang on to her sanity.
“Mikhail is an extraordinary man,” Father Hummer said, hoping to distract her. “He is one of the most gentle men I have ever met. His sense of right and wrong is tremendous. He has a will of iron.”
“I’ve seen that,” Raven acknowledged.
“I’ll bet you have. Mikhail is a man few would want to have as an enemy. But he is also loyal and caring. I saw him restore this very village nearly single-handedly after a disaster once. Every person in it is important to him. There is a greatness in Mikhail.”
She had drawn up her knees and was rocking back and forth. Breathing was so difficult, each separate breath was agony to draw into her lungs. Mikhail! Where are you?The cry was wrenched from her heart. She needed him, just once, to answer, to touch her. Just once.
Black emptiness yawned back at her. Deliberately she bit down hard on her lower lip, welcoming the pain, concentrating on it. She was strong! She had a brain. Whatever was consuming her, convincing her that she could not bear to go on without Mikhail, would not defeat her. It was not real.
Abruptly Father Hummer got to his feet, then drew her up beside him. “Enough, Raven. Let’s go outside, tend my garden. Once you feel the dirt on your hands, breathe in the fresh air, you will feel so much better.” If that didn’t work, he would have no choice but to fall to his knees and pray.
Raven managed laughter through her tears. “When you touch me, Father, I know what you’re thinking. Is a priest supposed to hate getting down on his knees?”
He released her as if she had burned him, then began to laugh himself. “At my age, my dear, with my arthritis, I feel much more like swearing than praying when I kneel. And you have uncovered one of my greatest secrets.”
In spite of everything, they both laughed softly as they went out into the morning sunlight. Raven’s eyes watered, protesting the glare. She had to close her eyes against the pain slicing right through her head. She clapped her hand over her eyes. “The sun is so bright! I can hardly see and it hurts to open my eyes. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Mikhail may have left a pair of sunglasses here. He tends to do that sort of thing when he loses a chess match.”
The priest rummaged through a drawer, returning with a pair of dark glasses, specially crafted for Mikhail. The frames were too large for her face, but Father Hummer fastened them with a band. Slowly Raven opened her eyes. The frames were surprisingly light considering just how dark the lenses were. The relief to her eyes was instantaneous.
“These are great. I don’t recognize the name.”
“One of Mikhail’s friends makes them.”
The garden was beautiful. Raven sank down and buried her hands in the rich, dark soil. Her fingers curled around its richness. Something heavy eased in her heart, allowed a little more air into her laboring lungs. She had an urge to lie down full length in the fertile bed, to close her eyes and absorb the earth into her skin.
It was Father Hummer’s garden that got her through the long hours of the morning. The noonday sun sent her seeking the sanctuary of his cottage. Even with the protection of glasses, Raven’s eyes burned, watered, ached in the power of the sun. Her skin seemed ultrasensitive, burning and reddening fast, although she had never sunburned before.
They retreated together and managed two chess games, one interrupted while Raven concentrated on fighting her private demons. She was grateful for Father Hummer’s presence, uncertain she could have survived her separation from Mikhail. Without him. She drank herbal tea to counteract the terrible weakness in her body from lack of food.
The afternoon hours seemed endless. Raven managed to stave off the yawning emptiness with only a few bouts of weeping. By five o’clock she was exhausted and determined that for her own pride she had to manage the last couple of hours on her own. Mikhail would call for her in two hours, three at the most, if he had spoken the truth. If Raven was to live with herself, recover any of her independence and dignity, she had to face those last hours alone.
Even with the sun so much lower in the sky and clouds beginning to move across the horizon, sunlight still hurt her eyes despite the dark glasses. Without them, she would never have made it through the village streets back to the inn.
Fortunately the inn was relatively quiet. Mrs. Galvenstein and her people were in the midst of preparing dinner and setting up the dining room. None of the other guests were present, so Raven was able to escape unnoticed to her room.
She took a long shower, allowing the hot water to beat on her body, hoping it would drive out her terrible need for Mikhail. She braided her damp, blue-black hair into a long, thick tail and lay down on her bed without a stitch on. The cool air fanned her skin, hot from the shower, traveled over her, soothing her. Raven closed her eyes.
She became aware of the sound of pottery chinking together as the tables were set. Without conscious thought she latched onto that. It seemed a good way to keep misery and grief at bay, to explore this new capability. Raven found that with a little concentration she could turn the volume down low, even off, or she could hear insects beating their wings in the pantry. There was the sound of mice scurrying around in the walls, a few in the attic.
The cook and the maid argued briefly over the maid’s duties. Mrs. Galvenstein hummed off key in the kitchen as she worked. Whispers drew Raven’s attention, the whispers of conspirators.
“There is no way Mikhail Dubrinsky or Raven Whitney are undead,” Margaret Summers was saying hotly. “He may know these people, but he isn’t a vampire.”
“We have to go now.” That was Hans. “We won’t get another chance like this again. We can’t wait for the others. I have no intention of waiting until dark.”
“It’s already too late.” Jacob’s voice was whiny. “Only a couple of hours until the sun goes down. It will take an hour just to get there.”
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