Chapter 20

“J ulia!”

Simon cried out when he saw his daughter sprawled on top of the gardener’s corpse.

Her black hair had fallen over her face. He brushed it back gently, his hand trembling, loud sobs escaping his throat.

Dead. She was dead.

So pale. Her face was locked in a grimace of terror, her lifeless eyes wide. Dried blood was caked over her nose and chin.

“Noooooooo!” The howl erupted from Simon. It echoed against the dark walls of the grave he had opened.

He gaped in horror at his daughter. Her fingernails were torn and bloodied. Simon saw long scratch marks along the inside of the coffin lid.

Buried alive, he realized. Julia was buried alive.

The wind howled above him. He gazed up at the sliver of pale moon. He couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

“Who?” he cried, scrambling out of the hole, scrabbling over the soft dirt, his arms thrashing wildly. “Who did this? Who?”

Back up on solid ground, he staggered toward the house. “Who did this? Who murdered my daughter?”

He tossed the cloak to the ground and began to run.

The house loomed ahead, a dark blur. The whole world had become a dark blur.

Moments later he stood in the kitchen, struggling to catch his breath, struggling to stop the painful pounding of his heart.

“Mrs. MacKenzie! Mrs. MacKenzie!” he screamed frantically. Where was she? Where was everyone?

He grabbed on to a sideboard to keep himself from collapsing.

Something near his hand caught his attention.

A long sheet of paper with scribbled words down one side. Scribbled names.

The servant’s list.

The newly written name at the bottom of the list, the ink still dark and fresh.

LUCY GOODE.

“Nooooooooooo!” A wild animal howl erupted from deep inside him.

“Not a Goode! Not a Goode in my house!”

Simon truly believed the Goodes had vanished from the earth. He believed he had killed the last of them—Frank Goode—back in Wickham when he was still a boy.

He believed that the curse had ended that long-ago day. That no member of the Goode family could ever threaten the Fears again.

And now here was a Goode hiding in his own household, carrying on the evil of the Goodes against the Fears— murdering his Julia!

“Nooooooo!” Simon grasped the silver pendant tightly in one hand. He felt its warmth, felt its power.

His rage carried him into the front parlor.

He picked out a sword from the new collection of war relics. He waved it high. It gleamed in the light from the gas lamps.

He followed the sword’s gleam.

Running frantically, bellowing his rage, Simon followed the glow of the sword through the house.

I will find her. I will find Lucy Goode!

I will put an end to the evil she has brought to my house, to my family!

“Simon! What are you doing! Simon!”

Was that Angelica calling to him from the stairway?

He did not slow down. He followed the glowing sword. Glowing like a torch now. Glowing with the heat of his vengeance.

“Simon—stop!”

Angelica sounded so far away.

I will find her. I will find the maid—

There she stood!

A bright blurred figure walking toward him, beyond the blinding glow of the sword blade.

Yes! He had found her!

Yes!

The maid. The Goode. A Goode walking in his very own hallway.

“Simon— stop!” Angelica called.

But Simon could not stop.

He lowered the gleaming sword.

The girl shrieked and threw her hands up in terror.

He had her. He had her now.

The sword glowed so brightly, so brightly he could see only its light.

“Simon— stop! Stop!” Angelica screamed.

But Simon plunged the sword deep into the maid’s chest.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20