Shadow's Edge

38

Jenna found the button on the armrest that operated the tinted black window. The smell of sodden grass and rain-cleansed country night invaded the warm, dimly lit interior of the limousine as the window silently retracted. She leaned out to stare in wonder at the ten-foot hewn stone walls, the bank of security cameras, the razor-sharp barbed wire artfully concealed beyond the gates by the grove of ficus trees, their gleaming dark foliage trimmed to precisely the right height.

“It looks like a fortress,” she said, awed. The rough stone walls fell away from the main gate in either direction for as far as the eye could see, fading into murk as they marched away from the floodlights. “What are you trying to keep out?”

“The world and all its secrets and misery,” Christian replied softly, his voice a languid caress from the front of the sedan.

He reclined, long legs sprawled casually before him, against the seat behind the driver. He faced her and Morgan, who sat together on the long, leather seat at the rear. The smoked glass window between the main compartment and the driver was rolled up, flaring into a dark corona around Christian’s head as it caught the lamplight from the windows and reflected it back.

His face was swathed in shadow, but the sheen of his perfect, white teeth glinted as he smiled. Even through the darkness, she felt the particular heat of his stare and felt a twinge of panic. Was she insane for coming here? Were these Ikati going to eat her alive? But then she was distracted by Morgan, muttering under her breath beside her.

“It’s more like what we’re trying to keep in.” She shifted her weight on the seat next to Jenna and crossed her slender arms over her chest.

Jenna frowned. The closer to Sommerley, the more morose Morgan grew. She snuck a peek at Morgan, who stared out the other window, stiff and pale-faced, her lips pursed.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” Morgan replied ominously, still looking away.

A squawk of static from outside startled her. The driver spoke into a microphone box mounted on a slender post beside the driveway. The static cleared to a tinny voice then an electronic clink as the iron gates were automatically unlocked.

The gates swung slowly inward past the stone gatehouse, its black windows staring out like empty eyes. The limousine rolled forward.

Sommerley manor was as she remembered from the images snatched from Leander’s mind, only it loomed far more vast and intimidating now that she was standing on the white gravel of the circular drive, oblivious to the liveried servant—Ikati, she sensed, like the driver—who stood slightly bent at the waist as he held the door open behind her.

It was intimidating, and also exceedingly beautiful.

Here were manicured gardens jeweled with raindrops and edged with groomed borders of fragrant herbs, burbling alabaster fountains and statues of nudes, an enormous rounded portico with marble Palladian columns washed in deep umber from spotlights hidden in shrubs beneath. Behind the sprawling main house stretched wild, deep vales shrouded in gray-blue mists that wound in thick fingers and curls to a dark horizon beyond. The forest.

The moon was an ivory pearl in the sky, casting her pallid glow over everything.

Serenaded by crickets sawing and frogs croaking and the crunch of gravel underfoot, they were led inside by the white-gloved servant through iron-studded doors twice the height of a man, and Jenna couldn’t help but gasp at what lay within.

She was astounded from the moment she stepped through the doors, hammered by beauty and voices and echoing footsteps, Christian and Morgan ahead and the servant behind, the confusion of a dozen different exotic perfumes in her nose at once, dazzled by the silk-covered walls and baroque vaulted ceilings and chandeliers sparkling in icy cold brilliance overhead.

The sheen of parquet floors was interrupted constantly by thick Persian rugs, a marble fireplace burned bright in every room they passed, Chinese porcelain and cut-crystal bowls filled with fragrant peonies and masses of orchids adorned marquetry tables, a vast drawing room was lavished in gold. Clocks ticked and fabrics rustled and voices murmured from deep within the labyrinth of the mansion, and always the potent reminder of the creatures that walked the halls of this magical place:

There were statues of panthers—slinking and hunting and prowling in polished onyx, marble, and bronze—everywhere.

“Please allow me to lead you to your chambers, Lady Jenna.”

Another liveried servant was speaking to her, bowing at the waist while he kept his gaze down and gestured toward dual winding staircases that climbed to the second floor. He also exuded the fine, humming power of Ikati, and Jenna guessed everyone at Sommerley was, even the servants. Judging by how Morgan spoke of Others, humans would be the last creatures invited here.

“Oh, please,” she said to the bowing man, “you can just call me Jenna.”

This seemed to startle him, though he recovered quickly, blinking just fast enough to let her know this was a most unusual request. “Yes, madam, if it pleases you,” he murmured, then glided silently away toward the stairs.