Affair

Midnight: London Kathleen woke up in the early hour before dawn. Whatever the cause she opened her eyes abruptly and sat up straight in her bed. It was the housekeeper's off. Her stepfather Melchor never came home early these days. Kathleen knew that she and her sister Kershielee should be alone in the house. But someone had just climbed the staircase and went down the hall. She tossed aside the covers and stood, shivering on the cold floor. For a moment, she did not know what to do next. She opened the door a few inches and two figures hovered in the dense shadows at the front of Kershielee's door. One of the men held a candle. The light revealed Melchor's thick, dissipated features. "Be quick about it," Melchor said in a slurred growl. "And then be on your way. It's almost dawn." "But I wish to enjoy this rare pleasure. It's my opportunity to savor a genuine virgin descended from such excellent bloodlines. Fourteen, did you say? A good age, Melchor." "Are you insane?" Melchor hissed. "You owe me great deal of money. Settle the debt by allowing me few minutes with my very expensive little innocent." "Impossibe!" Melchor muttered. "The older girl's just down the hall. She's a b***h. If you wake her there's no telling what she'll do." "That's your problem not mine. You are the master in this household. You should deal with her." "What am I going to do?" "Lock her in her room. I don't care how you do it, just see to it that she does not interfere with my pleasures." Kathleen went to her room and held a pistol without any bullet in it. Driven by instinct, she raised it with deliberate precision, just as though it were fully loaded, and c****d it. Melchor halted a few inches away and said "Put down the pistol." "Get out!" Kathleen focused on the monster with the black greatcoat. "Both of you. Out now!" "Come Melchor," the monster said soflty. "Let us be off. She means to put a bullet into one of us. No virgin is worth this much." "But you promised to disregard by debts if I give Kershielee to you." Melchor said. "I'm sure you will come up with some means on how to repay me." Kathleen kept the pistol trained on the stranger as he went down the stairs. She leaned over the banister and watched over as he opened the front door. To her horror, he paused and looked at her. "Do you believe in destiny, Miss Arkendale?" "I don't concern myself with such matters." "Pity. You are one of the rare persons with the power to shape it, you need to pay more attention to that." "Leave." "Farewell Miss Arkendale. It's been amusing." With a last swirl of his greatcoat, the monster was gone. Kathleen was able to breathe again. She turned back to Melchor. "You too leave, or I shall pull the trigger." "Do you know what you've done? I owe him a lot." "I don't care! You're a monster who feeds an innocent child to the beast." "You can't throw me from my own house. I'm your stepfather." "You're a liar and also a thief. You stole the inheritance that my father left for Kershielee." "That money became mine when I married your mother." "Leave." Melchor opened his mouth then closed it abruptly. He stared helplessly with the pistol and then, with an anguished groan, he hastened toward the staircase. Clutching the banister for rail support, he went down the hall and let himself out. Kathleen took several deep breathes and lowered the pistol. Kershielee's door opened. "Kathleen? I heard voices. Are you alright?" "Yes." Kathleen held the empty pistol behind so that her sister would not see it. She turned slowly and smiled. "Yes, I am fine Kershielee. Melchor came home drunk, as usual. We argued a bit. He will not be back tonight." Kershielee was very quiet for a moment. "I wish mama was still here. Sometimes I am frightened in this house." Kathleen felt a sting in her eyes. "Me too. But we'll be soon free. In fact, we're going to Yorkshire tomorrow." In the year since their mother's death in a riding accident, Melcor sold off the best pieces of the Arkendale jewels and most of the larger silver items in order to pay his mounting gaming debts. Kathleen hid a number of small rings, brooches and a pendant. During the past few months she pawned it. Kershielee looked up. "Do you think we shall enjoy Yorkshire?" "It would be lovely. We'll find a small cottage to rent." "But how will we live?" Even at a tender age of 14 Kershielee displayed an amazing practical streak. "The money you got from Mama's things will not last long." Kathleen hugged her. "Don't be afraid I shall think of another way to make a living." But in the morning, everything changed. Lord Melchor was found dead floating facedown, his throat slit. It was assumed that he was a victim of footpad. There was no longer reason to escape but there was still a need for Kathleen to invent a career for herself. She received the news of Melchor's death with vast relief. But she knew that she would never forget the monster with compellingly beautiful voice that she had encountered along the hall. Midnight: The coast of Italy, two years later "So, in the end you chose to betray me." Morgan Judd spoke from the doorway of the ancient stone chamber that served his laboratory. "A pity. You and I have much in common, St. Ives. Together we could have forged an alliance that would have brought us both wealth and power. A great waste of grand destiny. But, then, you don'y believe in destiny, do you?" Edgar St. Ives clenched his fingers fiercely around the notebook that he had just discovered. He turned to face Morgan. Women considered Judd to be endowed with the countenance of a fallen angel. His black hair curled naturally in the stylish manner of a romantic poet. It framed a high, intelligent brow and eyes the blue of glacial ice. Morgan's voice would have belonged to Lucifer himself. It was the voice of a man who had sung in the choir, read poetry aloud to enthralled listeners, and charmed high-ranking ladies to bed. It was a rich, dark, compelling voice, a voice shaded with subtle meanings and unspoken promises. It was a voice of passion and Morgan used it, as he did everything and everyone, to achieve his own ends. His bloodlines were as blue as the ice in his eyes. They flew from one of the England's most noble families. But his elegant, aristocratic mien belied the true circumstances of his birth. Morgan Judd was a bastard. It was one of the two things Edgar could say they truly had in common. The other was a fascination with chemistry. "Destiny is for romantic poets and writers of novels." Edgar pushed his gold wire spectacles in his nose. "I'm a man of science. I have no interest in such metaphysical nonesense. All I know is that it is possible for a man to sell his soul to a devil. Why did you do it, Morgn?" "You speak of the compact that I made with Napoleon?" Morgan's sensual mouth curved faintly in cold amusement. He took two steps into the shadowy chamber and halted. The folds in his black cloak swirled around the tops of his gleaming boots in a manner that reminded Edgar of the wings of a large bird of prey. "Yes." Edgar said. "I refer to your bargain." "There's no mystery in my decision. I do what must be done to fulfill my destiny." "You would betray your country for this?" "I owe nothing to England and neither do you." "Have you consigned your great honor as well as your native land to hell?" "St. Ives, you amaze me. When will you learn that honor is a sport designed to amuse men who are born on the right side of the blanket?" Time had run out Edgar. There was nothing left to loose. In desperation, Edgar seized the heavy candle stand. He hurled it, together with the flaring taper, toward the nearest clutching workbench. The iron stand and the candle crashed into the glass flank, shattering it instantly. The pale green fluid inside splashed out across the workbench and flapped at the still-burning flame. The spilled liquid ignited with a deadly rush. "No." Morgan screamed. "Damn you, St. Ives." He pulled the trigger but his attention was on the spreading fire, not his aim. The bullet slammed into the window behind Edgar. One of the small panel exploded. Edgar ran toward the door, with the notebook in his hands. "How dare you attempt to interfere with my plans?" Morgan scooped a green glass bottle of a nearby shelf and spun around to block Edgar's path. "You bloody fool. You can not stop me." "The fire is spreading quickly. Run, for God's sake." But Morgan ignored the warning. Features twisted in rage, he dashed the contents of the green bottle straight at Edgar. Acting on instinct, Edgar covered his eyes with his arm and turned away. The acid struck his shoulder and back. For a second he felt nothing except a curiously cold sensation. It was as if he had been doused with water. But in the next instant, the chemicals finished eating through his linen shirt and seared his bare skin. Morgan lounged for a drawer, opened it, and produced a second pistol. He whirled toward Edgar and squinted to aim the weapon through the growing pall of vapors. Edgar felt as if his skin was being peeled off in strips. Through a growing haze of smoke and pain he saw the path to the door was already blocked by towering flames. There would be no escape in that direction. "Damn you." Morgan staggered to the side as the device struck him. He fell to his knees. The pistol clattered to the stones. Edgar ran for the window. The pieces of his ruined shirt flapped wildly. He gained the wide, stone sill and glanced down. Below lay a roiling, churning sea. In the thin silver moonlight he could see the foaming surf as it crashed against the rocks that formed the foundation of the ancient castle. The pistol thundered. Edgar flanged himself into the dark waters. A series of fiery explosions echoed in the night as he plummeted downwards. He managed to miss the rocks but the impact tore the notebook from his grasp. It vanished forever into the depths. When he surfaced a moment later amid the pounding waves, Edgar realized that his eyeglasses were also gone. But he did not need them to see that the laboratory in the castle tower had tuned into an inferno. Terrible smoke billowed forth into the night. No one could live through such conflagration. Morgan Judd was dead. Edgar considered the fact that he had brought about the death of a man who had once been his closest friend and colleague.