The Secret Night. Rebecca York
beat, then added, “And, Henry, make certain you get the right woman. Emma looks very much like Margaret.”
“I know which is which. Emma’s the one with the crafty eyes.”
“Yes.” Damien nodded toward the door. “Leave me, now.”
After Briggs left, Damien moved restlessly around the room. He would take Emma Birmingham’s life. First, though, he wanted to take her sexually. She would never come willingly to his bed, so he would wait until she was in the holding cell. Then he could do anything he wanted.
EMMA STOOD in the darkness outside Caldwell’s office, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She had to struggle not to sprint away like a frightened cat. If she did, Caldwell was sure to hear her.
When she’d seen where Henry Briggs was going, she’d ducked around the side of the house and crept up to the open French doors, praying that Caldwell wouldn’t step outside and catch her.
The conversation she overheard confirmed her worst fears. She hadn’t been fooling anybody. Caldwell knew her devotion to him was faked, and he’d made up his mind what to do about it. Unless she got out of here before tomorrow night, she was a dead woman.
She’d never been to one of his special ceremonies. They were attended only by his inner circle of followers. Once, when she was standing on the dock by the river, she had heard an eerie chanting coming from the grove in the woods where everyone knew the ceremonies took place. The sound had raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Something dark and ugly went on at those so-called ceremonies—she was sure of it. Now she knew it for a fact.
And she was slated to be the main attraction for the next one.
She had to get out of here. Now.
But how? How would she get past the guards and the electric fence? The chances were slim, and with Margaret in tow, they plummeted to near zero.
Emma’s fingers knitted together until they hurt as she tried to figure out what to do. Fantasies of being rescued by her dream lover, Nicholas Vickers, were just that—fantasies. She had to get herself and Margaret away from here on her own. And while she stood there in the gathering darkness, hidden by the shrubbery, a desperate plan began to form in her mind.
The question of whether it was hopeless to try to convince Margaret to leave had become irrelevant. She’d run out of time. Somehow she’d have to trick Margaret into leaving. The alternative—escaping alone—was…well, she just wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she abandoned her sister.
At dinner, Emma slipped away early, pretending she had to go to the bathroom. Then she hurried to her room and grabbed her purse.
Downstairs again, she waited for Margaret to come out of the dining room with the rest of the crowd.
Her sister spotted her immediately. “You were gone a long time.”
Forcing a little smile, Emma replied, “Yes, I stepped outside to admire the view.”
“It’s getting dark.”
“And it’s a lovely night. Let’s go down by the river, Marg.”
Margaret looked over her shoulder at the people headed for the common rooms inside the mansion. In the evening, they usually listened to music or played games like checkers and Monopoly, or they went to lectures given by Caldwell.
“Are you sure it’s okay to go out?” Margaret asked.
“Perfectly.” Emma took her sister’s arm. “It’s a step toward self-actualization, a merging of your spirit with the cosmos.”
The platitude came straight from a Caldwell lecture, and, thank God, Margaret seemed to recognize it. After a little resistance, she allowed herself to be led from the mansion and down the path toward the water.
Emma knew the way quite well. She had explored the grounds as much as possible, while being careful not to attract attention, looking for quick exits. Caldwell had a cabin cruiser moored at the end of the dock, but even if she had the key, the cruiser was beyond her navigational abilities.
The rowboat she’d spotted yesterday, however, was not. She was relieved to see that it was still pulled up on the beach near the pier, small waves lapping gently at its hull.
Emma looked out over the water. The Miles River wasn’t all that wide—less than a mile, she guessed, at the point where she stood—and she was in good shape. She could row the small boat to the opposite shore. Once she got Margaret that far…
Well, one step at a time. She’d worry later about how she’d convince her brainwashed sister to keep traveling away from the Refuge.
Of course, they’d be leaving behind everything they’d brought with them, including the car she’d rented at the airport. But that was nothing compared to their lives.
Fighting to keep her tone light and casual, she said, “Remember when we were kids, when Mom was married to Larry?”
“He was a jerk,” Margaret huffed.
“Yeah, but a rich jerk.”
Margaret chuckled—an encouraging sound given her near-robotic state. If she could still laugh, maybe she was still capable of thinking about something besides the crap Damien Caldwell had drummed into her head.
“Remember Larry had that cottage up at Moonlight Lake?” Emma said. “We’d go swimming there.”
After a brief pause, Margaret replied, “That was fun.”
“Yeah, it was. And sometimes we’d take his boat out.”
“We were too young to be doing that unsupervised,” Margaret said in a tone that echoed her old, ultraresponsible persona.
“Well, we’re not too young to do it now.” Emma gestured toward the rowboat. “Let’s go for a ride. You can be captain—just like the old days.”
Her sister eyed the small craft. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go for boat rides. We’d better ask first.”
Emma felt her desperation rising. “If you ask and they say no, I’ll be really disappointed. Come on.” She tugged on her sister’s arm. “Let’s just do it. Do it for me, Marg.”
Margaret dug her heels into the sand and eyed the water. “It’s getting dark and…sort of spooky.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s beautiful. Look at the stars. You used to love the night sky, remember? We’d lie on our backs and you’d point out constellations. I’ve forgotten them, though, so you could show them to me again.”
“No!” Suddenly Margaret let out a high-pitched yelp and shoved her away.
“Quiet! Someone will hear you,” Emma ordered, reaching for her sister.
But Margaret kept backing away. “I know what you’re trying to do, Emma. You’re trying to kidnap me. They warned me that you might.”
“Shhh!” She tried to cover Margaret’s mouth—and felt her sister’s teeth sink into her finger. “Ow! Margaret, stop it! Someone’s going to hear us.”
“Good! I want them to hear me. I’m going to find the men and tell them what you’re doing. You never really embraced Damien’s lessons—his wisdom and kindness. I know you, Emma. I know you’re too independent to be a follower of any philosophy, no matter how good and true it is. You’ve been lying to me—and, worse, to the Master—saying you believe. But you don’t and you never will.” Margaret wrenched herself from Emma’s grasp and started running.
As she watched her sister’s retreating back, Emma felt her throat clog with tears. Now what? Knock her sister out and drag her onto the damned boat?
When she started to follow Margaret, Emma heard her sister shouting, “It’s my sister! She’s trying to kidnap me! I need help!” And in that instant, Emma saw her choices swept away.
She