Guardian of the Night. Debra Webb
carpeted a great deal of the brick exterior. Here and there resurrection fern sprouted from a crack in the centuries-old mortar. Window after window—long, wide windows—were shut tight with hurricane shutters. A crenelated tower and a parapet along the tin-shingled roofline lent a castle-like feel to the place. Wooden icicles of fretwork and other intricately carved ornamentation softened the hard exterior.
A wide verandah sprawled across the front of the house, twilight casting it in long shadows. A smaller balcony centered on the second floor. The third floor of the structure, the tower, could have been a fairy-tale turret had it been round instead of square. A tower room, she decided, feeling suddenly better. Okay, she could live with that. When she’d been a little girl she’d dreamed of being a princess and living in a castle. Her fantasy chamber had been at the very top of the spiral stairs. The tower room. She smiled faintly at the memory. She wasn’t a little girl anymore and she darned sure wasn’t a princess. Far from it. But this was nice. A little too far away from civilization, but doable on a temporary basis.
The house looked in fairly good condition, maintenancewise. But there was something unsettling about it, she decided the moment Chester turned off the truck’s engine. It was so quiet. The shutters were closed tight over the numerous windows. Another shameful waste of architectural beauty. She supposed it was Drake’s condition that necessitated the closed shutters. She swiped at her damp brow with the back of her hand and hoped there was air-conditioning. It was still hot and sticky and the sun was all but gone from sight.
As she emerged from the truck, bottles hanging from a nearby tree captured her attention. “What’re those?” she asked, closing the door behind her and pointing to the bottles in question.
Chester flicked a glance toward the tree. “Spirit bottles,” he said. “They keep the evil spirits away.”
The breeze shifted the bottles, stirring to life a clanging noise that made her shiver all over again.
“Way I hear it, they don’t do much good around here.” Chester reached for her bags and led the way up the eight steps that divided the house from the lawn.
She opted not to pursue the subject of the spirit bottles. Blue had never been superstitious, nor did she believe in any of the related mumbo-jumbo. She wasn’t about to start now.
Before they’d crossed the verandah, the intricately carved mahogany door opened wide.
“Thank you, Chester,” the man standing in the doorway, Mr. Kline, she presumed, said as he stepped back for Chester to place her bags just inside the house.
Chester touched the tip of his hat. “See you on Friday.” As he turned to leave, his gaze caught Blue’s and held for just one second. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes, sympathy maybe, before he walked away.
“Miss Callahan, I’m glad you’re here.”
Blue turned her attention back to the older, white-haired man waiting at the door. He had the same drawl as Chester, only a bit more distinguished. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a crisp white shirt and reminded her of a professor she’d once had. “Mr. Kline?”
He thrust out his hand. “Call me Lowell, please.” He gave her hand a quick, polite shake, then gestured inside. “Won’t you come in?”
To her immense relief, climate-controlled air greeted her as Blue crossed the threshold. Lowell closed the door behind her and—
It was dark.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart jolted into a faster rhythm.
“Why are the lights so low?” There was no way to miss the edge of panic in her voice. She swallowed at the rising sensation, and blinked rapidly to force her eyes to adjust.
“I’m afraid it’s something you’ll need to get used to, Miss Callahan. With Mr. Drake’s condition, the wattage allowed in any room is minimal.”
She peered at Kline in the dim light and hoped he couldn’t see the level of her disbelief as she pointed to the fixture. “This is hardly more than a beefed-up night-light.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid so. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Sure.” She plastered a smile into place. All she needed was for this guy to report back that she was uncomfortable with the conditions. “I guess it’s just a little…” She shrugged. “A little darker than I expected.” A lot darker than she’d expected.
“Your vision will adjust.” He picked up her bags before she could protest and moved toward the graceful stairs that ascended from the middle of the center hall to the second-story landing. “We’ll take your things up to your room so you can get settled.”
Forcing herself to relax, Blue’s gaze moved appreciatively over the elegant staircase. The details were obscured but looked impressive by any standards. A red or burgundy carpet runner on the wooden treads kept their footfalls silent as she followed Lowell up the stairs. He led her to the first room on the right. There were three other doors that she could see. She peered toward the far end of the hall where a second smaller staircase led to the third floor. A dozen questions about the house as well as its owner sprang to mind, but they could wait.
After depositing her bags onto the bed, Lowell indicated a door across the room. A bathroom probably. “When you’ve settled in and freshened up, come downstairs and I’ll serve your dinner.”
“That would be nice.” She hadn’t bothered with lunch at the crowded airport. She’d been too psyched and ready to begin her assignment.
“Before I forget.” Lowell reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a key. He looked at it for a long moment, as if hesitant, then offered it to Blue. “This is the key to the house.”
She took it, glanced at it briefly, then lifted her gaze back to his as he added, “The exterior doors and windows are locked at all times. Never,” he pressed her with a gaze at once intense and beseeching, “ever leave one open or unlocked.” He cleared his throat. “The drapes and shutters are to remain closed at all times and no other light, not even a flashlight, is allowed. The third floor is off limits.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
His gaze was relentless now. He reminded Blue of a bear guarding her only surviving cub. He apparently needed to be absolutely certain she understood. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told about Mr. Drake’s condition, but mere minutes in bright light would kill him. For that reason, no one is allowed in the house other than myself and now you.”
“There’s no need for concern, Mr. Kli—Lowell,” she amended. “Though I don’t know all the specifics, I can assure you that I won’t do anything that will jeopardize Mr. Drake in any way.” This was her first big assignment, she had every intention of impressing the brass. But it would certainly help if she knew more particulars about Drake. She’d have to bide her time it seemed.
Lowell nodded, looking contrite. “Of course. If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to ask.” He paused at the door. “I almost forgot. There’s a case for you on the bureau.” He gestured to a massive piece of furniture near the heavily draped windows. “It was delivered yesterday.” He said it as if knowing what the case contained and finding it more than a little distasteful.
“One question.” Blue stopped him before he could get out the door. “When can I meet Mr. Drake?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Callahan.” His posture grew more rigid.
“Call me Blue,” she echoed his earlier words, hoping to penetrate the wall he’d suddenly thrown up.
“Blue,” he acquiesced, “I’m afraid Mr. Drake usually doesn’t leave his room until well after sunset. Even then he prefers his solitude. But I’m sure he’ll want to meet with you in time. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
In time? Blue pushed the disappointment away. She liked to get the feel of her assignment as quickly as possible, but pushing the subject