Embrace the Night

Page 212



dislikes in mind. She shook her head in amazement. She'd never owned this many clothes in her whole life.

It took her twenty minutes to decide on a pair of black pants and a lavender sweater. Barefoot, she went back down to the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of coffee.

Where was he?

It was then she noticed the narrow door. Painted the same color as the kitchen and tucked into a corner, it was almost invisible.

Setting her coffee cup on the sink top, she crossed the room and opened the door to discover a short flight of stairs, and another door at the bottom.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she murmured. And feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she made her way down the steps, her hand reaching for the doorknob.

It was locked. She looked around for a key, ran her hand along the top of the lintel. Nothing.
Sarah exhaled softly. Did the door lead to the garage? A basement? Into the garden?

She rested her hand on the door for a moment. The wood, a dark oak, felt smooth and cool beneath her fingertips.

Images flashed through her mind, images of a small cottage, of a broken window, of narrow stone steps, of another door also made of oak. A door that led to a damp cellar.

And she heard Gabriel's voice, filled with warning. Be gone!

With a start, she jerked her hand from the door and took a step backward. She hadn't imagined that voice. It had been real. Gabriel's voice.

Overcome with a sudden sense of foreboding, she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs, slamming the kitchen door behind her.

She ran through the kitchen, down the hall, through the parlor, and didn't stop running until she was outside in the driveway. Only then did she remember that her car was parked in the garage at home.

Breathing heavily, she ran down the long, winding driveway to the main gate. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes when she realized it was locked, and then, as if by magic, the iron gate swung open and she ran outside. She heard the gate slam shut behind her, but she didn't turn around, just kept running, driven by sheer terror.

He rose at dusk, his steps heavy as he climbed the stairs. She was gone, and it was just as well.

He repeated those words over and over again in the next few nights—nights spent staring into the fireplace, or riding Necromancer. Sometimes he sat in the bedroom remembering, until his need for her