A Christmas Odyssey by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

convulsion. Then, just as quickly, he went completely limp. Suddenly he seemed to collapse and tears streamed down his white cheeks. “So much blood,” he whispered. “So much.”
    Crow swore under his breath. He glanced at Bessie, then at Henry Rathbone, his brow furrowed.
    “You had better let him go,” he advised Squeaky,nodding toward Ash in his ridiculous lavender coat. “He can’t tell us anything if he can’t breathe.”
    Squeaky loosened his grip, then pushed Ash hard against the wall. “Who was killed?” he said between his teeth.
    Ash straightened his velvet coat. His eyes were narrow, like slits in the paper-white of his face.
    “The handsome young man, and the woman with so much black hair,” he replied. “Isn’t that who you were looking for?”
    Henry’s shoulders sagged, and the anger and hope drained out of his eyes. “You said he’d gone down.” He shook his head.
    “Oh yes, far, far down, places most people don’t even know about,” Ash agreed. “Dream, maybe, in the silent reaches of the night, and wake up sick with a cold sweat. Down there where the shadows move in shadows!” He gave a little giggle that was almost a sob. “Shadow Man.”
    Suddenly Henry was angry. “Your nightmares are no more real than any other drunkard’s or opium addict’s. They’re paper devils of your own making. Is Lucien alive or dead?”
    “A good philosophical question.” Ash’s attention was now completely focused on Henry, as though Crow and Squeaky were not real, andBessie was half a creature of this world anyway. “At what point do we step across that slender, eternal line, eh?”
    “When our hearts stop beating and our eyes cloud over,” Henry snapped.
    “Ah—hearts.” More tears slid down Ash’s face. “Who knows where their hearts are, or ever were? Eyes can be cloudy in more ways than one. Who sees? Who doesn’t?”
    Squeaky was losing his patience again. He grasped Ash by the collar of his velvet coat and jerked him around. “I think we’d better take him with us,” he said to Henry. “He’s a bit slow to give a straight answer.” He yanked him a couple of steps farther toward the door, and the collar of his velevet jacket tore, leaving the lapels crooked and a rent down the collar’s back seam.
    Ash’s face contorted with fury. It was still totally colorless because of the strange cosmetic he had smeared over it, but his dark lips were pulled back from small teeth, yellow and sharp. “You’ll pay for that!” he snarled. “You Philistine! You sniveling animal! Go find your Lucien.” He jabbed long-nailed fingers toward the door. “And be careful he doesn’t tear your heart out, too!”
    Crow slammed the door open and grabbedBessie by the hand. Squeaky followed them onto a short landing, Henry behind them, then down the narrow stone steps. There was a faint light from a lantern on the wall, and at the bottom, where it widened by several feet, there were dark stains. It was impossible by the look of them to know what they were, but in his mind he had no doubt that they were human blood.
    Henry stood still, regarding the silent stone walls and floor, breathing in the stale smells: mud, candle tallow, something metallic, a sourness like body waste, old terror, and despair.
    “Was Lucien the victim, or did he kill Niccolo and Sadie here?” His voice shook a little. He was giving words to his own worst fear, and Squeaky knew it as certainly as if he had known the man for years. He did not want to know him. He did not want to be forced into liking him, even admiring him. Rathbone was a dreamer and a fool. He had no grip on the realities of the world at all. He was like some child—far more so than Bessie, who at least knew what to expect of life.
    Squeaky wanted to say something clever, but knew that whatever he said had to be the truth. He looked at Crow, but Crow was inspecting the floor and the lower parts of the walls. There appearedto be scratches on the stone and