The Curse of Bloodstone. V. J. Banis

After a moment, Hester Mallory looked back down to her embroidery.

      “It was a mistake,” Vanessa said. “I’ve come home to start anew. Tutrice and I....”

      “Is Tutrice here, with you?” her father asked. He looked strange. His eyes widened, his lips trembled slightly.

      “Yes, downstairs. Oh, I left the horses hitched to the landau.”

      “Everything will be taken care of.”

      For an uncomfortable moment they just stood looking at each other. “Why is the house boarded up?” Vanessa asked.

      “Boarded up?”

      “Yes. I had to rip away the boards in order to unlock the front door.”

      Jeremiah looked toward his wife. “Hester? Were you aware of this?”

      “Yes,” she said, drawing thread over a design on the linen.

      “Please tell me why.”

      “You forget, Jeremiah. The front door is never used anymore.”

      Jeremiah cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, of course,” he stammered. “I forgot.”

      “Never used?” Vanessa said, again frowning in confusion. “May I ask why?”

      “Bloodstone is very old,” her father told her. “It will fall around our heads one day.”

      “Surely it can be repaired.” Vanessa looked around at the lovely, sparkling sitting room. Everything in the room was polished and new looking. The heavy velvet portieres cascaded gracefully from the tops of the French windows. The rugs and furniture were in perfect condition. The upholstery seemed unworn and fresh, the colors vivid and bright.

      Her father made a helpless gesture. “Let it fall,” he said.

      Vanessa whirled on him. “What are you saying? Let Bloodstone fall? You can’t let Bloodstone fall into ruin. I won’t permit it.”

      Slowly his eyes moved to meet hers. “It is of no consequence now,” he said.

      “Of no consequence? You must be mad!” She suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong; something had happened during her five-year absence, something dire. “What happened?”

      “Happened?” her father asked innocently. “Nothing. Everything.”

      “Please explain.”

      Jeremiah looked away and glanced at Hester. She looked up at him briefly, then back at her sewing.

      “There is nothing to explain,” Jeremiah told Vanessa.

      “There is everything to explain. Bloodstone is gradually falling to pieces on the outside. Why have you allowed it to deteriorate outwardly while inside it is more immaculate than ever?”

      “One does not live on the outside of a house,” Hester put in without looking up.

      Vanessa stared at her. In all her years she’d never known her mother to enter any discussion. She was stunned for a moment. “You’re making no sense. I demand to know what has happened since I left.”

      Tutrice, standing in the doorway, said, “You will learn everything soon enough.” She nodded to Jeremiah, then to Hester. “We will stay in the west wing as usual,” she told them.

      “Of course,” Jeremiah answered.

      “Come along, child,” Tutrice said to Vanessa. “You’re tired.”

      Vanessa’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “I am not tired...nor am I hungry...nor am I cold,” she snapped. “Leave me be, Tutrice. Why must you hover over me?”

      “Suit yourself, girl.” The old crone nodded again and started to leave.

      “Wait, Tutrice,” Jeremiah called.

      The old woman turned back and stood waiting.

      Jeremiah hesitated. After the pause, he straightened himself and squared his shoulders. “I know Vanessa will not tell us, so I will ask you. What of this man, this sea captain. Is he dead?”

      Tutrice shook her head slowly.

      “I protest. I forbid you to speak of him,” Vanessa fumed.

      “No,” Tutrice said. “He is not dead. He abandoned her.”

      Hester’s needle pricked her finger. She gave a tight little gasp and stuck the pricked finger into her mouth.

      “So,” Jeremiah sighed, “it is not finished.”

      “No, it is not finished,” Tutrice said solemnly.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      The merciless winds continued to whistle and moan, lashing out at everything in their path. Bloodstone stood strong and unbending against the fury of the storm. Yet inside the huge old house there was an eerie calm, like in the eye of a hurricane. Nothing moved, no sound echoed throughout the still rooms and corridors.

      Vanessa lay on her wide bed. A smile played lightly on her lips. Her dream was beginning. She was with him and she was happy again. But her smile faded when she saw his eyes grow cold. He mouthed the same words and left her standing high on a cliff overlooking the sea. Below her she saw his ship making ready. Its blood-red sails were hoisted. The captain took his place on the deck; the anchor was raised.

      The massive ship moved slowly out toward the distant horizon. A storm was brewing, but the captain didn’t seem to care. He nosed his ship, directly into its threatening force. Vanessa watched as the ship grew smaller and smaller. She began to cry, leaning into the wind, trying to catch a last, lingering glimpse of him. The storm grew wilder. Something tugged at her and then without knowing how, she found herself falling down into the icy-cold waters far below.

      A scream caught in her throat and she sat bolt upright in the bed. She sat there for several minutes before opening her eyes. When at last she did open them, she felt disappointment. She had hoped that being at Bloodstone would make her dream a reality, but the room was cold and empty and he was gone...gone back to the sea he loved more than her. Why had he spurned her and returned to the sea without her? She knew well the old prophecy that was scrawled so eloquently in the Bible downstairs. She knew it by heart.

      “Bloodstone, bloodstone, out of the sea,

      Only with that can true love be.

      Justice will fall with bloodstone bright

      When light will be dark and days will be night;

      When life will be death and death will be life,

      Then, vengeance will rest with bloodstone and wife.”

      She had found the bloodstone on his hand. He’d come from the sea. It was all so perfect. Why, then, didn’t she get the true love promised her?

      Tutrice, of course, scoffed at the prophecy. Tough Tutrice scoffed at everything, Vanessa reminded herself.

      Vanessa threw off the covers and got out of her bed. In the light of the dwindling fire she watched her reflection in the shuttered windowpanes. A sudden far and indistinct noise came from somewhere inside Bloodstone. Something fell and crashed to the floor below her. She snatched up her night robe and went to investigate.

      The stairs were cold and drafty. A sliver of light shone through the doorway under the staircase, the door through which Tutrice had disappeared earlier.

      “Tutrice,” Vanessa called softly.

      No one answered.

      “Tutrice,” she called again, walking toward the door. She pushed it open. The door opened onto a large, empty room. A single light burned on a lone table. Vanessa went across the room and opened a door she knew led into the kitchen and pantry area.

      Tutrice was sitting at a long, oval table that took up the entire center of the kitchen. The light from the fire played on her wrinkled