The Burning by Susan Squires Page B

courage to live with the gift she obviously thought a curse. And she tried to use it well. He had seen her compassion for Jemmy Minks today even though she knew the worst of him. Was that just her naïveté? Perhaps. But it spoke well of her. He shook off his thoughts of her. No distractions, remember that .
    Her hunting lodge, however, would be his next exploration. It was near Winscombe, scene of two killings and a bout of the “influenza.” He would cover himself, put on his colored glasses and venture out in the light to arrive just before dusk. They were young. They couldn’t stand daylight. He could catch them together before they could leave the nest. He turned at the edge of the forest, but the girl had disappeared. He wondered how many there would be. Likely he was not up to this task Rubius had set him. But he had no choice.

Six

    Ann sat the next night in her cave curled in her warm cloak, reading by the light of the torch. She resolved to come here every night. She felt safe here. No one knew about this little pocket off a disused branch of the Cheddar cave. The walk up the Gorge from the house had been nerve-wracking. Who knew but what she would meet that creature who killed Molly, or townspeople patrolling the woods? But she had met neither. She had not even met Stephan Sincai, though she could not have said that would be unwelcome. Even as she had tended her uncle today, and managed to avoid Erich, Mr. Sincai had crept into her thoughts. Why had a man who looked so impassive helped her, not once but twice?
    It did not matter. She would not meet him again. And he could not save her from what she feared most now. All she could hope was that her uncle would recover enough to let her broach the subject of refusing Erich, and that he would send Erich packing. That might only be a reprieve for her sanity, but she needed that reprieve.
    It was good to be back in her refuge again tonight. Italways amazed her that other people were frightened of caves. Somewhere close she could hear the drip of water growing stalactites and stalagmites, and farther away a small stream gurgled on its way through the cavern, but other than that it was quiet. The cave demanded quiet in return. Sounds were punished with echoes. The cave room she had chosen for her own had a ceiling which disappeared into the gloom beyond the reach of her candles. It was closed at one end except for the crevice that disgorged the stream and the opening at the other end was only big enough for her to duck through, but there was also an opening in the rock to some honeycomb channel above. That meant a fire could warm the space, and yet the smoke was drawn out. Her army of candles, the fire, and her torch made the cave almost inviting. The floor was coated with soft sand, comfortable for sitting on a quilt, and Malmsy’s crocheted pillow made a fine back rest against a large rock. This was her cocoon.
    She yawned. Sleep had been elusive what with worry over her uncle, anger at the vile Erich, and those dreams about touching Sincai . . . They were pervasive tonight. So she had put on a cloak and half-boots and, with her nightdress and hair down, fled to the cave. She’d have to go soon lest she fall asleep and fail to return before the servants rose. No one must know she could still escape her nursery.
    She didn’t want to return. Her house had been invaded by the enemy. But she couldn’t abandon her uncle.
    With a sigh, she closed her book and made a move to go.
    Stephan stumbled from the open door of Bucklands Lodge. His chest heaved for breath. One had gotten away. The one he’d surprised in the forest. He hadn’t gotten them all. That meant he’d failed. He staggered across the small garden. His boots squelched with his own blood. The smell of blood waseverywhere; his, theirs. There had been five. He had barely been a match for four. They’d come after him before he could prepare. He hadn’t been able to use the full power the Daughters had