Dawn Brown - The Devil's Eye

“Knitting an afghan,” he told her, without looking away from the wood he carefully stacked in the fireplace.

“Thanks for bringing this up,” Brynn said.

“It’ll be the last time, I can promise you that. I won’t be carting trays up and down stairs day and night just to please you. In future, I serve dinner at six sharp, and breakfast at eight-thirty. If you’re not in the dining room, you don’t eat. I’m leaving for the night once I finish here. If you need anything else, say so now.”

Brynn blinked, the woman’s hostility catching her off guard. “I can’t think of anything.”

She lifted the silver dome from the dish on the tray and her stomach shriveled. Gray meat smothered in lumpy, brown gravy with mushy vegetables and greasy potatoes. That rubbery chicken she’d eaten on the plane suddenly seemed gourmet.

“You’ll want to keep your door locked,” Mrs. Voyle told her, setting a large iron key on the table next to the tray.

Why? Were you thinking of bringing me more inedible food through the night?

“Thank you, Mrs. Voyle, for all your help,” Brynn said, tightly.

The housekeeper gave a curt nod and started for the door, but paused before leaving. “I don’t know what you’re after coming here, but if you’re wise, you won’t stay.”

Irritation flared, and she shot the woman an icy stare. “I’m not after anything.”

Mrs. Voyle’s small eyes flashed. “You’re not wanted here, and you should thank God for it.”

Brynn shook her head, watching the woman go. “What did I ever do to her?”

“They think you’re after your father’s money.”

Reece’s low voice jerked her attention away from the door. He knelt on the floor next to the hearth, feeding small bits of wood into the flickering blaze.

“Who does?” The sister who begged her to stay? The father who may have tried to drown her when she was three?

“Mrs. Voyle, Warlow, probably most of Cragera Bay, by now.”

“Perfect,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Is that what you think?”

Not that she cared one way or the other.

He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You’ll want to bank this before going to bed, and it should last the rest of the night.”

“I don’t want his money,” she told him, not sure why it mattered he believe her.

“As I said, it’s no concern of mine.” He stood, pinned her with an icy stare. “She’s right, though, about this place. The sooner you’re away from here, the better off you’ll be.”

* * *

Brynn stood on the bank of a pond, the glassy waters still and dark before her. Huge trees rose up on all sides, their snow-laden branches reached into an indigo sky. Black fear uncoiled inside her like an icy snake. She tried to step back, but the tangle of trees closed tighter, trapping her at the water’s edge.

Her heart pounded fast in her chest. Cold sweat dribbled down her back. Her gaze locked on the fathomless pool and she couldn’t look away.

The oily waters rippled, bubbled as something floated to the surface.

Her blood ran cold.

Run! A voice from somewhere inside her screamed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away. A man’s face emerged from the black water, flesh bloated and gray. His wide, dead eyes stared milky opaque.

Finally, Brynn stepped back, but the slippery bank gave out beneath her feet and she stumbled into frigid water. Icy fingers curled around her ankles, pulling her deeper…

* * *

Brynn jerked awake, gasping. She sat up and pressed a hand to her pounding chest. Where was she? She blinked, eyes stinging, and waited for them to adjust to the darkness, then glanced around the unfamiliar room.

The dark outline of furniture was little more than odd shapes in the black. Her gaze settled on the glowing coals in the fireplace, and the day’s events washed over her.

“Damn,” she whispered and flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Images from her nightmare filled her head. Not much chance of falling back to sleep after that.

She groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Despite the heavy duvet and blankets cocooned around her, she shivered. The temperature in the room had dropped since she’d gone to sleep. And what the hell was that smell? She wrinkled her nose at the thick, mossy stink seeping through the sheets with the cold. Pushing back the blankets, she sat up and froze. Her stomach dropped.

A huge shape lumbered between her bed and the fireplace, blotting out the glow of the coals like an eclipse.

With wide, staring eyes, her gaze traveled the length of the massive shadow, from the hem of a long coat, to broad, masculine shoulders, to the outline of a wide-brimmed hat.

A man. There was a man in her room!

A scream burned up the back of her throat and lodged there. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could scarcely breathe.

Instead, she stared into the black void where a face should have been. Then, like tiny beacons from hell, two red eyes appeared.

Chapter Four

Brynn stared into the glowing eyes like a bird caught in the thrall of a snake. Hate and rage emanated from the man-shaped thing, a tangible force wrapping around her and squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Run!

But she couldn’t move. Every muscle had seized under the burning red glare.

A dream. Some rational part of her brain tried desperately to convince the rest of her. It had to be a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to count.

One, two…

When she opened her eyes it would be gone—

… three, four, five…

—and she would laugh at how crazy real it seemed.

… six, seven…

Whatever she thought she saw was probably just stress.

… eight, nine…

Some remnant of her nightmare.

… ten.

She opened her eyes. The shadow loomed beside her bed, black delight radiating like a living pulse from its murky form.

She tried to swallow, but her throat had shriveled. Icy sweat coated her skin. Drawing a trembling breath, she eased her hand out from beneath the blankets, eyes locked with the two glowing orbs, afraid that breaking contact, even for a moment, would somehow allow the thing to pounce. Her fumbling fingers bumped the porcelain lamp, sending it teetering sideways.

No, no, no. Please don’t break.

She grabbed the shade and caught the lamp before it went over, then pressed the switch. Brilliant light flooded the darkness. She squinted against the sudden glare. When she turned back to the shadow man, he was gone.

“What the hell?” She kicked free of the blankets and slid from the bed. Frigid air wrapped around her like a shroud, seeping through her thin shorts and T-shirt. Goose bumps stippled her skin.

Where did he go? He couldn’t have just vanished.

She hurried to the door. Locked, just as she’d left it. She turned the latch, pulled back the door and poked her head into the hall. Darkness spread out on either side of her like black curtains, leaving her unable to see anything past the faint pool of light spilling from her room. She shut the door and turned the lock once more.

So what exactly had she seen?

Had there been a man in her room? A man with glowing red eyes? Not likely. So what did that leave? A ghost? Of course not. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Whatever she’d seen, the real question was, where did it go?

She glanced around the bedroom, her gaze falling on the wardrobe. No way. She didn’t actually believe someone was hiding in her closet, did she? Of course not. Still, she crossed the room, closed her trembling fingers around the brass handles and yanked both doors wide.