Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

37

           

Open, open heaven door keys,

Shut, shut hell door.

Let christened child

Go to its mother mild.

What is yonder that casts a light so farrandly?

Mine own dear son that's nailed to the tree.

The child's voice repeated the verse over and over, sweet and cloying until I couldn't bear it any longer. Prying my eyes open I could still hear the melody repeat in the depths of my mind.

It was the song that Anne had sung in the cottage.

As memories flooded back, I realised that it was also the song that my mother lulled me to sleep with as a child.

Gradually it reduced to a faint ringing in my ears, but it left me rattled. How could a song so familiar and comforting sound so wrong?

The soft, cool sensation of expensive sheets hit me next. I was curled into a foetal position in the centre of a large four-poster bed.

Unfolding myself from the tight coil was hellish. My muscles screamed in protest, cramp contorting my feet to unnatural angles. Unclenching my teeth with a painful crack, I swung my jaw from side to side to ease the ache from grinding my teeth. The motion brought a sharp twinge, followed by the dull throbbing of a head wound.

The heavy, musky scent of sandalwood incense filled the room. My mother's favourite perfume.

Concentrating on the familiar smell, I blocked out everything else. Focusing on my extremities inwards, I told my body to relax: toes, fingers, legs, arms, lungs, heart, head. My heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and the throbbing pain in my head receded.

Then I realised that I was naked.

My eyes sprang open, bulging painfully out of my skull in an effort to make sense of where I was. Meditative calm scattered to the wind, the reality of my position zeroed in with merciless clarity.

I was alone, naked, and in an unknown location.

Crap.

Sitting up, I clutched the heavy bedspread to me. It was a rich tapestry coverlet woven out of golds and browns. Old-fashioned, but luxurious; a remnant from the time before mass-produced modern textiles. Dark wood panels lined the walls. The only window was covered by heavy claret velvet curtains. The furniture, an antique mahogany desk and chair, stood in the corner of the room. Some clothes were folded neatly on the chair.

I looked around suspiciously. There was only one person in my life that was likely to own antique items of such quality and had also betrayed a resolute intention to keep me close.

"Thomas? Are you here?"

When he didn't appear in a cloud of arrogance and demand gratitude for stripping me naked, or some other bullshit, I gingerly stepped out of bed with the coverlet wrapped around me. Making my way over to the desk to retrieve the clothes, I saw that they were not the ones that I had borrowed from Anne this morning. I tucked the coverlet under my arm, so that I could inspect what had been left for me to wear.

A dress made out of gauzy chiffon, pale blue with a silvery glaze, unfurled from where I held it. It was a simple tunic, with long loose sleeves. I slipped the dress over my head and then let the coverlet drop.

The fit was perfect. It fell in an empire line to the floor. A thin silver cord corseted the back of the dress. I was glad of the length, because whoever had left the dress for me had forgotten underwear. And shoes.

Reviewing all the arguments that I'd had with Thomas, I was convinced that he was behind this. He'd stated on more than one occasion that he was going to keep me safe, and that we belonged together whether I accepted it or not.

If he'd taken matters into his own hands by abducting me, he was definitely more creepy stalker than hopeful lover.

To strip me and leave strange clothes of his own choosing, as if I was a doll to be dressed up for his pleasure, was just scary. Who wore clothes like these anyway? I began to suspect that he was some weird medieval fashion freak.

Then again, I'd not thought to ask when he'd actually been made a vampire. Maybe these clothes were normal to him.

Time to find out where the hell I was.

Predictably, the door was locked, and like everything else in the room, it was large and solid. No flimsy modern carpentry that I could attempt to break down. It did have a large, old-fashioned keyhole, perfect for peeking through.

Crouching down, I put my eye to the keyhole. I could just make out the wall opposite. The room opened out into a corridor with paper peeling off the walls and rubble scattered on the floor.

Definitely not the priory.

Double crap.