House of Dreams (19 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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Cass finally saw her sister sitting beneath a short, stubby tree behind the cottage and garage. Darkness had finally fallen. Too many stars to
count had emerged in the yawning blackness of sky overhead. She paused, not really seeing Tracy's hunched-over form, wishing she had responded to Antonio's proposal in a more dignified and composed manner. How could she have run out like that? If he hadn't realized before, by now he must know how she was feeling about him. Cass felt like a fool.
She walked slowly toward her sister, suddenly dreading their encounter, and worse, suddenly so angry because this wasn't fair. Cass and Antonio had so much in common, and what did Tracey have in common with him other than the drop-dead good looks that they shared? “Tracey,” she called out grimly.
Tracey did not look up.
And suddenly Cass felt a frisson of fear. Tracey was so still, so unmoving, that she could have been a statue. Cass broke into a run. “Tracey!”
Her sister, who sat with her legs outstretched, her back to the tree, staring straight ahead, did not respond. As if she hadn't heard Cass, or as if she were dead.
An image of Isabel flashed through Cass's mind, whispering in Alyssa's ear.
I will be your mother now.
Cass didn't want to recall that odd message now—she didn't want to even think of it as a message. What was wrong with her? “Tracey!” Cass shouted.
There was no response.
Cass sprinted forward, finally reaching her sister. It took her one instant to realize that although immobile, Tracey was very much alive. Warm and almost catatonic, but breathing, alive.
“Trace?” Cass squatted, removing her hand from in front of her sister's nose where she had felt her faint breathing. Her sister still hadn't acknowledged her, she still hadn't moved. Tears stained her face, as did some small specks of dried blood. Her white shorts were filthy, both bloodstained and dirty; dust and dirt covered her legs. Cass saw an ant crawling on her thigh. She swatted it off. Her sister didn't even blink. “Trace!” She grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. What was happening?
And Tracey looked down, more tears sliding down her cheeks. “Everything I do is wrong.”
“No, that's not true,” Cass cried, pushing her blond hair behind her ears. “Honey, please get up, you're sitting in the dirt and there are bugs.” Relief overcame Cass. Tracey was fine; nothing was wrong. Everything was just fine.
“I am so fucked up.”
Cass inhaled, hard. “No, Trace, you're not fucked up, this is just … this is a mess, we're all in a mess, together, although God only knows why.” Cass took her arm. “Please get up. Let's go back to the house, let's get all cleaned up, and then you and I, why, we'll sit down and chat over a good, stiff gin and tonic.”
“I don't know what's happening,” Tracey whispered, still not looking at Cass. “I was so angry. I've never felt such blackness before.” She started to shake.
And their violent argument of that afternoon flashed in its entirety through Cass's mind. “Tracey, it's over. You didn't mean it. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. We're sisters and we love each other, right?” Cass felt desperation overcoming her. “I'm sorry, too. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am sort of halfway in love with Antonio, but I swear, it means nothing, really, and I would never try to come between you guys.” In that moment, Cass meant it, with all of her heart and all of her being, but damn it, she was now lying too. And she knew that as well.
“What should I do?” Tracey cried, finally looking at Cass. “He's booting me out. Sending me away. He doesn't want me anymore because he knows the truth.”
Cass stared, aware that she, too, was now trembling. She was confused, because Antonio didn't know the truth. “Let's talk about this in the house,” Cass whispered, regretting their kiss, his proposition, and worse, her own damned feelings. Regretting everything. Guilt was an ugly thing.
She shivered and had to glance behind them, but they were alone. “It's too dark out here, and it's getting cold.” The house seemed to stare at her from a distance, the windows, lit up from within, like hollow, vacant eyes. “Let's go back.”
Tracey stared at her, her eyes riveted on Cass's face. “I did that,” she whispered.
Cass touched the welt on her jaw, which she had forgotten about. “It doesn't matter. It was a mistake. You didn't mean it.”
“Don't you understand? Why won't you understand? I did mean it, Cass.
I did mean it,”
she said.
Cass stared. Unease slithered up and down her spine.
Tears filled Tracey's eyes. “I'm scared, Cass. I'm so scared!”
Somehow Cass pulled her to her feet even though her body was stiff, unmoving, like lead weights, and she wrapped her arms around her and held her, hard.
“Everything's going to be all right. I promise. As soon as we get
home. Because that's what we need to do, you, me, and Alyssa, we need to go home.” And Cass meant it, fervently.
To hell with Antonio's proposal.
This place was bad news.
Cass was suddenly certain of it; she had never been more certain of anything before.
 
 
Cass left Tracey preparing to shower before supper once she felt reassured that her sister was recovering her composure. She was absorbed in her thoughts as she walked downstairs. Was Tracey having some kind of nervous breakdown? Her emotional fragility worried Cass.
Don't you understand? I did mean it.
Cass powered on her laptop, stiff with tension, replaying the last conversation with her sister in her mind, again and again. A moment later, she was on the Web. She began a search for sites dealing with ghosts.
She could not help herself. She needed information. Because there was no way she could continue to ignore the fact that every time she went into Isabel's room, she felt extremely disturbed. The entire house was disturbing. Cass was prepared to accept the idea that Casa de Sueños was haunted, although she refused to equate that event with all of the odd things that had happened since their arrival. Cass knew she was going to unearth a lot of nonsense, but if she sifted through it carefully, she might also unearth some interesting facts about the supernatural.
And as she began scrolling through the list of sites, she was aware of something nagging at her. She was uneasy—and she assumed it was her sister's strange behavior that was disturbing her.
To Cass's dismay, there were thousands of Web sites dealing in one way or another with the subject of ghosts. She stared in dismay at her screen. For God's sake, a sight about satanic practices had come up.
Cass realized it would be very hard to weed out seriously researched and scientific information from all the garbage. She stared harder at her screen, going down the list, when the words in front of her became blurred and distorted before becoming normal again.
Cass froze. It had happened so quickly, in the blink of an eye—had she imagined this, too?
Because computers did not have static.
Computers did not behave like television sets from twenty years ago.
And then it happened again. The word
ghosts
, typed into the search box, stretched, wavered, stretched again, as did every image on her screen. And in the next instant, her screen went blank.
Cass stared in disbelief, because it was as if she had powered off. She pressed the space bar and the Enter key a few times, in case she had gone into the suspend mode, but her window did not reappear. She powered on. The screen lit up.
“What's wrong, Aunt Cass?”
Cass didn't turn. “This is so weird. My laptop just went off—it's never done that before.” Then she began to worry. Undoubtedly she had a technical problem. The last thing she needed, now or anytime, was a breakdown. “Damn it.” She dialed up to the Web again, but before she could connect, the screen went pitch black again.
Cass jumped to her feet while Alyssa wandered over.
“It's okay,” Cass said reassuringly, and of course, it was okay—her two-year-old laptop needed repair, obviously, but Cass couldn't help thinking it so odd that it had gone on the blink.
Don't go jumping off the deep end
, she told herself. But she wasn't soothed. To the contrary, she just stood there staring at the dark screen, thinking about Isabel's haunting blue eyes. And suddenly, in her mind, Cass could see Isabel clearly—and her gaze was filled with belligerence.
It was unnerving.
Cass reminded herself that Isabel's eyes, in the portrait, were filled with sorrow. Still, she could not shake the hostile expression from her mind's eye. And hadn't Antonio said he found her gaze to be accusing?
Cass grimaced, more determined now than ever to find out more about Isabel. Suddenly she froze.
Here lies Isabel de la Barca … the niece of John de Warenne earl of Sussex.
Cass blinked. “But she was the earl's daughter,” she said aloud. “Wasn't she?”
A sound behind her caused her heart to skip erratically. Cass whirled. Her door was ajar. “Antonio?”
There was no answer.
“Maybe we should go downstairs,” Alyssa said uneasily. Then, “Aunt Cass!”
Cass whirled. And she was faced with a sight she had never before seen: her laptop was on, but it looked like a television screen filled with black and white static when no reception was possible. She stared at the glowing screen.
“Aunt Cass? Someone's here,” Alyssa whispered with fear.
Cass turned, reaching for her—thinking the worst—when she distinctly heard a car door slamming outside.
That was when the fragrance of violets registered.
For one moment, Cass's mind went blank with shock. In the next instant, she decided, grimly, that the answer had to do with ventilation and nothing else.
Someone began pounding on the front door.
Both Cass and Alyssa jumped.
Cass squinted down at the illuminated dial of her watch. It was about nine-thirty. Who in God's name could that be?
“Aunt Cass?” Alyssa pressed closer to her as someone continued to bang urgently on the front door.
“There's nothing to worry about,” Cass lied, her heart a traitor to her own cause. The scent of violets was stronger. Cass couldn't think about it now. She thought about the fact that there were two children in the house, one of whom was crippled, and a very old man. With her next breath, she chastised herself for even thinking of the need to defend themselves. “C'mon,” she said, as the banging continued.
She grabbed Alyssa's hand and they hurried down the hall, Cass grim, deciding she would have to call her computer consultant in London first thing in the morning. Obviously a chip or something had gone haywire on her machine, and he would have some kind of incredibly brilliant explanation for the static—if that was what it was.
The banging had stopped. Cass and Alyssa entered the great hall just in time to see Antonio opening the front door. A second later a tall man with dark blond hair entered the house, his tie askew, his pinstriped gray suit rumpled.
“Gregory,” Antonio cried, his eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
Gregory responded in a spate of Spanish, throwing his arms into the air.
Cass was overcome with relief. Clearly they were friends, and she suspected they were more, cousins or brothers, for their features were so similar. “It's okay,” she whispered to Alyssa.
But Alyssa's smile was feeble.
Antonio gripped the man's arm. “Calm down.
Tenemos invitados,”
he said, gesturing at Cass and Alyssa.
Gregory glanced at her, but briefly, before facing Antonio again. “I have had the worst feeling all day,” he said heavily. “I called your office,
your house, repeatedly, but of course, you are here, and I did not know, so there was no answer.”
“I am here, and all is well,” Antonio said calmly.
Cass doubted that. And then she realized just what she was thinking—something was wrong, and she felt it in every fiber of her being.
Gregory, a very attractive man with tousled, dark blond hair, did not smile. “You never come here. Who would have guessed! I finally tracked your secretary down—I found her home number in your desk in your apartment.” He was growing angry now.
“It did not occur to me to report my agenda to you,” Antonio said quietly. “May I introduce our guests?”
Gregory finally looked at Cass, and then at Alyssa. He smiled. “I apologize. I have been distressed.” His smile was brief. “You must be Tracey Tennant. I am Antonio's little brother, Gregory.” His smile flashed, and it was wry.

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