McCann's Manor (32 page)

"Looks like we need that missing manuscript now more than ever. Maybe I should call Joel and see if he can come back over and help us,” John said.

"I think we should let him have his rest, John. He had a scare today and if we pull him back over here right now, he may not be able to handle it. We can call him first thing in the morning,” she said.

John grabbed her arm, pulled her to face him. “What are you saying—we should wait until
morning
?” he demanded.

"You know, I care about her, too. We have been best friends for a long, long time. If anything happens to her, I would never forgive myself; but we can't do her any good if we exhaust ourselves or panic,” she said.

He took a deep breath, dropped his hands to his sides. “I'm sorry,” he said, “but this entire thing is so unexpected. I never would have dreamed—"

"Yeah, I know,” she said as she gave his hand a squeeze. “We have to learn to expect the
unexpected
, I guess. We could explore the other passages and see if we find anything, for a couple of hours; and then we should try to get some rest."

"Yes, you're right. What do you want me to do?” he asked.

"Let's go make some coffee and look at this manuscript; maybe see if we can develop some kind of strategy,” Kim suggested. She wanted to tell him not to worry, but the fact was she was tied in knots from the disquieting events that had already transpired. How much stress could her friend be expected to bear? This was not good, and every minute Liz was gone made it more likely to Kim she might never make it back. She couldn't help thinking Ben would know where Liz was and how to get her back, but would he be willing to help them?

John looked devastated. He would blame himself for letting Liz be the first through the door into the triangular room, Kim knew. He had stayed to help protect her and now she was beyond their help. What would happen now?

Liz stood motionless in the dark chamber. The air was different somehow and she couldn't quite make out what the difference was at first. Then the reality of her situation began to sink in. She had seen this place before, in the dream when Tarrh had choked her—only this scene was different from the vision she had the night before in that it was warm and almost welcoming. She was in Tarrh's house.

She was puzzled by her presence in the ancient house for a moment, but then she remembered the ominous click she had heard just before entering the room in Ben's house. John and Kim would be beside themselves with worry over her and she had no idea how to go back to her own time, back to Ben's house. She would have to enlist the aid of Tarrh to return to her friends.
That should be an interesting trick,
she told herself.

She peered around the hall in which she was standing, just inches from the edge of the octagonal precipice that seemed to have no bottom in Tarrh's house. She shined her flashlight into the hole that extended beneath her, saw only darkness more vast than the sphere of illumination she held in her hand. She slowly backed away from the octagonal pit and farther into the hallway, tried to keep her wits about her. How would she ever be able to deal with Tarrh McCann in the flesh?

"Who are you?” A female voice behind her demanded.

Liz whirled around to see a dark woman wearing a long black flowing robe staring back at her.
At least she speaks English,
Liz thought.

"I am waiting for an answer. You are in intruder in my house and I am within my rights to have the dogs feast upon you,” the woman threatened in the deep, beautiful accent of the Highlands.

Liz slowly stepped closer to the woman, noticed two large ferocious-looking dogs flanking her sides. The woman appeared ageless. She had long black hair and dark eyes and would have been beautiful, had it not been for the wide red scar which ran along her left jawbone before dipping down her face by her mouth and continuing on down her neck where it disappeared into the high black neck of her robe. She had an aristocratic air about her and Liz thought she must look strange indeed to her hostess, dressed as she was in her jeans and tee shirt.

She cleared her throat and finally managed to reply in a taut voice that sounded foreign to her. “My name is Elizabeth Carr and I
seem
to have been transported through time and space to your house. I am from the future, a place called the United States in the year two-thousand, seven. You may have heard of it as the New World,” she said. Her mind was racing. What was it about that scar? She was certain she had seen this woman before, but where? In her mind's eye, she could see flashes of that face and that scar, and then she knew—this was the female whose image had supplanted Tarrh's in the dream when Tarrh choked her. Or was it really this woman, disguised as Tarrh, who had choked her?

The woman was unimpressed by Liz's response. She walked a wide circle around Liz, the dogs at her heels with their fangs bared in grotesque silent smiles that showed teeth larger than Liz knew a dog could have. They looked like some kind of mixture between a Doberman and a Rottweiler or Mastiff, only much larger.

"What shall I do with her?” she asked the dogs, who looked at their mistress with an eerie kind of intelligence that unnerved Liz. The three of them almost seemed to have a conference about her fate, Liz thought, and at last the woman turned her cold stare again on Liz. “What do you want?” she asked Liz.

What to say? How was she supposed to tell a believable story about how she got here when she wasn't even sure of that herself? “In my time, there is a house almost exactly like this one. It was built by a man named Benjamin McCann. My friend and I have been
contracted
to live in that house for one year and bring peace to the spirits who haunt it. We were exploring the hidden passages in that house and I suddenly found myself
here
, instead of there."

"Are you a witch?” the woman asked.

"I don't practice any form of magic, no. I
do
have a relationship with spirits, though and
some
believe—"

"I am aware of the difference between mediums and witches, Elizabeth Carr. You are a medium, then?” the woman inquired as she guided Liz into the great room off the hallway.

"Yes, I guess I am,” Liz said.

Again the woman circled her. “And
this
is what women of the future wear?” she asked.

"Not all the time. Sometimes I dress in a more feminine manner, though I seldom wear long skirts like yours, except for special events.” she replied.

The woman snapped her fingers and the two dogs padded quietly from the room. “Forgive my abruptness. We seldom receive visitors here and the ones who do come generally do so by the front door—with great fear and trembling,” she added.

Liz relaxed a bit, smiled at the other woman. “May I ask your name?” she queried tentatively.

"I am Moira McCann. You, Elizabeth Carr, are either very brave or very foolish to stand before me
and
the dogs without showing fear,” Moira said.

"Maybe a little of both, but more foolish, no doubt,” Liz said with another smile.

"Do you know this Benjamin McCann of whom you speak?"

"I have seen his spirit. He was killed about two hundred years before my time. He is one of the wraiths that roams the manor,” Liz replied.

"The troubled dead are a bother to the living, are they not?” Moira asked, then eyed Liz as if to gauge her response.

"Not always. I have a certain amount of respect and compassion for them, actually. Most of them are just trying to finish business they would have completed had their lives not been interrupted,” she answered.

Her answer seemed to placate Moira, who gave her a radiant smile then. “How long will you be staying with us, Elizabeth?"

"I'm not sure. My coming here was an accident and I have no idea how to return to my own time. I was hoping Tarrh might be able to help me,” she said.

Moira glared at her, took a step backwards. “My
brother
sees no one, and he hates women, Elizabeth,” she confided. “I doubt you can expect any help from him."

"Is there anyone else who knows about the portal?” Liz asked.

"Only that it exists. He is probably the only one who knows how to use it,” Moira said.

"Ben knew,” Liz interjected.

Moira fixed her with a hard stare, walked swiftly to the other side of the room. “Wait here. I will tell him you are here."

"Thank you,” Liz said and then watched the dogs return to the room and move closer to her at their mistress’ departure. She moved slowly to a straight-backed chair near the center of the room and sat down. She suddenly didn't feel all that strong anymore. She wondered if the swelling in her neck would come back now, since she hadn't taken the dose of medicine she was supposed to have before she went to bed. She cleared her throat again, absently rubbed at her neck. The dogs lay in the floor a few feet from her, their stare never leaving her.

She sat like a stone statue, fearing her slightest movement would trigger the great beasts to attack her. She gradually began to breathe more slowly until her racing heart slacked a bit and she felt a little more at ease. It seemed like hours before Moira swept back into the room, accompanied by a tall lean man who had much the same features as Moira. Liz looked at them deliberately.

"What do you want here?” the man demanded.

"I only want to go back to my home; nothing more,” she answered.

"My—
sister
tells me you came here by happenstance,” he said.

"Moira is
your
sister? And who might you be?” Liz asked, a bit too boldly.

The man shot a glance at Moira, flexed his hands nervously. “I told you she would know,” he said to Moira.

"Shut up, you simpleton!” Moira ordered.

"I have
seen
Tarrh, Moira,” Liz said.

Moira's lips twitched slightly before curling into a sneer as she approached Liz. “Lucky you! Is that why you are here?” she demanded.

Liz held her gaze steady as Moira approached her in what looked to be rage. “I told you why I'm here. Now I would like to speak to Tarrh, please,” she said.

Moira raised her hand and brought it crashing hard against Liz's cheek; the large ring she wore smacked against Liz's jaw and stung powerfully. “I told you, he sees
no one
,” Moira snapped through gritted teeth.

Liz rubbed her cheek, oblivious to the blood that trickled onto her fingers from the gash the ring had cut into her cheek. “He will see
me
,” she said simply.

"What makes
you
so special?” the man standing behind Moira asked.

Liz peered past Moira at the man who
might
truly be related to Tarrh. “I know his
secret
,” she bluffed.

Moira whirled to face the man who looked at Liz in amusement. “You are a bit late, woman. Tarrh died last year,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Liz swallowed hard. If what he said was true, she was completely at the mercy of Moira and those
beasts
she called dogs. Suddenly, Liz thought she would rather face Tarrh. “You are lying,” she said in her best authoritative voice. “I happen to
know
he is alive."

Moira drew her hand up to strike Liz again, but stopped cold as another person entered the room behind Liz.

"What is the meaning of this?” a man asked in a loud voice Liz thought she recognized.

"I found this intruder in the corridor,” Moira said. “She claims to have come here from the future."

The man walked to Moira's side and peered at Liz with interest. “Her manner of dress
is
strange, is it not?” he observed.

"Tarrh,” Liz began, then stopped, reconsidered her approach. “Mr. McCann, I
am
from the future. I was in a house built very like this one by a descendant of yours—Benjamin McCann."

Tarrh McCann turned to Moira and the other man. “Leave us,” he commanded.

"But the woman claims to know
secrets
about you,” the other man objected.

"Sean, you may be my long lost brother come home from the goddess knows where, but I am still the master of my own manor.
Leave us
,” Tarrh repeated.

Sean lowered his eyes and nodded in ascent to his brother, backed a few paces from them without speaking. Moira made no move to leave.

"Tarrh, you have not been well. You should not be—” she protested.

Tarrh straightened his back, glared at her. “Leave us—
both of you
—and take those hungry hounds from Hades with you!"

Moira hissed, her eyes wild as she sprang for Liz once again, her fingers contorted into claw-like talons. Tarrh caught her by the wrist, turned her around, and flung her halfway across the room. “You dare disregard my bidding,
sweet
Moira? As long as I live, I shall
not
tolerate your insolence. Get out of my sight!"

Tarrh watched as Moira and Sean slunk from the room, closing the door behind them, before he turned to face Liz. “You are bleeding,” he observed.

She brushed the wound with the back of her hand, found her face to be already swollen and wet with the blood that oozed from the jagged wound. “I-I had no idea—"

"Better let me have a look at that,” he said. “Was it her terrible fingernails did that to you, or that devil-cursed ring?” he asked as he reached toward Liz's face.

Liz instinctively recoiled at his touch. “It was her ring, I think; it was hard and cold when it struck me."

"Aye, it is as I thought,” he replied. “The ring is only slightly less venomous than the woman herself. You will have to trust me or you might well die from the poison. That wound must be cleaned at once. Come with me."

Liz eyed him warily, gripped the arms of the chair in which she sat.

Tarrh gave her an amused stare. “Would you rather wait here and chance being attacked anew by Moira or her four-legged demon friends? I assure you, I mean you no harm."

Liz gingerly pushed herself to her feet, surprised by how light-headed she suddenly felt as she reeled from side to side. She looked up at Tarrh in surprise, leaned back into the chair.

In less than the length of time it took to blink her eyes, Tarrh scooped her out of the chair and headed with her toward the entrance through which he had entered the room only moments before. He swiftly carried her up the stairs and into a large chamber and laid her on a wide bed. Opening a small vial from the table beside the bed, he poured the thick liquid from it onto a cloth, began to dab at her face with it. The concoction smelled musky and burned the sensitive open sore on her cheek, made her eyes tear, but she stayed still under the heavy strokes he made to scrub out the wound.