The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 21

Mike stood in Auguste's study watching a man wearing a hooded duster cloak pacing back and forth in front of him, muttering to himself.

"Master," Mike heard himself say, "I thought the old man's diary would please you. It proves she's—"

"Please me?" The cloaked man turned toward him but his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood. He spat on the floor. "You dimwit—I already know who she is. Why do you think I waited in hiding for two endless weeks for that girl to arrive? I went after her twice to test the waters. The fact that her face is completely healed proves her identity without question. The only one who could heal her like that would never reveal himself to any human but Serena's heir." He spat again, cussed. "I shouldn't have bothered to question her—I should have killed her on the spot. Now I'm stuck here playing hide and seek with her . . . and Zever. I want to tear her to pieces! Her very breath threatens my existence." He took a step closer and lowered his voice to a growl. "That woman has the power to destroy us all."

Mike had a sudden sense of claustrophobia and the room seemed to fade all around him until the only thing he could see was the cloaked man before him, the man his voice had called, "Master." Was he some kind of grim reaper?

Nothing made sense.

After finding the diary in Lily's room, the puppeteer had run him down to Auguste's study where he had discovered this man in the corridor, feeling the locked study doors all over as though searching for a soft spot. The puppeteer had approached the stranger waving the diary in his hand in triumph, calling him Master; but the cloaked man had given him a quick once over and said nothing, returning to his examination of the doors as Mike stood nearby watching.

At first Mike figured the man was some kind of burglar. But then the stranger raised his fist and smashed it against the door with such force that it actually buckled inward as though made of rubber.

If Mike had had any control of his body, he would have hightailed it out of there, but the puppeteer didn't even flinch. He might as well have had cement legs.

The madman backed away from the door with a growl and lunged forward, ramming his shoulder into it and buckling it further this time. This he repeated over and over until the doors finally caved in.

The study was empty. Ian and Lily must have left the study before this hooded man arrived. If only the puppeteer would have the same sense.

"No, no, no—" the madman threw his head back in rage, raising fisted, black-gloved hands. "Not again! She can't have escaped from me again—" He ran to the nearest wall of shelves and tore the books down like Dominoes, one row at a time. What was he searching for? Mike had never been able to find access to the tunnels through the study, though he wouldn't be surprised if there was one.

The hooded man gave up on the books only a third of the way through, and yanked up the Persian rug, dropping to his knees and searching the floor for something—a trap door likely. There were none. He jumped to his feet and kicked over a standing Globe. It broke loose from the stand and rolled away.

Rounding the desk, he plunked down into the high-back leather chair and gripped the arms with rigid gloved fingers. Metal vambraces girded his arms and he wore leather pants with strider boots. "What are you still doing here?" he growled at Mike.

Beneath his duster cloak was a leather vest with braided ties. Who on earth was this man?

"Master," Mike heard himself say, "I may have more information that could be useful to you."

"Something other than that redundant journal?"

"Yes. Far better." Mike tried to halt his talking lips but the words continued to flow unabated. "I have both keys . . . to the trunk in the attic."