Read Online Symphony of Light and Winter by Renea Mason - Free Book Online
Authors: Renea Mason
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essence to destroy him.”
I had to ask. “Is he a vampire?”
Stanton all but giggled. “No. They don’t exist, but Cyril is probably the reason people think they do. There are some common characteristics, but he is so much more.
Stanton’s admiration served to whet my appetite. “Is he undead? Does he drink blood? How can he move like that?”
Stanton shook his head, amusement crossing his features. “He’s very much alive, eats food like you and me.” He paused. “I’m afraid I have officially said too much. We have a housekeeper on site. Her name is Mary. I’ll send her up with refreshments. When Cyril is home, I’ll let him know you need to talk.”
“Thank you, Stanton. Before you go, just two more things, please?” I gave my best pleading, damsel-in-distress look.
“Go ahead, but I won’t guarantee I will answer.”
“So you’re obviously not the butler. Are you and Cyril…ah…I mean… Do you live together? He never mentioned having family.” He raised an eyebrow, but before he responded I interjected. “And who helped me into these clothes?”
He smiled and laughed again, a seemingly common response of his when dealing with me. “Are you asking if we are a couple?”
I nodded.
“No.” He shifted his weight for one foot to the other and sighed. “Anyway, as for your clothes, Cyril tossed me out of the room. No one was to see you but him.”
I was elated to know Cyril was not involved with Overton, but still pissed off he undressed me. “All right…thank you.”
He paused before leaving. “I have a question for you. Do you really not know how you got his blood?”
“Of course I know, but I certainly didn’t steal it. It was an accident, but I think I’ll leave that explanation for him if you don’t mind.” Two could play this game.
“Fair enough. Rest well, Miss Hill.”
* * *
Later, Mary, the housekeeper, brought in a cart. Strange. She didn’t look me in the eye or make a sound. She nodded at my questions, but never answered out loud. Perhaps she couldn’t speak English or was unable to talk. Whatever the reason, I doubted she’d be a good source of information.
The cart contained food, beverages, and toiletries. The tray of fresh fruit was a welcome sight. The deodorant almost made me giddy.
Exhausted, I still found it impossible to fall asleep. The awful scene earlier, combined with being in a strange place and all my unanswered questions, left me weary. I was confident Cyril was not planning on making good on his promise to kill me, but the fraction of doubt that lingered made it hard to close my eyes.
I couldn’t quite piece everything together. Was Michael like Cyril? Too bad for Michael; my days of grieving were over. Didn’t anyone stay dead anymore? What was I in the middle of?
Beginning to think I might wake up in a straitjacket, I turned my focus to more productive feelings, like anger. If it was a game to them, they’d find out I had enough suppressed rage to do serious damage. I grabbed the bottle of chardonnay and a glass. Not a drop would survive to see tomorrow. I decided to consider my vengeance against those undead bastards when I had more energy.
With the wine bottle empty and the glass sitting on the side table, I drifted off to sleep sprawled in the gray chair with the crimson throw wrapped around me.
The sound of running water woke me. I got up to investigate.
I walked through the archway, leading to the bathroom and gaped at the size of the room. The small doorway was deceptive. Light gray slate covered the floor and walls, and was interspersed with randomly placed decorative tiles. A large cauldron-like tub took up most of the far corner. A small seating area, consisting of two oversize chairs and a stand, contained books. Candles accented a large modern sink and vanity to my right and above it hung an ornate, red-framed mirror.
Movement in the far corner of the room, beyond a three-quarter wall blocking most but not
I had to ask. “Is he a vampire?”
Stanton all but giggled. “No. They don’t exist, but Cyril is probably the reason people think they do. There are some common characteristics, but he is so much more.
Stanton’s admiration served to whet my appetite. “Is he undead? Does he drink blood? How can he move like that?”
Stanton shook his head, amusement crossing his features. “He’s very much alive, eats food like you and me.” He paused. “I’m afraid I have officially said too much. We have a housekeeper on site. Her name is Mary. I’ll send her up with refreshments. When Cyril is home, I’ll let him know you need to talk.”
“Thank you, Stanton. Before you go, just two more things, please?” I gave my best pleading, damsel-in-distress look.
“Go ahead, but I won’t guarantee I will answer.”
“So you’re obviously not the butler. Are you and Cyril…ah…I mean… Do you live together? He never mentioned having family.” He raised an eyebrow, but before he responded I interjected. “And who helped me into these clothes?”
He smiled and laughed again, a seemingly common response of his when dealing with me. “Are you asking if we are a couple?”
I nodded.
“No.” He shifted his weight for one foot to the other and sighed. “Anyway, as for your clothes, Cyril tossed me out of the room. No one was to see you but him.”
I was elated to know Cyril was not involved with Overton, but still pissed off he undressed me. “All right…thank you.”
He paused before leaving. “I have a question for you. Do you really not know how you got his blood?”
“Of course I know, but I certainly didn’t steal it. It was an accident, but I think I’ll leave that explanation for him if you don’t mind.” Two could play this game.
“Fair enough. Rest well, Miss Hill.”
* * *
Later, Mary, the housekeeper, brought in a cart. Strange. She didn’t look me in the eye or make a sound. She nodded at my questions, but never answered out loud. Perhaps she couldn’t speak English or was unable to talk. Whatever the reason, I doubted she’d be a good source of information.
The cart contained food, beverages, and toiletries. The tray of fresh fruit was a welcome sight. The deodorant almost made me giddy.
Exhausted, I still found it impossible to fall asleep. The awful scene earlier, combined with being in a strange place and all my unanswered questions, left me weary. I was confident Cyril was not planning on making good on his promise to kill me, but the fraction of doubt that lingered made it hard to close my eyes.
I couldn’t quite piece everything together. Was Michael like Cyril? Too bad for Michael; my days of grieving were over. Didn’t anyone stay dead anymore? What was I in the middle of?
Beginning to think I might wake up in a straitjacket, I turned my focus to more productive feelings, like anger. If it was a game to them, they’d find out I had enough suppressed rage to do serious damage. I grabbed the bottle of chardonnay and a glass. Not a drop would survive to see tomorrow. I decided to consider my vengeance against those undead bastards when I had more energy.
With the wine bottle empty and the glass sitting on the side table, I drifted off to sleep sprawled in the gray chair with the crimson throw wrapped around me.
The sound of running water woke me. I got up to investigate.
I walked through the archway, leading to the bathroom and gaped at the size of the room. The small doorway was deceptive. Light gray slate covered the floor and walls, and was interspersed with randomly placed decorative tiles. A large cauldron-like tub took up most of the far corner. A small seating area, consisting of two oversize chairs and a stand, contained books. Candles accented a large modern sink and vanity to my right and above it hung an ornate, red-framed mirror.
Movement in the far corner of the room, beyond a three-quarter wall blocking most but not
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