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"As long as that's clear," she said, trying to sound firm but not stern. She probably ended up sounding like a bitch, but better a bitch than a tease. She wanted all her cards on the table. "So, how long do you plan to keep my cat?"
"Just a few days," he said. "Is that all right?"
"Sure. I'm actually interested to hear what you can find out about it. The thing is definitely unique."
He made an absent and noncommittal sound in his throat as they stepped onto her front porch.
"Good night," she said as she put her key into the door and turned it.
"Thanks for the cookies," he said.
"Sure." She closed the door behind her and locked it, and for a moment she just stood there, back to the door as she took a deep breath, suddenly convinced that she should've skipped the party and stayed home and weathered Hester's wrath.
The rest of the evening passed as usual. She put on her pajamas and watched a show she had recorded on her DVR. She'd eaten so much junk at the party that she wasn't hungry, but around seven she ate a bowl of cereal. Tomorrow morning would come early, so she crawled into bed about eight forty-five and pulled the covers to her chin. Her alarm was set for four. Monday mornings were always a bear, and even though classes were out for the holidays, she had lots of orders for parties and gifts, and even the locals frequented her shop. She was lucky. Business was good.
Afraid that the day's excitement would keep her up too late, Ruby closed her eyes expecting to fight for sleep. Instead she drifted off a
lmost immediately.
Callida wanted to fight against the bonds that restrained her, but she was too weak to move. He had put something in her wine, something intended to take away the last of her strength. She was helpless, bound and prone on a cold stone floor. She wanted to call for help, but even if she could manage to make a proper sound, who would come? No one. She had no one to rescue her, no one to miss her when she was gone. The one person she had believed to be her friend had put her in this position. Dezso had pretended to care for her, he had promised to show her the wonders of Rome, but instead he had kept her here, far from the great city, always promising tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. He had clothed her in fine chitons and fed her an abundance of food and given her gifts of jewels and other pretty things. And now he had betrayed her; he had poisoned her and bound her hands and left her here. Why?
The door to her stone cell opened, and Dezso walked inside. He smiled at her, smiled with great warmth even though he had lied to her and made her his prisoner and drugged her so that she could barely move.
"What you are about to do is very important, Callida," he said in his soothing, pleasant voice. "You will make the ultimate sacrifice in the name of a power much greater than any you have ever known."
"Please, let me go," she whispered.
Dezso shook his head. "I cannot. It is time. Do you see the moon?"
Callida turned her head—it was a great effort to do so, as her head felt heavy and her vision swam—and she saw the full moon through the small window high in the stone wall of her cell. It was bright, and large, and it shimmered with power. "I see."
The man she had loved stood over her and began to chant, calling to a demon to rise. Callida tried to scream but could not. Dezso clasped something in his hand, and from that hand black smoke began to rise. No, this was not smoke it was simply blackness, a darkness so deep it looked bottomless. What began as a formless blackness grew and took shape before her very eyes. The shape was not that of a man but was of a large, black cat with tremendous paws and glowing red eyes. It was solid and yet was not, as if a great nothingness in the shape of a large cat floated on air.
With a mounting horror Callida realized that Dezso offered her to the blackness, he gave her to this monster that grew and took shape before her. Again she tried to scream, but no sound came forth, not even when the dark cat hovered above her, blocking out all other sights, and its red eyes captured and held hers.
She stopped trying to scream. It was too late for that. Much too late. And she was too terrified to make a sound or fight her fate. The demon—for yes, it was indeed a demon that Dezso had called forth to take her—placed its empty face close to hers. And it inhaled. . .
Ruby was jerked out of the dream with a scream. Her own scream, one that died quickly, caught in her throat. Good heavens, she'd never had a nightmare like that one! She'd been watching and participating at the same time, she'd been terrified as if she'd been the one sprawled on cold stone, sacrificed to a dark monster. Lying in bed, Ruby rubbed a hand up and down her arm. She still felt chills, as if her blood ran icy cold. What had she eaten at the party to bring on such a nightmare?
She glanced at the clock. Not quite 2:00 a.m. She had two more hours before her alarm went off but wasn't sure that she could sleep after that vivid dream. Great. What a way to start the week!
It was dark in her bedroom, the only illumination coming from the bedside digital clock and a decorative porcelain night-light on the other side of the room. What little light she had was enough to draw her eyes to the object that sat on her bedside table, an object that should not be there. The cat figurine, the one she had allowed the professor to borrow, stared at her.
Ruby muttered a curse as she sat up slowly, blinking hard, wondering if this was still a dream. She'd seen Benedict walk away from her house with the figurine in his hand. How had it gotten here? She reached out slowly and touched the pale green cat. Strangely enough, it felt warm. Alive. She drew her hand back. That nightmare had certainly revved up her imagination.
The damn cat had not been on her bedside table—had not been in the house—when she'd gone to sleep. It was here now, and that was fact, not the product of a bad dream. She shook herself into full awareness, throwing off the last of her dream along with the blanket that covered her andkept her warm. Had Zane Benedict broken into her house and placed the statuette there? What other explanation was there? She threw her legs over the side of the bed. Was this supposed to be some kind of sick joke?
No, this wasn't funny, it was creepy as hell. Studly or not, she did not want men she barely knew—or even men she knew well— creeping into her bedroom at night to leave signs of their visit. Ruby grabbed her bathrobe and stuck -her feet into warm, fuzzy slippers. She snatched up the green cat and headed for the front door.
She stopped in the hallway between her bedroom and the living room, her step stuttering. What was she thinking? Her first instinct was to run across the street and confront Benedict with the evidence, but maybe that was just what he wanted. Maybe he was waiting for her by his front door—or in the darkness somewhere between her door and his. Two in the morning. Holland Court slept. There would be no one to see her, and no one to hear, if anything went wrong.
Ruby fell into the wall for support, and when her knees went weak she gave in and sank to the floor. Until this moment she hadn't thought to be afraid of the professor. Why should she? He was a known factor, a quiet neighbor who ran every evening and kept odd hours and mowed his yard when it needed to be done. She'd always suspected he was one of the very smart people who lived in his own little world, which was odd, perhaps, but odd in a normal way. He was a well-respected member of the academic community. A couple of her employees had mentioned him a time or two, not only bringing up the fact that he was cute but that they loved his classes. A while back she had heard one student mention that he taught some kind of psychology.
She remained on the floor for a few long moments. Her luck with men had never been the best. They turned out to be unfaithful or dishonest or else they lost interest in her and her workaholic schedule. Not that she'd had a slew of serious relationships in her twenty-eight years, but there had been a few. None of them had panned out, and in the past couple of years she'd been content enough just to drift alone. It was easier that way.
But now, sitting in the dark with a nightmare still on her mind and the proof that a man she barely knew had been in her bedroom, she didn't know whom to call. A year ago she would've called Aunt Mildred, but Mildred was gone.
She could call Todd, she supposed. He'd love that, wouldn't he?
