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were trying to work something out about the albino teenager.
Finally he leaned forward and spoke to the young man. "Jak Lauren?"
"Yeah," the youth said, wiping a dribble of cream from his chin with the
sleeve of his coat.
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Deathlands 29 - Bloodlines
"Your age?"
"Sixteen, going on seventeen."
"You have always had that hair and those eyes?"
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"Sure."
"And you have lived only sixteen years. And every year you grow older, do you,
Jak?"
"Course. Everyone does."
Thomas nodded, smiling gently at Jak. "Everyone does, lad. Indeed. My own
words to myself, a hundred times a day. Everyone does."
He stood and walked slowly around the long table, patting Jak on the shoulder,
whispering something to
Norman as he reached the door.
"Tomorrow you will meet everyone. And I look forward to seeing your film,
Johannes Forde."
The door shut behind him.
"How did he know about the film?" Forde said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ryan didn't know what had awakened him.
After the meal, Norman had brought around tiny glasses with a choice of sweet,
sticky liqueurs, bright rainbow colors, deep green and cerulean blue and
violet and a sickly gold. All of them tasted of sugar and fire.
Krysty had described them to Ryan, who'd shaken his head at the idea. He'd
eaten well rather than wisely and was feeling liverish. But she'd pressed him
and picked one for him that she said was the color of ripe
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Deathlands 29 - Bloodlines oranges.
Norman had poured him a glassful and it hadn't tasted bad, orangy with a hint
of chocolate and a slightly bitter aftertaste that Ryan couldn't identify. But
on principle he'd left most of it, and Krysty had finished it for him,
without, she said, letting the butler see.
They'd all gone up to their rooms. Both Ryan and Krysty were exhausted and
promptly fell asleep.
Now, something had awakened him.
"What was that?" he whispered to Krysty.
But she didn't stir. He could tell from the sound of her heavy breathing that
she was deeply asleep, lying on her back. Ryan nudged her in the ribs, but she
muttered and half raised an arm to vaguely push him away.
"Guess I'll just have to go and take a look-see myself. Or a listen-hear.
Never heard of that. Mebbe I just invented it."
His head ached and felt muzzy.
Sitting up and swinging his legs out of the bed brought a passing wave of
nausea, but it didn't last. Ryan slept with most of his clothes on, from force
of habit. But he was barefooted as he padded carefully across the room,
tucking the SIG-Sauer into its holster as he moved, both hands outstretched to
try to avoid bumping into the furniture.
Behind him, the sound of Krysty's snoring grew deeper and louder.
Ryan was pleased that he made the walk to the door without even touching
anything, his right hand dropping onto the cold metal of the ornate brass
handle at the first attempt.
The door opened without a sound. Ryan hesitated. The Cornelius mansion was
generally in poor condition. But every door hinge and lock had been recently
greased. It was an interesting fact to store away and examine later.
Behind him, he heard Krysty muttering something about a milch cow.
He still had no idea what had awakened him, but the short hairs at his nape
were prickling, and he knew better than to ignore such a warning.
The house seemed silent, except for the inevitable faint creakings and
settling sounds.
Ryan had managed, during their time with the Family, to build up an accurate
plan in his mind. Both
Krysty and Dean had helped him, taking him on a repeated tour of the first
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three floors, telling him where all the doors and barred windows and sets of
stairs were, who was in each room.
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Deathlands 29 - Bloodlines
He eased himself into the corridor, head turning, alert for any noise.
A full set of armor was just to his left, and he reached out to touch the cold
metal of the breastplate. To his right hung a large portrait of a stern-faced
man. Doc had described it to him, saying he thought it was by an inferior
Dutch artist called Van Helsing.
He recalled that Norman had shown them all up to this floor, and had repeated
his warning about wandering in the night. J.B. had asked him where the threat
might be, and the little man had skipped sideways to avoid the question.
"Who knows where danger might be? Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of
men?"
Mildred had given him some sort of answer to that. What had it been?
"Only the shadows know," Ryan breathed. Something like that, anyway.
He began to stalk along the passage, unconsciously closing his "good" eye, as
if he were making himself blind and was, that way, kind of controlling his own
destiny.
There was a long bench seat next, and he rounded it, barely brushing its
surface with the tips of his fingers. The room where Mildred and the Armorer
slept was on his right. Jak was opposite, and Dean immediately beyond that.
Ryan hesitated, fixing his position in his mind. A bathroom was to the right,
its brass handle cool against his hand. Then there was a staircase that J.B.
believed led up to the banned top floor of the rambling mansion.
But it was kept locked.
A floorboard squeaked under his bare feet and Ryan froze, putting out his arm
to steady himself, feeling the carved wood of the heavy door, just as it had
been described to him.
With one exception.
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