Serafina and the Black Cloak - Robert Beatty Page 0,71
candlelit Billiard Room alone, sipping from his glass and smoking his cigar. Come on out, she thought. We have business to attend to. But he seemed to be enjoying a moment of personal triumph. She couldn’t read his mind, but she tried to piece together what she knew about him and imagine what he was thinking at that moment.
After losing his plantation in the war and falling to the depths of ruin, here he was now, finally back to his rightful place again, a distinguished gentleman of the highest order, a personal friend of one of the richest men in America. All he had to do to get here was steal the souls and talents of a hundred lousy children, with their small, frail bodies and their pliable spirits.
But she wondered. Why didn’t he absorb adults as well? Were they more difficult? And now that he had achieved his position in society, why did he continue with the attacks and risk discovery? If he’d been doing this for a long time, then why the sudden greed for young souls? What was driving him to absorb a child night after night? It had to be more than just the pursuit of talents. It had to be a need greater than anything that had come before.
She watched Mr. Thorne as he sat on the sofa, puffing on his cigar and sipping his cognac. There was something different about him tonight. His face looked gray. The skin under his eyes was wrinkled and flaking. His hair seemed less shiny and perfect than it did the morning in the Tapestry Gallery when she saw him for the first time, or when he arrived with the rescue party to take Braeden back to Biltmore.
Mr. Thorne set his empty glass on the end table and stood.
Serafina’s muscles tensed. The time had come.
Like the other gentlemen, he wore a formal black jacket and tie, and she could hear the movement of his patent-leather shoes on the Billiard Room’s hardwood floor. But when she saw what he was carrying draped over his arm, her breath caught in her throat. It was the Black Cloak. Satin and shimmering and clean—the cloak was as much in disguise as she was. To any one else, it was but a fashionable covering. To anyone else, it might have appeared that the handsomely attired gentleman intended to take a quiet stroll on the grounds before he retired for the evening, but she knew the truth: it wasn’t just a cloak, it was the Black Cloak, which meant he was bent on malevolent purpose. Here was her enemy. Here was the fight she’d come for. But she could feel her whole body quaking in her gown. She was scared to death. At least I’m going to die in a pretty dress, she thought.
He walked out of the room and into the corridor where Serafina was hidden in the shadows. She stayed perfectly still, but then he stopped just outside the Billiard Room door. He could not see her, but he could sense her there. He stood just a few feet away from her. Her heartbeat pounded. She had trouble controlling her breathing. He was right in front of her. All her well-laid plans seemed foolish now. She wanted to cower away, to flee, to slink, to hide, to scream.
But she steadied herself. She forced herself quiet. And she did what for her was the most terrifying thing to do in the world: she stepped out into the open.
Serafina stood in her dress in the candlelight of the corridor, where Mr. Thorne could see her.
His hair wasn’t as dark as she recalled, but far more silvery now, and his eyes were a striking ice-blue. He looked much older than she remembered, but he was a startlingly handsome man, a gentleman of distinguished character, and for a moment, she was taken aback by it.
Her plan had been to pass herself off as a helpless little rich girl, a child guest of the Vanderbilts for him to prey on. Appearing to be easy prey was going to be part of her trick, the rat bait.
It was a perfect plan. But she realized now that it wasn’t going to work.
As they looked at each other face-to-face, she could tell by his expression that, despite the beautiful gown she wore and her unusually well-combed hair, he knew exactly who she was. And it filled her with a wave of terrible dread.