Page 24 of The Shadow of the Count
Clark had a very real direct line to the divine. Donnie wasn’t clear whether that divine was holy or not. Either way, it occasionally served them well, and he wasn’t going to complain.
“What about Peter? Is there any other way to get him a message?” Douglas asked.
“I tried the local authorities. They wouldn’t help. I did wire Monsieur Grant, and he agreed to try.”
“What about a courier or a local who might deliver a wire. A priest?” Clark asked.
Donnie snapped his fingers. “I’ll look into that.”
“I’ll speak with some of my contacts.”
“Thank you.” He’d tried to go through official channels. He should have been thinking creatively, as Clark always said. “It’s just been one thing after another.”
“Of course. I understand. Life is hard when you’re on your own.” Clark winked at him.
“I certainly feel better with all of you here.” Now he needed to get Peter back to them. His dear one was alone and possibly terrified. He dared not imagine Peter dead or injured. “I believe this count is evil. I don’t have proof, but I believe it.”
“Then we believe it, too, buddy.” Jeb tried to clap him on the shoulder.
They pulled up to Lyle’s home some time later, and it was as if there was a dark cloud over it. It was genuinely horrifying from the outside, which he hadn’t seen in several days.
Clark frowned deeply, and Charles leaned hard into Douglas, almost hiding.
Jeb was the defiant one, his eyes flashing, his chin jerking up. This was how they all approached life. He expected Douglas to laugh theatrically, but he just squeezed Donnie’s shoulder.
“How awful for your friend. We’ll do all we can to help.”
“Thank you. Something is sick here, something evil.”
“Then we need to cast it out.” There was no teasing in Clark’s voice now.No, he was on the job, his dark eyes flashing with authority.
“Yes, before it’s too late.”
The butler—who was called Norman, which Donnie found disappointing—all butlers should have names like Clive or Edgar—came hurrying out. “The physician requests your attentions, sir.”
“On my way. Is he in Lyle’s rooms?” Donnie asked.
“Yes, sir.” Norman appeared constipated, which he read as distress.
“My friends’ bags will arrive soon.”
“Of course, sir.” Norman nodded at him. “I’ve arranged rooms.”
Nodding, Donnie hurried upstairs, with his entire crew trailing behind.
“Let me go! You untie me right now, you bastard!”
Oh, dear. He burst into Lyle’s bedchamber. “What on earth is going on?”
“He’s gone quite mad, I’m afraid.” Richard looked disheveled, his tie gone, his collar askew.
Lyle was pale as the sheets, claw marks on his arms and cheeks, and he was tied to the posts of the giant bed frame.
“Lyle. What’s going on, love?” Donnie waved Douglas and the others back and moved to sit on the side of the bed.
“Someone’s calling to me, Donnie-love. I can hear him, whispering my name. He wants me—wants to fuck me.”
“Honey, so many people would love to do that. You don’t need demon lovers.”He wasn’t going to mince words. They weren’t in polite company. These were his dearest friends.
