Page 27 of The Shadow of the Count
“We’ll talk about it when I return. Come help me pack, Charles,” Douglas said.
“Yes, love.”
Donnie knew they wouldn’t have to leave until tomorrow, but he knew Douglas would want to talk to Charles, most likely about what had happened in Paris. His shoulders hunched. He hated that place.
Still, Peter asked him to come, asked him to show up and help him.
He would not say no again.
“Norman? When should I plan to leave for Calais if I need to be there day after tomorrow to meet a train?”
“Tomorrow morning, sir. Rail to Dover, ferry to Calais. Rail to anywhere else you might need to go.”
“Thank you.” That gave him some time. Time to pack and plan and buck up. “I need to arrange the trip for me and my brother, please.”
“Of course, sir. I will have a car to take you to the station and I’ll arrange your tickets tonight.”
“You’re a gem, Norman.”
The older man flushed a bit. “As you say, sir.”
“I do. Thank you.” Donnie ran upstairs to speak to Lyle, to tell him that Peter had written.
“Lyle!” He burst into his friend’s room, hoping Lyle looked better. Clark had suggested some blood treatments, and Donnie was praying that they worked.
“My friend. How are you?” Lyle looked as if he was going to simply disappear, as pale and faded as he was. This whole situation ate at him, and Don felt it was his fault.
“Peter is on his way to Paris. I got a wire.” He showed it to Lyle, sitting on his friend’s bedside to smile at him. “He wants me to meet him in Calais. Would that trouble you, to have me leave for just a few days? Clark has said he will defend you from Richard’s ministrations.”
“Trouble me?” Lyle offered him a weak smile. “No. No, you must go. You must brave Paris and go see your lover. Bring him here to meet me.”
“I will then.” He took Lyle’s hand, which just felt birdlike now. What on earth was happening to him? This was no ague or chill or sniffle. Lyle was wasting in mere days, and no one seemed to know how to help. “You must try to get better, though, so you can come dancing with us.”
“I do love to dance.” Lyle sighed, sinking back, eyes closing. “You must go get your man, however, and not worry a bit about me. Your friend has threatened to have his cowboy fellow sit on me to keep me in place. Do you think he will?”
He laughed as gaily as he could with Lyle’s voice trailing off that way, so weak. “Clark doesn’t share, I imagine.”
“Oh, damn. Will you tell Norman I’m desperate for one of his tonics?”
“I will.” Donnie bent to kiss Lyle’s cheek. “I have to leave early, so I will see you when I get back. I love you.”
“I want to give you something, dear one.” Lyle pulled a golden pocket watch out of his sheets, the chain jeweled and sparkling. “This has always made me lucky in bed.”
“Oh.” He stared at it, a chill running through him at the idea that Lyle was giving away things that were precious. “Lyle.”
“No, you take it. I don’t need it while I—While I recover, do I?”
He took the warm metal watch, smiling at Lyle, his heart breaking. “I suppose not.”
“It’s yours. Consider it…a wedding gift.”
“That’s very sweet, love.”His heart was breaking in two.
“Go on and pack.” Lyle’s hand fell back to the bed. “I think I might sleep a little.”
“All right. I’ll be back soon.” He waited for Lyle’s breathing to even out into sleep before he left, dashing away a traitorous tear. Donnie had a terrible feeling about Lyle.
Something was awfully wrong, and not simply with Lyle’s body, but with his soul. Something actually seemed to be eating away at him from the inside out. It was terrifying, but if anyone could help Lyle, it would be Clark Chambers. He seemed to be a font of archaic knowledge, and if it was a magickal malady, then Clark could fix it.
