Page 83 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

Hurrying toward the door, she paused there, unsure if she should knock or simply barge in. She decided to follow decorum and fisted her hand to pound on the thick oak door with all her might. Then stood back and waited.

No one came.

There was no bell, either.

She tried again, pounding once more. “Dickens! It’s me! Please let me in.Please.”

Still nothing. Every moment that passed was a moment wasted.

Finally, in desperation, she tried the knob. It turned, and the door swung open with ease. She burst through it, kicking it closed with her heel. Then she made a mad dash for the grand staircase. Up and up, her muscles objecting to the hurried pace with every step. She ignored it as she sprinted down the hallway and paused at his bedchamber door. It was closed.

Gulping air into her burning lungs, she decided propriety be hanged. She hadn’t come all this way alone to lose her courage now. She opened the door and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was the horrible smell. The metallic odor of blood hung thick and redolent in the air barely masked by a sickly sweet medicinal scent. She covered her mouth and nose with her free hand as she forced away the bile that wanted to rise to her throat.

Dickens was sitting by his bedside. The moment he saw her, he jumped to his feet and hurried around the bed. He blocked her view, but she caught a glimpse of a prone Leopold in the bed. The valet’s face was pinched with concern and now a hint of annoyance as if she were nothing more than an unwelcome intruder.

“My lady, you should not be here.” As he approached, he reached for her as if to take her by the arm and turn her away.

“Dickens, I know how to break the curse.” The words spilled from her before she stopped them.

He dropped his arm to his side, listless. Limp. “It’s too late.”

A sharp breath sucked in through her teeth with a hiss. “What do you mean?”

His face turned solemn, serious. A look she had never seen before from Dickens. That terrified her.

“He’s dying,” he said, his voice nothing but a weak whisper.

She shook her head, refusing to believe. “No.”

“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for him.”

She stepped around him and headed for the bed. Dickens was on her heels.

“You do not want to see him like this, my lady. Please.” He had never begged her for anything, but his sharp tone caught her off guard.

Pausing, she looked at him over her shoulder and saw the anguish, the distress, the concern creasing his aged face.

“What happened to him last night, Dickens?”

He swallowed hard, cutting a glance at the man in the bed, then looked back at her. “Don’t you know?”

“I know he was there last night, at the manor. Lurking in the shadows. I know he was trying to protect me.”

But it didn’t make sense to her he was trying to protect her from only Lord Vincent. She swallowed hard, her mouth turned to ash as she recalled the previous evening. She told Dickens about Lord Vincent and his threat to end the beast once and for all.

“I never thought he would actually make good on that threat,” she said. “But then this morning, the door to the manor was torn to shreds. There were claw marks and…” Her heart thudded. “…blood.”

Dickens stretched a frail hand to her. It struck her then. He was fading away. His life-force was tied to Leopold’s.

“Come away, my lady.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave him.”

“He doesn’t even know you’re here. Come away.” He beckoned with his hand.

Reluctance shifted through her as she cast another glance at the bed. Leopold was covered completely with the white sheet. His face was ashen. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead. Death stalked him, now.

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