Chapter 51.

Instead of vomiting, she ran faster than both Houston and his father. In desperate panic, she raced blindly forward.

"This way!" Houston's father said and pointed.

They'd reached the intersection where the three halls met below the stairs. His father gestured toward the right, the middle hall. But Simone charged up the stairs. She disappeared beyond the lowest curve.

"They'll find her!"

Houston chased her up the stairs. He caught her sweater as she swung around another curve. The sweater tore, leaving a fragment in his hand. She toppled, sprawling onto Houston, both of them rolling to the bottom. Houston felt the sharp edge of the stairs against his spine. He groaned, pawing to stand. He grabbed Simone, pushing her down the middle hall.

They hurried through cobwebbed shadows, smelling dampness, pa.s.sing bleak cold stones. They reached another intersection. His father chose the hall to the left this time, and soon another to the right, ignoring two others, lunging straight ahead. The maze became more complicated. Houston heard water dripping. He saw rats. He heard a scream and saw a huge-winged bat swoop toward Simone. Her hands flailed to protect her hair. And then with rodent squeaks the thing dove straight at Houston. It was brown and large, teeth bared. Houston didn't watch where he was going. When his stiff-soled boot caught on a crack, he fell. His face struck granite.

Someone picked him up Simone, her face contorted, frantic. Houston crouched reflexively, afraid the bat would dive again.

"Are you all right?" she said.

He nodded, cheek raw, swollen. His father ran ahead; Houston hurried after him with Simone.

He didn't know where they were going, whether they faced toward the castle's front or toward its back. He sometimes thought the floor sloped down, but now for sure it angled up. His lungs burned as this hallway reached an end. The water dripped more loudly. He faced two big iron doors, their surfaces brown with sc.u.m. Cold moisture clung to them. He saw his frosty breath.

"Where are we?"

"At the back of the castle. This door" his father pointed to the right "leads toward the mountains. St. Laurent described a tunnel, you remember?"

"How the guards went up to catch Simone."

"That's how you get away from here. The blizzard will conceal you."

"It's still snowing?"

"More severely. Can you manage in the storm?"

"I'm trained for it. I'll show you how. We'll go as far as we have strength, and then we'll build a shelter."

"I'm not going."

"What?"

"My heart. I'd never stand the shock."

"But St. Laurent will kill you."

"If I go with you, I'll die out there. But this way I won't hold you back."

"I can't."

"Take this gift from me. When you were young, you needed me. I didn't come to help. Now let me make it up to you."

"But you're my father."

"And your father's giving you your life. You still haven't escaped. You could easily freeze out there, or they could find you, or ... But if I go with you, I'll slow you down, and then you'll certainly die. For G.o.d's sake, think about Simone!"

His father's anguished pleading rumbled hollowly along the corridor. A rat stood on its hind legs, hissing.

"I don't know what to do."

"Stop Charon. Do what I was too afraid to do."

"I hear them," Simone said.

Houston glared along the hall. He heard the m.u.f.fled far-off shouting. Boot soles clattered on the granite. Angry orders echoed through the murky distance.

"Quickly," his father said. "I'll give you time. I'll hold them off." He grabbed the slimy handle of the door.

But Houston frowned. Abruptly he recalled what had happened at the hunting lodge. How, as it burned, Henri had led them through the tunnel toward the forest. How the exit had been watched. How the escape had been a trap.

Now Houston searched his father's eyes his frail, stooped, sickly father who'd abandoned Houston, who had never known his son but now would give his life to save him. Does it make sense, Pete thought, to trust a man you never saw before, who indirectly killed your wife, who works for Charon? Should you realize that this too is another trick, a lie? Your father claims he shot those guards, but did you make sure they were dead? They could be faking. You'll go up this tunnel, and you'll find guards waiting for you. When the snow melts, the authorities will find two frozen campers fifty miles away from here. Another mountain accident.

His mind constricted in confusion. Safety had been offered, but suspicion took control. From the beginning of this nightmare, nothing had been what it seemed.

"You're lying," Houston said.

His father went pale. "They'll soon be here! Don't lose your chance!"

"My only chance is this way!" Houston darted to the left. He grabbed the second door.

"That's wrong! It leads to the castle!" "Where they won't expect us!" "Trust me!

Use the tunnel!"

Houston shouted, "No!" His shout was swallowed by a louder sound a shrill excruciating siren amplified by the narrow confines of the tunnel. Houston clutched his ears. The noise was like a buzz-saw.

His father peered along the hallway, frightened. Houston yanked the gun away from him. He pulled the second door, feeling the slime on its handle. The door held firm.

"It's locked!" He strained, his shoulder aching. "Help!" Simone lunged next to him, grabbing the handle, tugging. Suddenly the door gave way. They fell back.

Houston scrambled to his feet. He saw a bolt on the door's far side, but it had not been locked.

He found a light switch on the wall beyond the door. When he flicked it, a faint bulb revealed a set of narrow, high-pitched stairs. The wood was rotten.

Houston couldn't bear the siren's wail. He pushed Simone ahead of him. His father squeezed past him, rushing up the stairs. Pete tried to stop him. "No!"

"But you don't know the castle." "I don't trust you."

"Then you'll have to kill me. I'm going with you." His father didn't stay to argue. He ran up the stairs. The wood bent from his weight, groaning wet and m.u.f.fled.

Houston turned to pull the door shut. Its metal bottom sc.r.a.ped along the granite, rumbling into place. As he heard his father and Simone race up the stairs, he shoved the bolt to lock the door, then started after them. His boot came down so hard the wood broke, capturing his ankle. Wincing, he leaned down to pry the splinters loose. His ankle wasn't sprained, but it felt tender. He climbed higher, worried that the other steps would not support him. The incline was so narrow that his shoulders sc.r.a.ped against the granite on each side. He nearly lost his balance. Behind him, the siren strained to pierce the door with its wail.

He reached a landing where the planks bent from his weight.

The braces squeaked, pulling from the wall. He scrambled higher, staring at his father and Simone above him, frosty vapor panting from their mouths.

Another landing. His father and Simone abruptly stopped. They faced a polished wooden door. Houston hurried up.

"This door leads to the main rooms of the castle," his father said.

Mistrustful, Houston leaned against the door. He heard no voices.

Nodding, ready with the automatic, Houston twisted the k.n.o.b. He pulled it.

Blazing light flowed over him. He squinted, feeling the warmth of the castle.

He stared at a long, wide corridor. He saw a medieval painting on the wall a man-sized lion at the feet of a woman in a purple robe. She wore a crown. She held a crucifix. He peered along the ornate carpet on the wall. He saw no guards. He sensed no danger.

"Hurry!"

Chapter 52.

Houston took the lead. He burst out from the door, glancing both ways along the corridor, swinging in anger toward his father.

"If you shout for help, I'll kill you. If you lie ... How do we get to the parapets?"

"The guards will see you."

"In the blizzard? I don't think so. They're probably watching the tunnel. I got in this place by climbing. We'll get out that way."

"If you're determined. This way."

To the right.

"Then we'll go left."

"That's wrong. That's foolish. You're "

The guard's appearance settled the debate; he came around the corner to the left. He sensed commotion, turned and stared, then raised his rifle.

Houston shot. The silencer made a spitting noise. The guard fell, rifle clattering, the gray of his uniform stained with blood.

The hallway had been silent. Now the siren without warning struck Pete's ears. He'd been hearing it below him, down the stairwell, through the door. But now it sounded through the castle. As his scalp rose, Houston went against his deep suspicions. Fearful that a second guard would enter from the left, he took his father's suggestion, darting toward the right.

Simone clutched his hand. They scurried past an intersection. As he glanced along another hall, he saw a man and fired.

Gla.s.s exploded. Houston flinched. The horror-stricken man he'd shot was his own image in a mirror!

Panicked, he ran on. He pa.s.sed a door that opened so abruptly Houston faltered.

Jules Fontaine appeared. He wore pajamas, held a book. His features shrank when he saw Houston. Ducking back inside the room, he slammed the door.

The lock clicked. Houston shot, the silencer spitting faintly. As the bullet whunked against the door, the siren's shriek became Fontaine's shriek; Houston heard the m.u.f.fled scream behind the splintered hole inside the door.

The hallway stretched before him. Other corridors led right and left. Every door became a threat. His heart swelled, pounding.

At the far end of the hall, the rush of footsteps blended with the wailing siren. Houston dropped to one knee, aiming with both hands, his arms straight, elbows locked. A guard careened around a corner, stumbling when he saw what faced him. Houston squeezed the trigger; recoil jolted him. The guard arched backward, forehead blown away.

The rifle, get the rifle! Houston thought. But the moment he began to scramble toward it, he heard other bootsteps pounding closer from the same direction that this guard had come.

"Get back!" he told Simone.

He scuttled after her. Shock drained him. From the other end of the hall, two guards ran into view. They saw their fallen comrade and angrily raised their rifles toward Houston, his father, and Simone.

From the remaining end of the hall, the bootsteps pounded nearer.

Trapped! No cover!

Houston lunged across the hall and fumbled at a doork.n.o.b, praying it wasn't locked. The door came open. Houston fell inside. His father and Simone rushed over him. He heard the shots. And then a scream out there, puzzling till he realized that, as the two guards shot from one end of the corridor, a different group of guards must have appeared down at this other end. The scream was from a guard caught in the cross fire.

Houston rolled, kicked the door shut, and jerked up to lock it. He scanned the room: magnificent, three stories high. A ma.s.sive table stretched from one end to the other, high-backed chairs along it. Tapestries, a blazing fireplace. Light from the chandeliers was blinding. At the far end of the room, above what seemed to be a throne, a balcony stretched wall to wall.

No other doors. He heard the guards outside, cursing, pounding to break in.

But the door was thick; they couldn't smash it. Houston felt protected. Then he realized he'd trapped himself. He stared past Simone and his father toward the windows, high and narrow, recessed in a row along one wall.

He rushed across the hardwood floor and, careful not to show himself, peered out. The howling of the wind was louder than the siren. He saw gusting snow, so thick it cloaked the parapets, the courtyard, all the levels of the castle. Cold seeped through the wall, numbing the hand he held against it. Houston yanked the hand back, rubbing it.

The windows had hinges. Once he pulled the window toward him, he'd be able to squeeze out through the narrow s.p.a.ce. The gusting snow died briefly, showing him a parapet. So this room was on an upper level; he was closer to the battlements than he'd suspected.

But a figure flashed across his snow-veiled vision. Soundless. Urgent. Houston gaped as if he'd seen a ghost. The figure had been absolutely white. It seemed to have no face or hands. A specter, it was gone before he realized what he had seen. It blended so completely with the snow he wasn't even sure that it had been there.

Houston trembled.

Then the gusts of snow died once again, and this time he saw farther past the parapet, across the courtyard, toward the other parapets. He saw the murky shapes of two gray guards. They stiffened abruptly, aiming their rifles at something.

We're in here, though, Houston thought. Surely word was sent. The other guards must know we've been trapped in here.

What he saw next, he swore was a hallucination. Out of nowhere, two white shapes dropped on those guards. Now white and gray struggled with each other on the parapet beyond the courtyard. One white figure raised a metal object, striking at a guard. The second specter threw a guard out into s.p.a.ce. The snow obscured the guard's contorted plummet toward the courtyard.