Was it her imagination, or did he smile for a moment at her reaction? Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, for in the next moment he was leaning forward, nothing on his face but concern.
"I know more—a great deal more—about this transformation Magick than he does. I have manuscripts dealing with it that he does not even dream exist. And I know what it can do to the inside of a man as well as the outside." He tapped his temple with one white-gloved hand, significantly.
But her attention was caught by his previous words. Could he be the one the Unicorn referred to? The one who has the manuscript Jason needs?
He went on, his voice low, and yet it somehow carried over the voices of the singers and the music from the orchestra. "Jason Cameron is half beast, Miss Hawkins, but it is the side of him that is the beast that is growing to be the strongest. The longer this goes on, the more the beast will be in the ascendant. His ability to think will fade, and the instinct of the beast will take its place. He will be given to ungovernable rages, and during those rages, he will not know who or what he attacks." He nodded solemnly as she gasped in recognition—and as her memory of Jason's face and eyes flashed before her mind's eye. "That is why the old tales of the werewolf told how the creature would kill the things it loved most when it was a man—because it knew nothing but the urge to kill when the rage was upon it, and it attacked whatever was nearest."
She clasped her hands together tightly, as her throat and chest constricted until it became hard to breathe. Beltaire caught her eyes again in his glittering gaze.
"He sent you away, didn't he?" the man whispered softly.
She shook her head, and found her voice again. "No!" she replied. "No this was a trip we had planned since I arrived—"
But her denial sounded weak, even to her own ears, and Beltaire nodded as if she had answered in the affirmative. "He knows. He may not be aware of it, consciously, but he knows. He does not wish innocents to come to any harm, and he has sent you away where he feels you will be safe. I expect, if he has not already, he will send you an offer of severance."
The knowledge of the note back in her luggage burned in her heart like a guilty secret. Beltaire leaned farther forward, and put one of his hands on both her clasped ones.
"I would like to help you, Miss Hawkins," he said. "I sense that you are a brave young woman; I know that you are an accomplished woman, a resourceful woman, and a beautiful woman. I would like very much to help you, but I cannot unless you allow me to."
She found her voice again. "Help me?" she croaked. "How?"
He did not release her hand, and she could not look away from his eyes at all. "In a sense, you would come under my protection," he said. "You would do the same thing for me that you have been doing for Cameron. I could use a fine translator for the many works of Magick I have acquired over the years. My scholarship and knowledge of languages is not as great as his, but my knowledge is broader. If you have any personal interest in Magick, I could further it, easily enough. But I know that you have limited means, and that your position with Cameron is a precarious one. He is not a generous man, and he can be a vindictive one. He might even blame you for his own failures, and turn on you. If that were to happen, in the state that he is in, he might lose all caution and hunt you down like a frightened doe no matter where you happened to be—unless you accepted my protection."
It was so hard to breathe! She gasped, as if she had been running. "And then—what?"
Beltaire shrugged. "Eventually, something will happen. Either he will realize that he cannot reverse his condition and end his suffering by his own hand, or he will more likely revert entirely to the beast, break out of the grounds of his mansion, and go hunting. When that happens, someone will cut him down. It is just a matter of time."
"What do you have to do with this?" she asked, in a thin whisper.
"I? Well, for one thing, I am able to protect a fine scholar." He patted her hand. "I have seen your record; do not protest. If Jason reverts to the beast—it should be the hand of someone who knows him and will give him a quick and easy death that takes him down. I would also make certain it happens before he kills someone."
Was this a nightmare? It felt like one! But if it was a nightmare, why couldn't she wake up?
"If you are willing—and brave enough—you could make certain of that, Miss Hawkins, and I would see you had a reward commensurate with your risk," he continued, with earnest intensity. "You could serve as the bait in the trap for the beast. You could make certain that no one who was innocent and helpless became his victim. Think of it! Think of a child, or an innocent youth, or a harmless old woman being in the wrong place at the wrong time when he finally snapped! Think of him rending their flesh, tearing their throats cut! And think of his horror when he realized what he had done! If you value his honor, if you have compassion for what remains of his humanity, you can save him from that, Miss Hawkins. You can make it possible for him to die with some shred of honor and dignity left!"
She shook her head, but the movement was so faint, he probably didn't see it. Or else he chose to ignore it.
She heard music, and recognized it as the fortune-telling scene in the gypsy camp. It seemed to come from a thousand miles away.
He released her hand. "Then—when it is all over—I can send you back home. Back to Chicago," he continued in silken tones as he sat back, releasing her from his eyes as he had released her from his grip. "That would be your reward. I can send you back with restored fortunes. I can make certain that you have all you once had before your father's ill-considered speculations—the house, the furnishings, the income—all. You will never need to worry about money again for the rest of your life. It will be a fitting reward for a brave heart and a gallant, self-sacrificing lady."
She licked lips gone suddenly dry. "I—I'll think about it," she heard herself saying, as from a vast distance.
Somewhere, out beyond the curtains of the box, the orchestra thundered as Carmen turned over the card for Death.
Her entire body jerked and her eyes closed. When she opened them again, Beltaire was gone.
There was only the half-empty bottle of champagne, and a single glass lying on its side on the floor, to show that he had been there at all.
Jason Cameron fought the red rage as it threatened to engulf him and prove that everything Simon Beltaire had told Rose was true. He succeeded barely—and sat literally panting in exhaustion with his paws clenched tightly on the arms of his chair. Meanwhile, in the mirror, Rose watched Don Jose murder Carmen in a scene that unfortunately more closely resembled Captain Ahab stabbing Moby Dick with a harpoon. Under other circumstances, he would have been howling with laughter, since he would not offend anyone with his mirth.
He was nearer to tears than to laughter at the moment. As his rage died, the stark truth of at least some of what Beltaire had told her chilled him even further.
This incredible rage was getting stronger; when it had first hit him, he had only scored claw-marks in his desk. Now he had killed one man, and if he had been able to get his hands on Beltaire, the total would have been two.
How long until he did lose out to the animal urge to kill even further, and slaughter those he loved?
Beltaire had confirmed what he had already suspected, that the other Firemaster possessed the manuscript that would free him from this hell. He would never release it to Cameron, however, nor could Cameron see any way of obtaining it by force or otherwise.
And there were other truths there. If persuaded to swear upon the Pact, he would do everything he had promised Rose, and Cameron knew that Rose was wise enough to make him swear that very oath. He could even help her; he could allow her to serve as bait in a trap, then evade the trap at the last minute. Her duty would be fulfilled, and by his oath, Beltaire would have to give her everything he had promised. Wouldn't that be the best thing he could do for her to let her see for herself that he was the beast and no longer himself, then let her go?