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Emory Von Magnusson stood in the center of the hall, looking like a member of long-dead royalty that had stepped out of an ancient painting. Jesse thought he’d prepared himself for meeting the haemophile again. Now it seemed he’d been wrong.
He was so tall, so still and so…unreal, that the sight of him stole all rational thought away. He wore another exquisitely tailored suit, this time in such dark blue that it was almost black. His tie was gray silk. The shade of ash made his milky skin glow. There was the hint of a smile playing on the lips. His eyes were fixed on Jesse.
“My lord,” Tom said with a smile. “Good to see you, sir.”
“And you, Tom,” Magnusson said, voice smooth and warm. “And Mr. Truelove. So glad you agreed to come.”
Jesse fought the color rising in his cheeks, gave an awkward shrug and dropped his gaze to the haemophile’s polished shoes. “I owe you, right?”
“If you can help strengthen my security, I will be the one that owes you.”
Jesse dared another look at his face. He could make nothing of the enigmatic half-smile, but the depths of his eyes were alive with unsaid things that Jesse couldn’t even guess at.
“So, Tom, what do you think?”
“You were right, sir,” Tom said. “Jesse’s the one we need. And he’s just agreed to join the team.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Magnusson said, holding out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Truelove. I have no doubt you will be a great fit here.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said, awkwardly, taking the haemophile’s hand. It was cool and hard. Jesse swallowed, taking in the large tendons, the glass-like fingernails and shivering at the feel of the checked strength in his grip. “I’ll do my best.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.”
He looked at Jesse in silence for a long moment, during which Jesse wondered whether he ever blinked.
“I was just about to show Jesse the grounds,” Tom put in after an obvious hesitation, glancing between them with an unreadable look on his face.
“I’ll do that,” Magnusson said. “If you could tell Alfreeda to make the necessary arrangements for him to move in immediately, that would be most appreciated. Providing that’s agreeable, Mr. Truelove?”
“Uh, sure. I mean…yes, that’ll be fine.”
“Excellent.” Magnusson held an arm out to the front door. “After you.”
“Catch you later, yeah?” Tom said with a reassuring smile. He stepped closer, leaned in and murmured in his ear. “Don’t be scared. He’s safe. I promise.”
Tom’s words did more to set unease creeping through Jesse’s flesh than anything else so far. His vision from his shower that morning returned. He almost felt his bones breaking. He ducked his head to avoid the heavy gaze of the haemophile and preceded him to the door.
“Are you sure you won’t be cold?” Magnusson said, glancing at Jesse’s worn jacket.
“I’ll be fine,” Jesse said, tucking his hands into his pockets and hoping the need to get out into the chill to calm his rushing blood wasn’t obvious.
It had started to snow again. Pinhead-sized flakes whisked in the building’s floodlights. Jesse drew the cold air deep into his lungs, willing it to help him focus. But the haemophile striding at his side, seemingly impervious to the cold and with footfalls making no noise beyond a slight crunch in the snow, was making it hard to concentrate.
“Nice place,” Jesse ventured as they followed the path between the house and the trees toward the back of the mansion.
“Thank you,” Magnusson said without looking at him. “But it is just a house. It’s where it’s built that’s important.”
“You lived here before, right? Like a hundred years ago or whatever?”
“Three hundred.” Magnusson sent him another ghostly smile. “Oswald Hall burned down long ago. But Askham Moor is more home to me than anywhere else I’ve ever lived.”
Jesse tried to decide what to ask next of all the hundred questions buzzing in his head, when they came out into the wide, terraced grounds behind the house. The snow-covered lawns and raised beds were lit by strings of white lights, giving the place the ethereal glow of a fairy glen. The boundary wall was almost lost in the gathering night. Stars pin-pricked the sky between the snow clouds. By their light, Jesse could just make out the rolling moorland beyond the walls, blanketed in smooth white, unblemished and silent as the grave.
“I regret there has to be walls at all,” Magnusson said in a soft voice, gesturing at the twenty-foot barrier of stone. “But, alas, a necessity for an independent haemophile, at least for now.” He looked down at Jesse. “Would you like a closer look?”
Jesse swallowed but found he couldn’t look away. “Sure. There’s a gate, right?”
“That’s right,” Magnusson said, heading down some wide steps under arches of naked rose plants. “Just beyond the trees.”
