Free Echoes in Stone by Kat Sheridan

hissed out of the darkness. Jessa struggled to draw breath past her battered throat, into her burning lungs. Her ears rang with a high-pitched hum that muffled the voice, distorting it.
    Light spilled from the hallway through the open door. A tall man, silhouetted against the light, snatched Susanna’s arms, wrestling with her in the shadows. The madwoman fought like a wildcat, writhing, kicking, fingers curled into talons to claw the man’s face or gouge his eyes. She hissed and spit, though they fought in near silence.
    His greater height and length of arm allowed him to thwart most of her efforts, until she landed a solid kick in his groin. He grunted as his breath left him, falling back against the doorframe. Susanna turned, giving Jessa one last wild-eyed look.
    “Protect the child,” she said. The voice was different. No longer the harsh voice of an old woman, but higher. Lighter. Almost childlike. “They’re in league against her. Don’t let the monster have her. He’ll corrupt her, just as he corrupted Lily.”
    The woman turned, then charged past the man in the doorway, disappearing into the hall. The man, still no more than a dark shape against the light, struggled upright, glanced in Jessa’s direction, then stepped into the hall. The extinguishing of the light accompanied the soft snick of the door closing.
    Jessa struggled to pull herself upright, to reach for the lamp on the bedside table, to call out. At the end of her reserves, she surrendered to the encroaching dark of unconsciousness.
     

     
    “WHO IS LUTHER?” Jessa found an odd comfort in the rumbling voice. “Jessa, can you hear me? Who is Luther?”
    “Here now, Captain.” That voice was higher, familiar. Where had she heard it before? “She’s not quite awake yet, and probably feeling as if the devil were banging a kettle drum in her brain pan. Leave off your questions now. Let her come about on her own.”
    Mrs. Penrose, berating the captain as if he were a little boy. Just as she had last night. Or the night before? Jessa tried to smile at the image of the fearsome Captain Dashiell Tremayne as a tousle-haired little boy, but her lips were dry, and cracked at her efforts.
    “Water.” The demand came out a harsh croak. Why couldn’t she get her eyes open? She sensed light somehow dancing on her lids, but didn’t have the power to lift them.
    A heavy weight settled on the edge of the bed, causing it to tilt and roll. Her stomach protested the motion. She found she was able, through effort of will, to force back the bile rising in her parched, raw throat. A strong arm moved under her shoulders, lifted her. She knew this feeling, this sound. What was it? She struggled to remember. Not kettledrums. The sound of a heart thudding inside a granite wall. Impossible.
    “Take a sip, Jessa.” Dash, his grumbling voice. The mint-scented breath, warm against her ear. The vibrations of that voice against the cheek that lay against the solid wall at her side bemused her.
    She turned her head, pressing her ear flat against it. Yes, there was that sound. That beat, slow and steady. She did smile this time, her eyes still closed.
    “Say something again,” she managed to croak, astonished the raspy sound was coming from her own throat.
    The pace of the beat in her ear sped up. The voice vibrated again, almost tickling her.
    “I said, sip this, Jessa. It will make you feel better.” Something was pressed against her mouth; something warm and sweet met her parched lips, then dribbled past them, to ease the dryness in her mouth. Tea. Honey. Other flavors she couldn’t place. It tasted like ambrosia. She let the sweet liquid run down her throat.
    “Mmm.” She snuggled deeper against the solid form that held her.
    “Now open your eyes for me, Jessamine. Let me see those pretty green eyes, throwing daggers at me in your usual fashion. Come now. Look at me.”
    The light hurt as if she’d been stabbed in the eyes with a heated needle. She turned