Chapter 5
“Tell me everything that happened,”Benjamin demands. He grips my shoulders and guides me back into the foyer, letting himself in to my home. “He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”
When he doesn’t let go, I maneuver my way out of his hold. “Good afternoon to you too, Benjamin.” I can’t keep the irritation from my voice.
The ball didn’t end until two in the morning, and after how long it took for every guest to step into their carriage and depart, it was another hour before Sabrina and I made it home. And nearly two more hours to undress and wash for bed… Only to be woken at seven.
Father only shrugged at our complaints, telling us that such events were optional, and we shouldn’t allow them to interfere with our studies.
After a cup of strong coffee in lieu of morning tea, Sabrina was once again her usual self. I had one as well, though a constant throbbing headache remained throughout my lessons, slowing me down.
I don’t think I’ll go to another one any time soon.
“We were about to have some lunch, if you care to join us,” I say as I turn and trudge down the hall to the dining room.
Ben tugs on my arm, stopping me. Worry etched across his face.
I sigh, then answer, “No. He didn’t do anything to me—” I go quiet as a maid goes from one room to the next. “We will talk more after I’ve eaten. I’m starving and we didn’t get home until some demon cursed late—or early—hour.”
“You shouldn’t have gone,” he says. As if that could change things.
I try to come up with a retort, but my thoughts remain sluggish. All I can manage is dropping my head back and groaning obnoxiously. Then I spin on my heel and march to take care of my irritability.
Growing up, whenever Sabrina or I cried over something small, she would sit while stroking our hair as we used her lap for a pillow and read our favorite stories to us until we fell asleep. And when we were irritable, Mother would take us to the kitchen and give us some tea with a few cookies, a slice of cake—or if the chef hadn’t made any—she’d prepare sandwiches, sliced into bite sized pieces. She called them faerie sandwiches, then make up stories about how she and her best friend used to play with faerie children. At least until her friend was stolen by one the day she turned twenty-four.
She believed most daily frustrations could be cured with either food or sleep.
I smile at the memory as I drop into my chair. Father grunts at my lacking display of lady-like behavior but doesn’t bother looking up from the reports he’s reading.
Ben sits across from me and greets him and Sabrina. He folds his arms and stares me down, while one of the kitchen staff hurries to bring him a place setting.
“Something did happen, didn’t it?” he asks wryly.
A fork clatters against a plate. Sabrina gasps. “You told me you didn’t meet anyone interesting!”
Father grumbles. A sound I instinctively understand as “I don’t want to hear it!” and “Don’t make me regret letting you out of my house.”
I glare at Ben from across the table, then turn to address my sister. “That’s because I didn’t. And nothing riveting happened either.”
“Then what’s with that smile?” Ben pushes, ignoring what I’d told him out in the hall.
I spear several thin slices of roast meat onto my fork. If he keeps going with his interrogation, he might let something slip that could ruin our plans.
Stubbornness is one of the traits he and I share. We tend to butt heads and challenge each other. Instead of causing conflict between us, we use it as motivation to improve. It’s the reason I can now best him almost every time we fence. Then there are times like this, when one of us has trouble letting a topic go.
Shoving my fork into my mouth, I glare at him while I chew. I may have overdone it because I barely manage to keep my mouth closed. As tempting as it may be to act that childish, neither Sabrina nor Father would tolerate it.
By the time I’m able to swallow my bite, my jaw aches. I also regret not savoring the tender, and perfectly seasoned meat. But my annoyance has had a chance to fade yet. I pick up my tea and glare over the rim of the cup, sipping it as slow as humanly possible, until I’ve finished it.
Benjamin opens his mouth to speak again. Not knowing how far he’ll take this, I decide to change the topic. “I smiled because I was remembering how Mother used to tell us stories about how she used to play with faeries as a child while making us faerie sandwiches.”
“What brought that up? It’s been ten years since she did that,” Sabrina says, looking at me as if she’s worried for my sanity.
“Ben has been irritating me since he got here,” I say, and she gives me a knowing nod.
“You didn’t believe that did you, Zadie?” Ben snorts as he attempts, and fails, to contain his laughter.
Yes… at least until I was old enough to know better.But I don’t admit that aloud. I jab a glazed carrot with my fork.
“No,” I say sharply, then angrily chew my bite. I hurry to finish my meal, ignoring any more of his attempts to talk.
When my stomach is full, I want to lean back and be content for a while, but I force myself to get to my feet and excuse myself. At least now, I’ll be able to focus on what I need to tell Ben.
Together, we walk to the garden and sit on the old wooden bench by the oak tree. I’m glad he has the sense to stay quiet until we are sure no one else is within hearing range.
“Demons and saints, Zadie.” Ben grinds out. “Will you please tell me if that bastard did anything to you? Or if he tried to.”
I stretch my neck and turn from side to side. “As you can plainly see, I don’t have any bite marks. Does that answer your question?”
“Don’t be naive. You’re smart enough to know a vampire is capable of biting anywhere they can reach.” He’s about to reach for me but stops himself when I shift away.
His words hit uncomfortably close to my thoughts from last night. When I bathed before bed, I twisted and turned, checking every inch of skin to make sure I wasn’t fed on then made to forget. I remember the feel of Lord—Thomas’s arms around me when he caught me. He was so close and could have easily feed on me… and more. The intimate things he teased me about.
“Will you please be quiet long enough for me to tell you what you want to know?”
A look of hurt crosses his face. “I worried about you all night. I should have gone with you.”
“Thank you,” I set a hand on his shoulder. “But nothing happened. I promise. But I think we need to make a slight alteration to our plans.”
Benjamin nods then waits for me to speak.
Sometimes I wonder if I had a brother, would he be anything like the man before me? Sometimes I think he would. Other times, I don’t think the odds have to be so astronomical as to be impossible. He made it possible for me to carve out the life I wanted. Without being challenged every step of the way, I doubt I would have studied hard enough to earn the extra privileges to choose the topics that call to me.
For the most part, the plan remains the same. The only difference is the time it will take. At first, he resists the change of plans. That is until I explain to him how it will be safer.
Once I finish, he nods and stares off into the distance. His blue eyes search the distance, playing everything out in his mind, looking for potential risks. His golden lashes flutter as he blinks rapidly, then turns to face me.
“While I don’t like that it will take longer, giving him more time to find another victim, it’s worth it if it means keeping you safe.”
My throat feels tight. I hadn’t thought about there being more victims before we can stop him. There have been too many already. Logically, I understand one more person will lose their life whether we stop him or not—at least we can prevent more than that. My stomach churns. I swallow repeatedly to keep my lunch down.
No. I can’t think like that.
There’s no guarantee Thomas will kill again before he’s stopped. I’ll do everything in my power to distract him.
“I’ll tell Oscar and Wallace of the changes,” Benjamin continues. “We’ll take turns following you, so it’ll be less likely that we’re noticed.”
* * *
The carriage bumps along the pocked dirt road. I thought the streets within the city were terrible, but it turns out I was wrong. Instead of the constant rocking and vibration of the cobbled streets, I am constantly jolted by the irregular and inconstant potholes.
Last night, I’d made arrangements with Father to take the carriage out this afternoon. The guilt I feel for deceiving him is assuaged by the fact that I did to help stop the grizzly murders plaguing our city. Wallace showed up minutes before I was to leave and bribed the footman to let him drive me and to disappear until later that evening.
The road eventually smooths out as we near the viscount’s manor. I can’t help but gawk at it. It sits on a hill, rising above the wall bordering the land doesn’t interfere with passersby to view the entirety of it from the road. Just as beautiful from afar as it was from inside, it’s fit for a prince. Yet it manages to do so without looking ostentatious.
Without warning, Wallace veers the horses to the side. The carriage jerks with the change. And just as I’m about to call out to him, one of the wheels hits the worst pothole yet. I bounce in my seat hard enough to bite the side of my tongue. [AW1]
If he breaks an axel before we get to the library, I will hand-feed him to demons myself.
Fortunately, both the carriage and I arrive at our destination shaken but whole.
I wait, perched on the edge of the cushioned bench seat, and wait for Wallace to open the door. After the usual amount of time passes and I’m still waiting, I make out the deep rumble of a man’s voice. Curious, I lift the nearest window and lean out. Wallace is petting the horses and talking with them like a mother might coo words to her newborn.
My eye twitches. Any other time, I would find it endearing, but now is not the time for this.
I clear my throat, and he peers past the dappled gray. “Did you happen to forget something?” I ask.
His forehead wrinkles, then his eyes widen as he understands and hurries to open the door and hands me down.
“Sorry, Zadie. I’m not used to this,” he mutters.
“I’ll be inside for a few hours. Remain close in case we need to leave in a hurry.” I take two steps, then looking back, I add, “Try not to get sidetracked.”
Squaring his shoulders, he nods vigorously.
I climb the steps to the library. My chest swells with equal parts excitement and disappointment. I’m about to walk into the center of scholarly knowledge, but not for the purpose I wish—to further my studies. I comfort myself with the reminder that this is only the start.
And there’s no reason why I can’t look around and make a list of titles while I wait for my plan to be set into motion.
The door rattles on its hinges as I walk inside. Immediately the scent of parchment and ink and dust envelopes me. There are a total of three floors, all open to the center.
Gas lamps are lit along the walls in even intervals surrounded by half shades made of crystal to multiply the light rather than dampen it. The isles are wide with heavy chandeliers overhead. It’s quiet, filled with the steady hush of turning pages, and whispered conversations.
Clutching my notebook and charcoal to my body, I stride forward with purpose toward the round desk. It’s large enough for six librarians to sit and work at once, but only two are there now. A young man smiling awkwardly as he waits for me, an older woman checking a stack of books against the records of her ledger.
“Hello, I?—”
He cuts me off with a finger to his lips and a harsh, shushing noise.
I cringe.
“Name?” he asks flatly.
“Zadie Hall.” This time I’m careful to control the volume of my voice.
He pulls out a book similar to one found at the front desk of an inn. With efficient strokes, he prints my name on the next available line, then looks up, brows raised with an unspoken question. I grin awkwardly.
“First time here then, Lady Hall?”
I nod.
“If you tell me what subject you need, I can show to where to go.”
“Medicine,” I say.
He jots that down, then jerks his chin for me to follow. Carpet runners are set along nearly every walkway to soften the sound of our footsteps.
As we walk further inside, he introduces himself as George Willard and proudly states that he comes from a long line of librarians. Then he points out the main features and different sections.
On the bottom level to the left is a wall of closed doors, starting from behind the front desk to the back wall. Straight ahead and to the right are laid out exactly like the second and third floors; shelves filled with books and walkways on each end. Along the outer walls are designated tables for study. Each one on the ground floor seems to be taken.
In each corner at the back are spiral wrought iron staircases leading to the other floors. Mr. Willard leads me to the second and shows me the three rows of shelves, all dedicated to medicine. He tells me to let him know if I need anything, then leaves me.
I can see most of the library from where I’m at. I wind my way casually through the rows, searching for a specific title I know won’t be here because it is currently sitting on a chair in the viscount’s bedroom. There are more titles and subjects than I could have dreamed of.
After going two rows past the section, I frown. Thomas isn’t here. I thought for sure he would be.
Outside, the clock tower sounds out the hour. It’s still early in the day, so I open my notebook and begin listing titles, and their location, down. I end up with two and a half pages.
I set my things down at an empty table near a window and massage a cramp out of my hand. Disappointment settles heavily on my shoulders. I tell myself it’s because it’s just one day wasted and not because I didn’t get to see Thomas. At least I’ll have something to show Father when I get home.
I think over the details of the murders Benjamin mentioned and the information in the papers. Though I can’t place what it is, something about it prickles along the edges of my mind, like the sensation of a spider crawling along the back of my neck.