Chapter Thirty-Six
Marcus
We are not ready.
I’m not ready. I don’t know how to be. Even while I put on a brave face for Lenora, deep down, I know I have already failed in this once. I had been a terrible father, an even worse husband. Catherine and the boys deserved far better than I gave them and now, I’m expected to do better.
A second chance, some might call it. But why do I deserve such a thing?
What had I done to be given such a gift?
Nothing. I still have no idea what is required of me, what I need to do to make this easier for Lenora, because what I’ve done so far has been mediocre.
Several fumbling attempts that resulted in nothing.
Even while I want to do better, be better, I’m crippled with the knowledge that I don’t know how. All I can do is hover around her and offer her my hand when she needs to sit or stand or climb the stairs. Useless things that aren’t enough.
True, there isn’t much else I can do.
I’ve already dismantled the bed in the room across from mine. I dragged down the one crib from the attic, because even as infants, both refused to be separated.
From birth to death.
I suppose there’s some comfort in that they are together.
The clang and clatter of Lenora dropping her spade startles me out of my thoughts. I turn my head away from the mirror I’ve been trying to fasten to the wooden paneling joining greenhouse to the main house.
“Leave it,” I tell her, lowering the ornate antique to the floor and propping it against the wall.
Lenora peers up at me with dry amusement, pink cheek streaked with dirt.
“I can still bend to pick things up.”
She really can’t. Not without risking a tumble backwards and I’m not taking that chance. She’s already so delicate. Her body going through impossible changes far too quickly.
Unnaturally too fast.
Not that I would tell her as much. She already stresses that something is wrong and I know there is.
Pregnancies don’t work like this.
Women don’t expand to seven months overnight. Their bodies can’t adapt that quickly. But I won’t tell her that. All I can do is stay close and watch. Monitor and be ready if she needs me.
I scoop up the spade and press it into her dirty hands, along with a thorough kiss to her lips for my efforts.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen her nails caked in soil that it hits like an emotional punch.
When she asked me to stay with her while she checked her plants, I didn’t argue.
When she found several mirrors in the attic while we were digging for baby furniture and asked me to bring them down, I only mildly protested.
I knew what they were for and I don’t think he needs to be in every room with her. His presence irritates me.
“I was thinking, we should get some baby clothes,” she says as I return to my given task. “Neutral colors since we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
She chatters on with the same enthusiasm she used to have. That overabundance of words that I never realized how much I missed until it’s filling the musty space.
I listen while I check the nail in the post and tug on the copper wire looped across the mirror’s back. I’m definitely not confident it won’t break, but I still lift the glass and hook it in place.
“We should tell Mrs. Pym. She’s going to be very cross that I let this happen.
She’s been so dedicated to preventing us from getting pregnant, but I think she’ll be happy.
Where do you think Mrs. Pym is? I haven’t seen her or Mr. Pym in …
how long has it been?” She’s turned to face me, expression contemplating.
“I hope Mr. Pym is all right. We should call them.”
I agree.
It’s not like either of them to go this long without some word.
Both had been kind enough to stay in the guestroom after the funeral to watch over Lenora and help me with the preparations.
I assumed they’d gone back to their house at some point when they were no longer here and were giving us privacy to mourn, but it has been much too long.
“I’ll call,” I promise her.
The deep lines between her brows remain firmly notched in place, but she gives a slight nod and turns back to her planters.
I move to drag the oblong mirror off the doorframe and into the corner. It’s unclear how many mirrors she thinks the demon is going to need, but I do as I’m told and slide the back stand open and prop it into place.
“We should put a mirror in your office.”
“No.” The refusal comes out of my mouth before I can fully register the suggestion. Still, I repeat myself for good measure. “No.”
Lenora stops and faces me. “It’s not fair to keep him out. He’s part of our family.”
“He’s a demon,” I correct, refusing to indulge her this lunacy. “He can’t be trusted.”
“Can you please—?”
I shake my head. “I will not. You may have an arrangement with him, but I will not have him near the baby.”
That has her spearing her hips with both hands, uncaring of the dirt she’s streaking into her clothes.
“He would never hurt the baby.”
This newfound confidence she seems to have developed where that monster is concerned has my teeth on edge.
“He’s a demon!” I snap back, repeating my biggest concern. “Why…” I lower my voice when I can hear it rising. “Why would a demon need a baby, Lenora?”
She’s quiet just long enough for me to feel like maybe … maybe I’m getting through to her.
“Because he’s alone,” she whispers. “Trapped in that room for all these centuries. It’s not fair, Marcus. No one should be alone.”
Her sweetness, her kind heart have always been things I admired about her. But this is insane.
“Someone locked him down there,” I remind her. “Probably for good reason.”
She shakes her head and I want to shake her. “I don’t believe that.”
I expel a series of profanities in French that have Lenora gasping in outrage.
“That kind of language is not necessary,” she retorts. “Veyn is part of this family, and I need you two to start getting along.”
“Tu es aveugle.”
“I am not blind,” she replies with equal annoyance. “Maybe I see more clearly because—”
“One!” I bark. “Name one demon in any movie or book who wanted the human host to survive? Every movie where a baby is involved, the…” I break myself off, realizing where I was going with my tirade.
“What?” she challenges.
But I can’t say it.
I can’t put that fear in her head.
“You can’t trust a demon,” I finish instead of telling her the mother always dies.
“I trust him,” she tells me softly.
I swallow the fresh wave of outrage that crawls up my throat. I can feel it pulsing at my temples, a violent thrum that makes my teeth ache.
“I’m going to call the Pyms,” I mutter instead, needing to put space between us before I say something I will regret later.
She doesn’t stop me when I leave the greenhouse and march in the direction of my office. For good measure, I shut my door to keep that fucker out entirely.
How can she be so blind? How can she not see how dangerous this infatuation she has with that creature is?
There is a reason he’s trapped here and probably using Lenora and the baby as some gateway to free himself.
It’s the only reason he would want her to get pregnant.
I don’t believe for a second that child is Eliah or Ames’s.
Not the way it’s growing. I don’t believe it’s not some demon spawn that will destroy the world.
But that’s not something I can tell Lenora. Not when there is life in her eyes again. Not when she’s happy. She wants this baby and I love her.
I can’t tell her, her baby might be evil.
I drop into my chair behind my desk and slam my head back against the leather rest. I stare up at the ceiling and try to think. To plan. But how does one plan for the arrival of a possible Antichrist?
“Jesus,” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.
Am I seriously calling that innocent life a monster? Is this what I have become?
Resigned, I shake my head and reach for the phone. I dial Mrs. Pym’s number and wait.
It rings and rings.
It rings a few more times before it clicks to voicemail. I leave one, the knot in my stomach tightening.
I should go over there, but I can’t leave Lenora here and I doubt the asshole in the basement will let me take her.
“Goddamn it!”
I pick the receiver up a second time and dial my guy on the police force. I have a few, but Byron is thorough. He won’t just go over and knock on the door and leave when no one answers. He’ll investigate and find them.
Call made, I push to my feet and glance at the door.
It hasn’t been nearly long enough, but I hate leaving her alone, especially after a fight.
I march to the door and swing it open.
And yelp, heart leaping up into my throat.
“Jesus!”
Lenora stands on the other side, still and silent. Her brown eyes stare up into mine from a face set with determination. Her hands are still filthy. There are bits of dirt and leaves clinging to her skirt and smeared across her bare feet.
“Mon p’tit?”
She takes a deep breath and whispers, “I don’t feel well.”
All the alarms go off in my head and I reach for her, hating myself for leaving her alone for even a moment.
“What’s wrong?” I touch her cheek for a temperature and feel only the regular warmth of her skin. “Does it hurt somewhere?”
“I’m tired.”
I blink at the quiet, almost lethargic response. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”
She doesn’t stop me when I scoop her up and carry her upstairs. Doesn’t say a word when I strip her dress and set her in the tub. I gently wash her feet and hands and get the bits of leaves out of her hair. I get her dried off and covered in one of my T-shirts, and still not a peep.
“Linny?”
Her blinks are long and slow before her eyes barely focus on my face. “Hmm?”
I touch her brow, testing again for a fever. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Does it hurt anywhere? Should I call a doctor?”
Her mouth opens too wide and she sighs but doesn’t say anything. Not for a long, tense moment where she continues to stare at something over my shoulder.