Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
M aaier escorted me in through the back door. The excuse of escorting me through the forest enough to starve off any concerns as to where I was.
The secret book still in my satchel, I headed to my room. It was late in the afternoon and the staff were all preparing for dinner. My eyes darted around the room. Where could I hide this book? I didn’t know why but I felt compelled to keep it away from prying eyes. This was just for me. If Grandmother caught me looking for death again she would either pass or send me to a colony.
The room was cold already, but with each step I took, the air became colder. I shuffled to the window. The cold was the worst here, biting into my flesh despite the roaring fire in the fireplace. My fingers ran along the underside of the cushion. Feeling for a tiny sliver in the wood. My fingers found a small imperfection. I lifted the seat to show the hole below.
A tiny compartment I used to hide some of my most prized treasures. A copy of my father’s journal of herbs, my mother’s composition book. The first drawing Dorian ever sketched me and letters my mother used to send me from her room down the hall.
The game would start out with a request. Only turning into a hunt and game of chase as I ran after through the manor. The sound of her girlish laughter echoing in my memory. I looked at her beautiful handwriting. The ink slightly faded from time. I closed my eyes, imagining I was back in her embrace, my head pushed against her chest. The feeling was almost real on my cold skin. Her chin resting upon it as she smoothed circles into my spine. What I would give to feel that again.
I looked amongst my treasures once more. Brushes from Mother’s art room scattered through the bottom as well as Father’s small knife he used to take trimmings of plants and propagate them. If there was one single thing I would trade all of these memories for besides their touch, it would be my other necklace. The small silver heart shaped locket with a rose etched into the centre.
‘ When you are old enough, my heart, I will show you what is inside but for now, it will be my little secret okay? ’ She had said every time I had asked what was inside. The sound of her voice playing as if were echoing around me. All I had ever wanted to know was whether it was me or my father whose picture graced the inside of the heart around her neck.
I hadn’t watched as they pulled her body from the lake. My father's howl scaring the birds in the trees. The necklace was gone from her throat. The police had said that her killer had most likely taken the necklace as a sort of trophy. My father had not believed them. He had searched diligently through the water and the depth of the river to find it only to come up short each time.
The cold air became frigid once more. I shivered as I pulled out one of her paint brushes before putting them back. The memories had always hurt. I had hoped they would have faded over time. But that was a lie. The pain never goes away. You only need to manage it to have it go numb for a short while but it is in the core of your soul. You will always carry that pain with you. To live is to carry the burden of grief and sorrow with you. To die is to be buried with them. So that slowly, over time the memory of it all will fade with you.
I placed the strange book into the compartment and closed the lid. It would pain me to open that door each day but something in me told me I needed to. That my answers were in the books.
I stood slowly, bracing my hands on the velvet seat by the window. A silent tear rolling down my cheek as I reopened the wound my parents had left.
A shuffling sounded behind me but I paid it no mind. Another fat tear rolled down the other cheek, one after another. My chest heaved, my fingers curled into the soft cushion. I would find who did this if it was the last thing I do. And if I don't, their afterlife will be nothing but a hell in the shape of me.
“Oh my winter child. I knew you would break soon.” Grandmother’s own watery voice sounded as she placed a warm hand on my back. I choked out a sob. She said nothing but continued to soothe me in the only way she knew how.
“I want him dead.” I snarled through my teeth, the rage quickly taking over my moment of sorrow. I wanted him dead and rotting in a shallow grave. I wanted to carve his skin as he had ours. I wanted him bleeding out on the floor like I had. I wanted him to drown in the lake like my mother with my hands around his throat. I. Wanted. Him. Gone.
“Then so shall it be. Vespera. So shall it be.”
My fingers brushed against the ivory keys. Dust from years of neglect collecting on the surface. The strange vision resurfacing. What was Maaier doing here that night? How has he not aged? The thoughts swirled around my head, mixing like the dust in the afternoon sun.
My eyes still burned from my onslaught of tears earlier. The emotions weighing me down.
I stood before the window behind the piano, raising my gaze to the horizon.
Maybe Dorian could shed some light on the vision situation. Surely she could aid me. Hell, I might even give her the book. I made a mental note to bribe Victor into escorting me back to Dorian’s cottage. A cringe ran over me at the thought of asking him to be around her again. He was scared enough the first and last visit we had.
She was the only one who could help. I couldn’t dare ask Grandmother why this was happening. She would commit me to the sanitarium in a heartbeat just like that maid from years ago who swore on her own eternal soul she saw a ghost talking to death themselves. Grandmother wasn’t superstitious. She just trusted in fact. As far as age was concerned. The curse was an anomaly. Albeit strange, but explainable. But only if she decided to explain it. Only she never would. Just that it was a strange generational curse.
The sound of light footfalls sounded behind me. A smile formed despite my sombre mood. I turned to face the old woman.
“I thought you hated this old room.” I teased. My smile fading as I faced the person.
“I do. But not for the reasons you expect.” Maaier’s voice was light, gentle almost.
“What do you want?” I sneered, turning back to the window.
“To apologise,” He said, walking toward where I stood with my back to him. He drew close. Not enough to touch but enough for a cool sensation to run down my flesh at his proximity.
I snorted. Maaier swallowed before meeting my gaze in the reflection.
“I didn’t intend to pull you close to me.”
I frowned. The needy feeling that blossomed from the feeling of his hold now faded like the sun at dusk. Much like my patience for him.
“Sure,” I muttered.
Maaier returned my frown, his scent washing over me as he stood beside me. Cedar and a brief hit of saffron warmed me despite myself.
“Anyway,” He pressed on, “I brought you this.”
He faced me with a small package in his hands. I eyed the parchment wrapped gift before I dared to reach out for it.
Maaier waited on bated breath as I gently tore the wrapping.
A light leather bound book sat before me.
“An English Guide to Flowers,” I read aloud, cocking a brow at Maaier.
He brightened as I opened the cover.
I managed a small laugh at the inscription. There was no love between us.
“I found it in town and thought it might be good for you to rediscover your love of gardening. Your grandmother assured me it was your favourite besides the piano.”
“I haven’t done much of either lately.” I exhaled, turning the pages of information about roses over.
“You’ll get there. Besides, I think you’ll be seeing the greenhouse a lot more often.”
I scrunched my nose, “You truly are the strangest man I have ever met.”
Maaier chuckled darkly. I stared into his dark eyes, now alight with a twisted amusement.
“Sweet girl, you haven’t even met the real me.” He smirked, “Yet.”
I opened my mouth to protest but Maaier was gone in the blink of an eye. The only reassurance that he was here was the book in my hands. What a strangely thoughtful gift.
There was more to it. There had to be.