Chapter 13 #3
“The keys,” he says tightly.
“All right, all right, I’ll get them. Spoilsport,” I throw over my shoulder as I retrieve the lamp and march through the entry hall, up the stairs.
I give my hips a little more swish than usual, hoping to distract him, hoping to…
I’m not sure what I want, honestly. One more fuck before it’s all over between us?
One last orgasm before he kills me? A final kiss before I’m placed in a harness, dangling in his secret chamber with the rest of his victims?
I’ve ascended half a dozen steps when I hear his footfalls behind me. He isn’t waiting downstairs. He’s following me.
Fuck.
My heartbeat quickens, thumping in my chest like a terrible drum. I should turn around now and tell him that I unlocked the door and went inside. But part of me still hopes he’ll stop me, change his mind, and let it go… or that he’ll decide to confess on his own.
I want to be spared from this confrontation, and yet I need it. I dread looking over the edge of this cliff and facing what lies beyond, yet I climb toward it, step by step, steady and inexorable, while my heart thunders and my blood races through my veins.
My palms are sweating when I walk into our bedroom and pluck the key ring off the dresser, but my skin feels cold. I spin around, holding the keys out to Beresford. He extends one large hand, and I drop them into his palm.
He looks them over. He’s searching for the little golden key, and when he doesn’t see it, he lifts his gaze to mine.
We both know the truth. I see it in his eyes, the understanding of the key’s absence and the reason behind its removal. He knows that I know.
And yet we continue our dance, edging toward the cliff, neither of us willing to yield until the last possible second. Vying to see who will push the other over the brink first.
“Sybil.” Oh, the dreadful depth of his voice. The cosmic disappointment, the monumental grief. I didn’t expect that. I expected anger. There’s a little of that too, blended with his tone, flavoring the way he says my name. But it’s mostly grief. The overwhelming sorrow of shattered trust.
“Sybil, there is a key missing.”
“Is there?”
“Sybil.”
But I won’t move any closer to the cliff’s edge. I will force him to ask the question.
When I don’t speak, he says, “Give me the key.”
“Which one?”
“You know which one.”
“There are so many keys…”
“The key to the blue door. The one I asked you—no, begged you—not to open.”
The ache in the midst of his anger—that’s what hurts. And the answering pain in my heart sparks my own fury.
I stalk to the other bureau, bend down, and retrieve the key from its hiding place. I throw it at him. He catches it before it hits his face.
“That key?” I spit out. “Is that the one you want to see?”
He holds it up, surveying the bloodstain. “You went inside. After I pleaded—”
“But you commanded, too, didn’t you? You didn’t just plead. You threatened.” My voice shakes. “You had no right to demand so much of me, to expect such perfect faith, when we know so little of one another.”
His face is as white as a bloodless corpse. Even his lips are pale, framed by the blue beard. “Maybe not. But I dreamed, I hoped, I prayed that you would not look.”
“I did.” My lower lip trembles, and tears spill, tracing down my cheeks. “I looked, Beresford… if that is even your name. Is it?”
We are off the cliff’s edge now, free falling, spinning through emptiness untethered, with no hope of anything to break our fall. This is the end of us, as he said it would be.
“Who are you?” The words quiver on my tongue and vibrate in the shattered air. “What are you?”
He moves suddenly, and I shrink away from him.
“If you’re going to kill me, give me the courtesy of telling me the truth before you do it,” I say.
“Kill you?” He gives a harsh laugh. “I’d sooner kill myself.”
Sincerity shines through his echoes, reverberates in his tone. I can’t help feeling somewhat reassured, but I’m also confused. I grip the dresser for support, my hand splayed against my stomach, releasing a sharp breath of relief.
Beresford eyes me. “What did you imagine I was going to do to you, wife?”
“I thought you would bite me and hang me up in that room, with them.”
Beresford swipes a hand over his face and beard, a long sigh flowing from his bearded mouth. “Come into the game room and sit down with me. I’ll tell you everything, and then I’ll give you a chance to run.”
Well, fuck. That sounds ominous. I don’t know whether I should be panicking or not. At least, if he does plan to hurt me, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing the truth first.
Beresford brings the keys into the game room with him, and he reattaches the bloodstained one to the ring before setting them on one of the shelves. We sit down on opposite ends of the sofa by the wall.
Beresford crosses and uncrosses his legs, shifts his position, and clears his throat about five times before speaking. “I’m surprised that you remained in this house after what you saw.”
“So am I.” I grab a pillow from the center of the sofa and begin twisting the strands of a tassel between my fingers. “I thought about leaving or telling someone. But I wanted to give you the chance to explain.”
His blue eyes lock with mine. “I’m not sure there is an explanation I could offer that you would accept.”
“Don’t try to concoct a lie or soften the story. I know you prefer the truth, and so do I.”
“One condition,” he says. “Tell me your secret first.”
“Secret?” I focus very hard on braiding the strands of the tassel.
“The thing you’ve been keeping from me. The truth you concealed, because you thought it would drive me away.”
I don’t owe him my truth. Or perhaps I do. In my heart, I believe that he owes me complete disclosure. And doesn’t that kind of honesty work both ways?
My secret feels insignificant compared to the bodies hanging in that distant room. It’s less dire, and yet it’s difficult to confess aloud. Beresford waits with taut patience until I finally force myself to speak.
“My father made a botched deal with an entity called the Barrow-Man,” I murmur.
“It left me with an ability, or a curse. I summon things that I call demons, creatures from another realm, things that don’t belong in this world.
I can’t control the summoning—it just happens at odd times, and then I take the creatures to the forest, to Wormsloe.
Some people in the area know about it, but no one really discusses it.
They used to tolerate me, but with all the disappearances and strange happenings lately, that has begun to change. ”
My voice fades, and I twist the tassel viciously before continuing. “Your proposal to me came at the right time. It was the ideal distraction, or the situation with our neighbors might have become very bad for me. Whatever you are, whatever you’ve done, I’m grateful for that.”
I risk a glance at him. When I see the hungry devotion on his handsome face, I die a little inside, because I don’t know if I can love him if he isn’t human. I’m not sure I can be with someone who has ended lives and stolen faces.
“Say something,” I whisper.
He licks his lips, then says quietly, “I knew.”
“You… you knew what?” Both my fists squeeze the pillow. “Not my secret. You couldn’t know that. Unless someone told you, but then you wouldn’t have married me.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” My voice shrills. “Because I’m unnatural and wrong, because this ability is unpredictable and dangerous. Because no one wants to be attached to someone who’s cursed.”
“Sybil. I knew.”
Tears glaze my lower lashes. “How?”
“Because you summoned me.”