Chapter 34 #2
Though she privately wondered, Where do you think all the fabric came from?
she did not say that. The women could very well have been subject to their makers’ opinions and foibles, just as she and Elspeth had been.
Disobeying could have resulted in their punishment—and still could, she noted cautiously.
Tart rejoinders would not serve here. Instead, she gathered her thoughts and said, “There are many opinions on the subject, but I do believe that interacting with humans is healthful and, in many cases, necessary to maintain control over one’s urges.
When we stop seeing humans as people, we lose our way and can give in to the madness. ”
“Was it a command from your maker to avoid mixing with humans?” Sparrow asked gently.
“No, no, not a command,” Miss Doyle said hurriedly. “Not…as such.”
“Rest assured that if we need to purchase foundation garments from humans, the expense will be part of the Ossuary’s budget, and Sparrow will facilitate the purchase,” Genevieve said.
“However, if you do ever find yourself encountering…trouble because of a lingering command from your maker, we are always available to mediate those issues.”
“Thank you,” Miss Singh said quietly, her eyes flicking up and away.
Genevieve nodded and turned the conversation towards the seamstresses’ workspace and upcoming fittings, but she exchanged a subtle glance with Sparrow.
Sparrow nodded, making a note on her writing tablet to have one of their newly selected mentors check on the women and their relationship with their maker.
After checking on the other Ossuary projects in progress, Genevieve hurried home along the corridors that led to Carmine House’s cellar. As she approached, the cellar door swung open with some force, banging into the wall.
Genevieve froze.
Someone carrying a stack of hatboxes higher than their head walked through the doorway. As the figure turned and awkwardly reached for the door to shut it, Genevieve realized it was Elspeth.
Her held breath escaped in a choked gurgle.
Elspeth looked up. “Oh! Genevieve. I didn’t see you.”
“How could you, with all those boxes?” Genevieve said faintly.
“These hats were supposed to go to the millinery station, but they got left behind. I’m just delivering them to the hatters.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, no,” Elspeth assured her. “After I drop them off, I’ll be turning in for the dawn. Have a good rest!” She smiled and hurried along the passage.
Genevieve stood a moment and then slumped against the wall, passing a hand over her face as she tried to get her churning emotions under control.
The door slamming against the wall—it had thrown her body into a panic. So she had frozen reflexively. She understood that.
But she had also reached for her talent on instinct, attempting to go unseen.
And she hadn’t managed it.
Genevieve pressed a hand to her chest. How was that possible? She had never heard of any vampire losing a talent.
You might’ve been too alarmed. Might not have had time, she tried to tell herself, even though she had been able to go unseen between one breath and the next for years before now. That was how she had survived. How she had gleaned the knowledge for all their continued survival.
She closed her eyes and tried to find the vestiges of her talent to wrap around herself and disappear in the shadows.
But she stayed right where she was, stubbornly visible.
“Did you have a good evening, dear heart?” Kendrick asked, entering their bedroom and crossing to where she sat at the vanity fiddling with her hairbrush. It was almost dawn.
“Well enough,” Genevieve said, looking up at him.
He tilted his head to the side and took the brush from her hand. “Yes?” He slowly pulled the brush through her hair, even though it rarely tangled because of its length.
“You don’t have to do that,” she murmured.
“I’ll brush your hair and then you can brush mine,” he said with a smile. “What made the night simply well enough?”
“I was able to check on progress for the dressmakers and tailors,” Genevieve said slowly. “But something happened on my way home that worried me.”
Kendrick came alert behind her. “What was that?”
“The cellar door banged open and it…startled me. It was fine. Elspeth was leaving and had pushed the door so it would swing wide for what she was carrying. But…I reached for my talent, and I couldn’t go unseen. Have you ever heard of that happening before? Someone…losing their talent?”
Kendrick pondered the question, resuming the brushstrokes through her hair. “I can’t say that I have. You could speak to Joseph if you’re concerned,” he offered.
“Joseph?”
“He’s a doctor.” Kendrick shrugged wryly. “I don’t know who else would be knowledgeable, considering vampires typically have no need of leechcraft. It’s not something I have ever heard of.” He set the brush down. “Have you considered that…perhaps you don’t need it anymore?”
Genevieve jerked with surprise. “Don’t need it?”
“Don’t need to hide anymore,” he clarified. “You probably developed your talent as a protective measure. A way to escape notice. But I don’t believe Genevieve Dryden’s natural state was meekness.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes warm and understanding.
“No, it wasn’t,” she murmured. Meekness had been adopted as a defense mechanism, as all of her objections and protests had gained her pain and humiliation, her spirit smashed, those she cared for like Elspeth used as weapons against her.
She stared at her bare hands on the vanity, at the missing nails.
A momentary pain, but a bone-deep despair once she’d realized that they would not grow back now that she was a vampire.
That anything Cuthbert and Laurent did to her and her friends, their bodies would repair enough for them to be functional, but they would never be fully restored.
Never fully healed.
“I don’t want you to have to hide,” Kendrick said, taking her hand and kissing it. “You should never feel like you have to disappear, or I’m not doing my job as your husband.”
But it was never for me, Genevieve thought as Kendrick unbuttoned his cuffs and began disrobing to sleep. Not really. I hid in the shadows to protect others. To protect you.
How will I protect those I care for now?
She stood and turned down the coverlet on the bed. We have a new way to protect people now, she reminded herself. We are trying to instruct the Ossuary in a new way. We will need new tools. Maybe he is right, that it is something I won’t need anymore.
But something still felt disquieted in her soul.
Genevieve pondered Kendrick as he emerged from behind the screen and reached for the book they had been reading before their rest the past few mornings. He had seen it in a shop window and bought it because he’d thought she’d like it. He was continually doing that. Giving her gifts.
She bit her lip. What would he like for Christmas?
She could not ignore that the holiday was only a week away.
Regardless of how she viewed the day, surely a wife should give her husband something for the occasion.
He did so much for her. Fulfilling her requests and sometimes anticipating her needs, or acting on a whim to present her with a token just because he’d thought it would bring her joy.
It all seemed—unbalanced, somehow, that she should have so much benefit from their marriage and him so little.
They still did not live together as true man and wife, though they did share a bed. Sometimes she didn’t even wake from bad dreams anymore.
What does he want? Genevieve wondered as Kendrick passed in front of the window to make sure the drapes were secured.
His words came back to her, about being on the outside of life, looking in.
He wants to come in from the cold, she thought, much struck.
How could she bring him in?