Prologue #3
Nadine gave him an odd look as the orchestra, which had paused briefly in the sudden clamor, began to play Passacaglia by Handel and Halvorsen.
“Caledon,” a woman called out, forcing him to turn his head. Recognizing one of his mother’s socially mobile society friends, he managed to affect a look of bland politeness as her manicured fingers closed around his arm. “I almost didn’t recognize you in that monkey suit.”
He glanced back just in time to see Nadine slipping away towards the bar. Towards his sister.
Who was watching him back. She winked before tilting her head towards Nadine and raising both her eyebrows and her drink in an elaborate pantomime that had his eyes narrowing.
“How is your mother?” the woman asked, forcing him to return his attention back to her elegantly made-up face, which couldn’t quite stand up to the broiling heat. His suit was beginning to feel rather claustrophobic, as well. “I haven’t heard from her in ages. She sure keeps to herself.”
“She’s well,” he said. Or as well as she could be. May was never a good month for sparrows.
“You know, Cally—” her voice turned sly “—I have a daughter about your age.”
“And I’m sure she’s lovely.” He stepped back, quickly. “Excuse me.”
“I’ll tell Corrinne that the four of us ought to get lunch sometime,” she called after him. “You’d absolutely adore Alyssa. She’s just finished backpacking in Indonesia.”
Nadine was moving away from the bar unsteadily, a new drink clutched firmly in hand. Odessa watched her depart with undisguised delight which only intensified as he approached.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, while the bartender pretended not to listen.
“So possessive. Do you like her, Baby Cal? You’re going to scare her with that mug. She’s such a timid little thing.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” She sipped her wine with fey eyes and an impish grin. “All I did was make one eensy little joke and she was off like a shot.”
“You were trying to run her off.”
“Wrong. I was trying to be friendly. I can’t help it if some people are determined to be miserable—” She rolled her eyes in the bartender’s direction, who he recognized belatedly as the owner of the local Blue Bar “—with or without my help.”
“Rum,” he said to Christian. “Double. Please.”
“I bet you could still catch her, if you wanted. She seems like she wants to be caught.”
Cal downed his shot, sliding a twenty across the makeshift bar top. “You promised our mother you’d be on your best behavior.”
“Ye-es,” she drew the word out slowly. “But I never specified what kind.”
“Christ.”
“I saw her go into the house,” Odessa said helpfully. “Happy hunting, Baby Cal.”
Cal slammed the shot glass down on the counter and walked off to his older sister’s delighted laughter. He didn’t think Odessa would tell his new sister-in-law about the festival before Ben could, but on the other hand, she didn’t exactly have a horse in this race.
His mother had roped off the stairs to the second story and most of the doors had been locked. Nadine, timid as she was, was unlike to risk displeasure by wandering too deeply where she hadn’t been invited. But she wasn’t in the kitchen or the sunroom, or the portrait hall.
The library, he thought suddenly, and he felt an immediate surge of pleasure when he caught a glimpse of red amidst all of that dark flocking, proving him right.
His mother had thrown open the drapes for the tour and the sun sparked on her hair, turning what had been a rather ordinary brown into a rich tapestry of reds and golds.
He came here often himself, usually at night when he couldn’t sleep. It was the perfect place to drink and clear his head as he made use of the vast collection of books that the original Caledon Cullraven had amassed as part of his cultured appurtenance.
She was leaning over to study the family books. Bound in Paris green and cloth of gold, so poisonous to the touch that prolonged contact would contract a rash, his father had had them all locked up in glass years ago. Only his key could open them, and only during the festival.
Soon, it will be Ben’s turn.
But Cal shoved those thoughts away and began his slow approach across the carpet, scarcely daring to breathe. “It’s Paris green,” he said.
She jumped and her scream sent a jolt right down to his cock. “J-Jesus—you again! You scared me.”
“I’m sorry; it’s my nature.” He stepped closer and this time, she didn’t shy away. “The cloth bindings contain arsenic—taken from these local mines, actually. But the books were written by our ancestor, so my father had them walled up and encased in glass.”
She looked alarmed and he hastily schooled his expression.
“They probably don’t contain a lethal dose, but if you touched them, they might give you a nasty rash.”
Her nose wrinkled. She moved away from the case as if the books might sprout teeth and bite. “Why keep them at all? Why not sell them to a collector?”
Sell them. He had to fight to keep his face composed. “History. Sentiment. Arrogance. Pick one.” Her face looked far whiter than it had earlier, which made him glance at her now-empty glass. “Are you all right? You look pale.”
“Too much to drink,” she said. “Nothing to eat.”
“Shall I take you outside and make you a plate?”
“No. Thanks. To be honest, I’m not sure I can eat any of it. I have a food allergy and Noelle got so busy, she, um. Forgot.” She looked at the floor, toeing the edge of the tasseled rug. “But I’m sure she was busy. With the, uh, wedding. They’re a lot of work, you know.”
Cal recalled his mother ordering the caterers around while jumpy to distraction. No matter how much authority he granted her in public, she always looked to him. Which made him wonder: where was his father? He hadn’t seen him all morning and he wasn’t at the bar.
Nadine was watching him with an anxious expression. His jaw tightened at the thought of her wandering. There was no telling what would happen if he let her continue alone through the darkened halls. “Come with me,” he said decisively.
“Where are we going?”
“The kitchen.”
If it got back to his family—his father especially—that he’d slipped away with a girl, there would be questions.
Recriminations. But he could deal with all of that later.
He was enjoying her company. She was like a little spark of flame caught within the gloom of this house, and he wanted to cup his hand around her, to enjoy that flickering warmth without seeing it extinguished like a candle.
She followed him gamely enough, looking at the wallpaper, the family portraits.
Her eyes lingered especially on the various paintings and photographs.
Cal braced himself for questions that didn’t come.
There were thoughts whirring inside that pretty head of hers but she seemed disinclined to share them.
What did she make of them all? An eccentric old family, hopelessly married to the old ways?
Or did she suspect something far more sinister?
The kitchen was filled with roses, which bloomed on every available surface. Cal shoved some aside with a frown before throwing open the window a crack to ease some of the cloying sweetness. Strains of music floated in, peppered with the chatter of nearby guests.
“We don’t usually eat in here,” Cal said. “Except during mornings.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re not a vegan, are you?”
“Uh, no.” She sat down at the kitchen table at a slight angle, facing him. “Just my sister. She’s vegan. For me, single ingredients are best. Cheese, fruit, unseasoned meat. I’m allergic to corn and it’s, um, well, in everything.”
“Pity you’re not the one marrying into the family.” The words slid out of his mouth with alarming ease and he saw her stiffen in the corner of his eye. “Ben’s going to want to take her hunting at some point.”
“Noelle doesn’t hunt. She doesn’t even hike. She SoulCycles.”
Cal breathed out a laugh. “Hasn’t she heard that old saying—hunt or be hunted?”
“I think it’s kill or be killed,” she said innocently. “And no, that is so not her wheelhouse.”
“Well, in this house, it will be. There’s even a hunting festival in town.
You just missed it—it’s called The Running of the Deer.
For generations, my family has been importing deer and letting them loose in the woods every summer.
For a whole day, people come from all over to hunt what they can carry.
The town flourishes with venison for months. ”
“Why?”
“Why not? Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.”
She made a face, giving a brief flash of the rebellion he’d glimpsed from her on his mother’s tour when she’d sparred playfully with her sister. “Is that from the bible?”
“No. It’s Greek. How do you like the prosciutto? We make it ourselves on the estate.”
“Really? You do?”
“Yes, in the cellar. It’s just below here.
That’s why this room is so cold, as you’ve probably noticed.
” She had stopped eating, leaning over to watch him talk.
It gave him a rather tantalizing view of what was underneath her dress.
Had she been angling to get him alone, in her strange, shy way?
“Would you like to see it? It’s rather fascinating.
There’s an old furnace down there, too. Victorian. Made of solid iron.”
“N-no, thank you. I think I’ll pass.” She nudged her plate away. “It was nice of you to offer.”
You’d think me far less nice if you heard what else I have to offer you.
The music outside was drowned out by a loud, raucous cheer, fueled by alcohol and boredom. Cal glanced at the paned window and saw that the ceremony had already concluded. The bride and groom were officially married and greeting guests before setting off for their honeymoon.
“What a shame,” he said out loud. “You’ve missed the bouquet toss.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Mm, but how will you know if you’ll be next?”
Her gaze had been wandering again, distracted, but at his words she looked up quickly. A small noise escaped her lips when she realized how close he was.
Kiss me, he thought, wild and desperate. Kiss me while you still taste of wine and freedom.
She pushed back from the table, and from him, stumbling to her feet. “W-what?”
“You might be. Next, that is.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I think you’re prettier than your sister.”
“I don’t know about that.” She was blushing furiously, edging closer to the door. Her whole body quailed visibly when he walked towards her. “Thanks for the, uh, this. I—oh. Okay.”
The words left her lips in a feverish rush as he took her arm and looped it through his.
She was trembling again and he was not entirely sure what he had done to cause it—he was on his best behavior, after all—but the part of him that responded to fear was more interested in why she didn’t run.
And what she might look like if she did.
Does it thrill you, darling? he wondered darkly. The way I make your heart beat faster?
When she noticed him looking at her again, that sweep of color returned to her cheeks.
She wouldn’t come to him now but with a little patience and coaxing, she would. If she looked at him like that when she did, all shy and guileless wanting couched in restless dread, he thought it might just be his undoing.
They had gotten as far as the statue in the courtyard when they ran into his father.
He stepped out from the cold shadows of Ravensgate like a prowling wolf popping out of the trees.
From his gait, he was well into his cups.
That explained his mother’s absence. Alcohol rubbed the plating off Nathaniel Cullraven’s carefully buffed exterior, exposing the lethal alloy beneath.
Before either of them could speak, Nadine broke from him with a jolt, racing to her sister’s side as Noelle came over to greet them. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” she said, pulling Nadine into a tight embrace he found himself envying. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yeah.” She darted a look at him over her shoulder as they walked away, arm in arm. “It’s like a fairytale.”
His father watched the two women, swirling his scotch. “Jumpy little thing,” he remarked.
“Her sister’s getting married.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to plunder the nest.” His father shot him a cold look over the crystal rim as he took a generous swallow. “Finish your schooling. There will be plenty of years to come before you need to take a wife.”
“She thinks we’re odd. I was merely laying her fears to rest.”
“As long as that’s the only thing you’re laying.” He drained the contents of his glass. “Noelle seems to think the girl is going to be living here. I told Ben it’s out of the question. This house is not a dovecote for wild sparrows.”
The implications of his father’s words stopped him cold. “She’s family.”
“That remains to be seen.” A strange note entered his father’s voice as he turned away, causing the shadows of the eaves to fall across his face. “Cullraven blood rots the veins of the wilting, Caledon. Never forget; it’s made of far sterner stuff than both you and I.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Not yet.” His father smashed his glass on the courtyard steps like a captain christening a ship’s maiden voyage. “But you will soon. And so will Ben.”