Chapter 10
“ E xcept in my dreams!” Benedict called, and Lucinda flipped him off across the lobby. He hadn’t planned to tell her about the tattoo, but he couldn’t resist an opportunity to see her flustered.
Droplets fell from his hair down the back of his shirt, reminding him of his current state. He didn’t want his guests to see him, as she had put it, looking like a drowned rat.
The private elevator took him to the fifth floor – his private quarters. Shrouded in the darkness of his wing, far from any guests, he waved his hand to light the torches… only to be greeted by darkness.
“Damn spell.” Benedict dropped his head. The torches helped keep away the draughts the stone walls attracted, no matter how frequently he had the gaps filled. “I should’ve known better than to agree to the binding. The Hawthornes are meant to be Good,” he muttered to himself.
His wet shoes squelched against the carpet as he took the silver key from his pocket and unlocked the tall double doors. No one else had a key; his quarters were strictly off-limits. Shivering, he tossed his damp shirt onto the black velvet couch in the sitting area, regretting his decision not to install lighting instead of keeping the old candelabras on the walls. There was only one large window by his desk to let in some light. It looked out on the whole town; these rooms used to be a watch tower, dating back to when there had been a threat of invasion during the war on witches.
“They wouldn’t have pulled such a stunt if Mum hadn’t put forward my name. Without that, we wouldn’t have had to agree to the binding ritual.” He wasn’t used to the cold – usually his fire kept him warm, no matter the weather. At least Lucinda’s coat had protected her from the worst of the storm he’d created. He’d had no idea how much power she held in that small, curvy frame. She was a force to be reckoned with.
I could go to the coven and tell them I changed my mind about the binding… but since the town knew of their engagement, he feared damaging the Matherson name. People need to see us as steady and reliable. Once the spell runs its course, we can figure out what to do.
He considered stopping by the Hawthornes. In two days they’d have dinner together, so he could be sure to see and talk to Lucinda. Maybe even clear the air between him and her family; given the spell they’d cast, he got the impression he wasn’t in their good books. It wasn’t like the visit would be unusual. Ever since his father passed, he’d been dragged along to Hawthorne House on a regular basis. Not that he minded all that much: Grams Hawthorne was a sweet old lady, and Wilhelmina was one hell of a cook.
Benedict’s mum had always left the cooking to Dad, and when he’d died, the kitchen, filled of his untouched pots and pans, had sent her into a deep depression. They didn’t have to worry about such memories now, since their old kitchen was full of chefs and built to feed their guests. He’d made sure she never had to stand over a stove again, unless she desired it.
He was dripping everywhere –he needed to get changed. He moved around his desk, but in the dim light he caught his shin on a side table. “Son of a—” he exclaimed, rubbing his shin. “Pumpkin is going to pay for this.”
He glanced at the desk drawers, but he wouldn’t have any matches to light the candelabras; he’d never needed them before. He sighed, exhausted by the day that had barely begun.
In his bedroom, he quickly pulled on a white T-shirt and grey sweats. He loved his neutral shades just as much as he loved order and structure. Unlike Lucinda in her many colours– the definition of chaos. Usually, he’d never leave his quarters dressed like this, but all he cared about right now was finding some matches and lighting the fireplace.
He thought of the spell again as he stormed out of his room. There was no way he and Lucinda were soulmates. The spell had made a mistake, either because of the ingredient she had mentioned or their agreement. But he couldn’t help but shake the feeling there was more to it.
Maybe the solution is for one of us to leave town – but as he marched down the stairs to the third floor (the fourth four was strictly for vampires and nocturnal guests; it would be a waste of time to search there), did he get struck by a sinking feeling at the thought? The rush of unease stopped him in his tracks. He wasn’t sure what disturbed him more – being bound to Lucinda forever, or never seeing her again.
Thankfully, he didn’t have time to linger on the revelation. A cleaner’s cart sat outside the first guest room he passed. Benedict’s sudden appearance startled the cleaner coming out of the room.
“Sir? Can I help you with something?” Marty asked, his arms bundled with dirty towels. Glancing at Benedict’s sweats, bare feet and dripping hair, Marty added, “Were you looking for a towel?”
Benedict groaned internally. He prided himself on professionalism, and he certainly didn’t want the coven to hear he’d walked around his hotel barefoot.
“I’m fine, but there was a problem with my shower. I was on my way to look for someone to help when a guest asked me for some matches,” he lied, trying to stop the gossip before it started.
Marty nodded. “I’m sorry a guest disturbed you, sir. If you give me the room number, I can bring them over,” he offered, dropping the dirty towels into his cart.
“No need to trouble yourself – their room is on my way back.” Benedict grabbed a packet of matches from the cart. “Let’s keep this between us.”
Marty nodded, closing the door to the room he’d finished cleaning. Benedict knew he could be trusted; he’d worked for their family since before the manor had become a hotel.
“Can I assist with anything else? Perhaps some slippers?”
“No, no, you carry on.” Benedict hurried away. It was hard to sound like the boss while barefoot.
Back in the safety of his quarters, he lit the torches and hoped the rest of his day would be less eventful.
He’d spoken too soon. His younger brother was sitting cross-legged on his desk. Benedict jumped.
“What are you wearing?” Peter asked with a grin.
His ash-blond hair had grown out since he’d last made an appearance, and he was wearing a green hoodie and black jeans. Usually, Grim Reapers were meant to keep their hair short and always wear their black robes, but his brother had a way of charming people into letting him bend the rules. All Mathersons did.
“Clothes. What are you doing here?” Benedict asked, waving Peter away from his desk.
“Nice to see you too.” Peter raised his eyebrow, moving around him. His long, black coat signified that he was on the job, even if it wasn’t strictly Reaper uniform.
Benedict had forgotten how much he’d grown. The brothers were nearly the same height now, whereas in Benedict’s mind Peter was still the sixteen-year-old who barely reached his shoulders.
“Peter, I don’t have time for whatever you’re up to.” His work would be building up thanks to all the morning’s disturbances, and he didn’t want his brother delaying him further with his mischief.
“I’m up to nothing,” Peter protested.
That would be a first , Benedict thought .
“You missed the anniversary of my death last week. Thought I’d pop in and make sure you were okay.”
Peter had aged since his death to look like he was in his early twenties, but on the day of his anniversary he appeared as his sixteen-year-old self, who’d died in his favourite football jersey. Benedict found it too painful to see him that way; even if he wanted to honour the day of Peter’s passing, it wasn’t as if he was gone. Thanks to his job as a Grim, Peter maintained his physical form despite not being part of this world or the next.
“I was busy. I didn’t have time to stop by the grave,” Benedict lied, hating the pathetic excuse as it left his lips. “And you don’t leave me alone long enough for me to miss you.”
Peter placed a hand mockingly over his heart. “Ouch. Way to make your baby brother feel loved.”
“Which poor soul are you haunting this time?” Benedict asked, giving him a quick hug.
“No one in particular – and technically Grim Reapers aren’t ghosts, so we can’t haunt anyone,” Peter reminded him, picking up the guest ledger from the desk and flicking through the names.
Benedict’s chest tightened. He didn’t have time to deal with an in-house death right now.“Stay away from the guests! You frightened that elderly couple of magless to death last time.” He wished the Grims wouldn’t take souls at the Manor. People tended not to think about dying in hotels, but it happened more than many assumed. “The clean-up and paperwork always add to my never-ending to-do list.”
“It was their time! It’s not like I enjoy the job. I did give them an extra week to enjoy their last vacation. The least I could do was let them have some fun here before I collected. A promise is a promise, though; I won’t work on the premises again.” Peter crossed his heart.
“If you aren’t here to collect a soul, then to what do I owe the pleasure?” Benedict asked, ducking through the archway that divided the living space from his bedroom and taking a new suit from his wardrobe. Another black shirt, too, but this time he decided to forget the tie.
Peter leant against the archway, peeling a banana. He also liked to steal food. “Other than to enjoy your company, I heard from Lucinda’s dearly departed uncle Gregory that you and she are to be bound. I swear, if I had a heart to stop, hearing those words would’ve done it. I had to come and hear it for myself.”
He studied his brother’s reaction as he tossed the peel over his shoulder. The dead don’t tend to care about the mess they leave behind.
Benedict pulled at his collar, which suddenly felt too tight. “Word travels fast in the spiritual realm,” he mused, not wishing to discuss it.
“He’s my mentor in all things Grim. Gregory was so shocked by what Grams had told him, I don’t blame him for not being able to keep it to himself,” Peter said, his mouth full.
“So you came to me to confirm it?”
“You caught me. He wanted to make sure Grams wasn’t winding him up. I couldn’t say no; I’d still be stuck in the soul-sorting department if he hadn’t helped me get promoted early.”
Benedict was grateful to Gregory Hawthorne for helping his brother return to them and being there for Peter after his early passing, but he’d still have preferred for his brother not to have become a Grim at all. Even if it would have meant never seeing him again. It was a hard life, taking souls, and there was no leaving the job once accepted.
“It seems we can’t escape Hawthornes even in the afterlife,” he muttered.
Peter chuckled and plonked himself on the couch. “Since when have you ever wanted to escape a Hawthorne? My whole life – well, former life – you always found a way to torment poor Lucy. She was so nice to us when Dad passed. She held my hand at the funeral, and Grams stopped Mum from going after the killers. We would’ve been orphans if they hadn’t interceded.”
“It’s Lucinda,” Benedict corrected him. Peter was right about the Hawthornes’ help during one of the worst stages of his life. It hadn’t been improved by his brother’s death only months later.
“Everyone calls her Lucy except you. What did you call her? Sunflower?” Peter narrowed his hazel eyes. He looked nothing like a Matherson, with their usual striking blue eyes and black hair. He’d always been the light to their dark. However, his dabbling in dark magic had cost him his life. “It was a type of seed…”
Benedict finished styling his hair, ignoring him.
“Pumpkin! That’s it!” Peter snapped his fingers, beaming in triumph. “You’ve always had an odd fascination with her. I mean, who didn’t? Beautiful and smart. If only I were five years older, and not forbidden from having relations with the living. Any man who gets to go home to her every night…” Peter whistled.
“Watch it! You’re not too dead to have your mouth washed out with soap,” Benedict warned, suspecting that Peter was only trying to get a rise out of him.
“Why did you decide to name her after something she hates?”
Peter didn’t need to know the reason he called Lucinda pumpkin, his favourite type of pie. Her hatred of the fruit only played in his favour. He loved how her irritation caused her to blush, highlighting the cluster of freckles across her nose.
“I take back what I said,” Benedict said, fixing his silver M cufflinks to his wrists. “Please feel free to take as many souls as you like from the manor.”
Peter raised his hands, decorated with an assortment of rings, in defence. “Trying to get rid of me? I understand it must be hard to admit your feelings for the one person who despises you almost as much as you pretend to despise her.” He sighed, getting up from the couch. “Love is wasted on the living. Tell Mum I’ll stop by soon.”
“Still avoiding her?” Benedict slipped on a new pair of socks, avoiding Peter’s opinion on his non-existent relationship with Lucinda.
“Only for this month. When she sees me around the anniversary, she won’t stop crying about my wasted potential. At least I got to come back; collecting souls isn’t a bad gig. You could say I get the best of both worlds.” Peter winked. Even in death he looked on the bright side. Benedict wondered if he was truly happy, never finding peace, always stuck in the in-between. They’d never discussed it, and he doubted if they ever would.
“Have you seen Dad?” he couldn’t help asking, even if he already knew the answer.
His brother shook his head. “I think he’s at peace. Otherwise, our paths would’ve crossed in the past few years.” Peter rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, putting an end to the sore subject. It was Peter’s desire to see their father which had cost him his life, so Benedict could only imagine how hard it was to accept this.
One of the candles on the wall went out. He used the opposing candle to reignite it, then caught himself as he realised what he had done. Hopefully Peter had missed the small detail, but—
“Why didn’t you use your fire?” Peter tilted his head in concern.
“I’m tired.” Benedict shrugged his jacket over his broad shoulders, not wanting to reveal his and Lucinda’s elemental switch. The less his brother knew about the spell, the better.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” Peter blew out the candles on the candelabra closest to him. “Light it.”
Gritting his teeth, Benedict focused on the candelabra, but nothing happened. He was afraid that if he forced it, Lucinda’s element would flood the place.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” He turned his back on Peter and the extinguished candles.
“Holy shit, you can’t light it.”
Benedict glared at him. “You want all the damn guests to hear you?”
“Sorry.” Peter covered his mouth. “What’s up with your element? Don’t tell me you were messing with the dark side. I’m meant to be the black sheep of the family, and Mum needs one of us to live to a ripe old age or she’ll start resurrecting us!”
Benedict ran his hands through his damp hair . There was no way he was getting to work without explaining. “Lucinda’s family cast a spell in an attempt to stop the binding ritual. It backfired,” he admitted.
Peter drew back as though struck by some invisible force.“They stripped you of your magic? That’s a punishable crime.”
“No, nothing so extreme. I still have my magic,” Benedict said hastily, afraid Peter would disappear to confront them.
Peter frowned, glancing at the damp clothes dripping over the chair in the corner. Benedict watched him put two and two together.
“ You have the Hawthorne element?” Peter laughed, placing a hand over his grin. “Wow! My big bro crossed over to the Good side.”
“If only you had done the same.”
Peter faked a wince.“That cut deep.”
“What doesn’t kill you…” Benedict muttered. “And there is no Good or Bad side anymore. That’s all in the past. We’re one community now.”
“Yeah, yeah, peace and unity. It’s easy for those who’ve always been on the Good side to believe. They haven’t had to suffer with the prejudice of our legacy – same with dozens of other families.”
“It doesn’t help when we break the rules and use dark magic,” Benedict pointed out.
Peter ignored the reference to his own mistakes; he’d already paid for them with his life. “It’s easy to break the rules when people expect little of you. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Lucy must be losing her mind without her water. It must feel like losing a limb!”
Of course he laughs at me and pities her. He’s only my flesh and blood. Benedict remained silent.
Peter recoiled, as though reading his mind. Benedict hated how well his brother could read his expressions. “Wait. Does his mean she has our fire?”
“Keep this to yourself. We don’t need this getting out– the swap wasn’t intentional,” Benedict warned, hoping his brother wouldn’t tell his mentor or his superiors. He didn’t want the Hawthornes to get in trouble with higher forces. It would be bad enough if the coven found out.
“This is crazy. I didn’t think it was possible to exchange elements. What are you going to do?”
“Hope we switch back. The spell was meant to keep us from being bound, so once All Hallows’ Eve passes, we should swap back.” There was no point rambling about the wrong ingredient and potion troubleshoots. Lucinda’s element stirred within him, testing its shell, knowing it was in the wrong vessel.
“The town would be up in arms if they knew this happened. She spends all her time amongst those dusty relics; she might find a way to swap you back sooner rather than later,” Peter reasoned. His serious expression was replaced with a cheeky grin. “This might even bring you two closer together.”
Benedict didn’t want him interfering. “I think we’re close enough.”
He made a mental note to stop by the library after work. In the meantime, he’d try to keep his stress levels down and hope no water-based drama happened. He didn’t want to accidentally flood the hotel when it would be at capacity coming up to the Autumn Festival in a couple of weeks.
“When you see Lucy, try a smile. You’ll get farther with her that way than with your usual grimace.” Peter headed for the door as Benedict found himself wishing the dead would stay dead.
“I don’t needto get anywhere with her,” he said, opening the door. “We just need to swap our elements back.”
“I don’t know why the two of you can’t get along. She was always so nice to me.”
“She’s nice to everyone ,” Benedict huffed, pushing his brother out of the door and into the corridor.
“Except you.” Peter smirked. “Maybe that’s why you look at her with those moony eyes – because she’s the one thing you can’t have.”
“Be gone. I’m sure the underworld misses you.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Careful, brother, don’t get too worked up. I wouldn’t want you to flood the place.”
He disappeared before Benedict could react.
It killed him to admit his brother was right. Lucinda was kind, polite and Good through and through. It only made Benedict want to corrupt her even more; making her act out made him feel like they were on the same level. And maybe then he would feel worthy of her.
He slammed the door behind him, silencing the demons his brother had awakened. They would never be anything, and he’d accepted that long ago. No spell or coven proposal was going to change that.