Chapter Twelve
It was like a starless midnight, a black hole.
Alora could see nothing at all, not even an outline.
But the shackles were still cold against her neck, the body against her warm and unyielding, and when she clawed at the fabric against her hands, it shifted—real.
She had only been plunged into darkness.
She was not lost to it. Still, it didn't prevent the cry from leaving her lips.
“You’ve blinded me!” she cried. Despair echoed in each word.
“We’re both in the dark. Reversible. If you only remove the shackles.”
This was his plan then. Her body flushed, cold to hot, her fear giving way to a consuming anger.
She struggled against him, attempted to lift her hands, but he only pressed her closer, so tight her breaths turned shallow.
She could feel his arms flexed around her; she’d become immobile, the scent of leather all around.
She couldn’t even raise her leg high enough to stomp on his foot.
“Remove the manacles,” he said into her hair.
She seethed against him. “Do you swear you’ll stay far from me?”
“As far as I can manage.”
“You have to do better than that.”
“How far away is enough? I will still need to do my work, and you yours.”
Alora could hear his heartbeat, her ear unwillingly pressed to his chest. It beat faster than she expected. Perhaps he was tiring. “I won’t finish this job.”
“You signed a contract.”
“What business is my contract to you?” Pointless as it was, she attempted to break free again. With a grunt of annoyance, the Urchin adjusted his grip on her.
“Master Merridon is not one to take disappointment lightly. Remove the shackles, keep silent, and finish the job. You should be free then.”
“Is that meant as a threat?”
“It is meant as a truth. Look at this place. Do you think he’s gotten to where he is on goodwill and even better intentions?”
Why, why had she signed on to this. She should have known it was all too good to be true. She wilted in his arms. “Fine. I won’t say a thing.”
“And I will not steal your memories.”
Alora laughed in horrific incredulity. What had she gotten herself into? But a deal was a deal, and she couldn’t stay buried in this darkness pressed against a demon-souled man forever.
Carefully, she imagined cracks in his manacles—all the way through so that they would fall to the floor. A great clatter marked her success, though she still couldn’t see a thing.
Silence ensued. All she could hear were breaths and heartbeats. The Urchin still held her against him, probably to ensure she didn’t plan to exact some other punishment, but he needn’t have bothered. In place of fear or fury, all that swept through her now was disappointment. All of it in herself.
The darkness lightened. From black to gray to the warm yellow of the lamp beside her. Alora blinked at the change, her eyes pricking as they adjusted. She felt the loss of heat and stability beneath her cheek so profoundly, she stumbled forward. Strong hands enclosed her shoulders.
“It takes a moment,” said the Urchin, softly, maybe even apologetic.
She brushed off his grip. “Write what you planned, then leave me be.” When he didn’t move, she sighed, teeth clenched. “It was a lie.”
He took the accusation for the fact it was and didn’t deny it. “Is there more you can do? Besides conjure iron?”
“Is there more you can do? Besides deceive and trick and force others into the dark?”
“Much more.”
Alora shuddered at his tone. “Is that what happened to your latest victim? Could she even see the attack as it came? What did she do to deserve it?”
“She spoke of things she shouldn’t.” At Alora’s returning scowl, he shifted forward, but did not step. “I mean it, Miss Pennigrim. Maintain your silence.”
He turned then, his coat clinging to his frame like a shadow. Alora waited until he neared the door before she asked, “Why?”
The Urchin paused, the cowl shifting to align with his shoulder as he focused once more on her. “Why what?”
“Why tell me at all?”
“You wanted the truth. It was something at least.” Then he was gone through the door.
She waited a bit to imagine it, and even longer before she called down the darkened hall. “There’s something climbing over you.”
Silence ensued. Alora didn’t breathe. When a strangled curse echoed back to her, she grinned.
He may act fearsome, and maybe in most settings arachnids didn’t affect him, but she was hard-pressed to believe there was anyone in existence who wouldn’t startle at the surprise appearance of a spider. Especially one as large as their head.
She continued to laugh still, hoarse and a little wicked, as she imagined paper onto the remaining wall.
She rolled up what she’d planned to use but now never would—Lovely.
More things to store—and gripped the glue, slinging it over her shoulder.
She stared at the lamp last. It burned just as it had before, and yet it still seemed dimmed, like a permanent shadow had been left behind in reminder. A lingering threat.
Her laughter died as she took it in, bending over the blown glass to see the flame inside. On a steady exhale, she snuffed it, casting herself in gloom.
She might never trust the dark anymore, but she refused to fear it too.
***
Because unfortunate instances seemed to happen to her in pairs these days, Alora shouldn’t have been so surprised when upon making for Opulence Mansion’s large front doors, she heard her name called from above. She looked up.
William peered down at her, his face transformed at her attention and pulling into a smile. “Well, well, Miss Pennigrim. I didn’t know you would be here today.”
His voice didn’t ring through the grand hall as she would expect, and she found herself puzzling over how that came to be.
Soundproofing was always a tricky business, and never absolute.
But this…this was absolute. Her expression pinched as she thought it over, and because of it, it took her a rude amount of time to answer.
When she glanced up next, she found William’s smile had fallen a bit.
“Door Twenty-five won’t design itself,” she said, though she softened her annoyance with a small smile. She didn’t know if it was even him she was irritated with, or if her feelings were still in an uproar over the Urchin’s dark eyes and even darker warnings. “I was just leaving.”
“Oh, don’t go just yet,” he said, now leaned over the railing.
It was true she’d finished ages earlier than expected, what with the help of the groundskeeper.
Well, the groundskeeper and—him. The nasty cauldron of emotions he’d invoked had caused her to ignore her own rules, conjuring paper into existence.
She’d never been more upset with herself.
She only wanted to go home and forget everything she’d learned.
Too bad she’d drank from the potion today.
“I’m afraid I’m very busy.” She pulled up her hood.
“That’s unfortunate,” said William, his mouth turned down in a mock frown. “I’d planned to show you something magical, and now I can’t help feeling as if you’re avoiding me.”
She was avoiding him, but not for the reasons he believed. She pressed her eyes closed beneath the shelter of the cloak. “Magical?”
“Yes,” said William, his voice nectar-sweet and coaxing. “You’ll be quite in love. It is my favorite door aside from my own.”
She tipped her head back at his voice, almost yearning, and found his hopeful smile returned in full force. She couldn’t very well leave after seeing it. “All right,” she said on a sigh, and walked to the base of the staircase where she began to climb.