Chapter Nine
“You’re hurting me.” I scowl at the older man as he drags me up the staircase, fingers biting into my arm.
He ignores me. He walks faster than my legs can keep up with as he hauls me to wherever we’re going.
It’s not as if I have a say in the matter.
We go down the corridor, past the rooms I sneaked into my first time here and further into the belly of the house.
I stumble and nearly fall but for his grip keeping me semi-upright.
He loosens his hold but gives me a condescending frown, as though I’m pathetic. Then under his smoky breath he says, “Your own fault.”
“I’m sure you know very well I couldn’t help it,” I say indignantly. “Those damn slippers are bewitched.” And somehow, I fell under their spell.
The man only smirks and walks faster.
We continue through the second floor until we come to another, narrower staircase, and then on up to the third floor. Everything is darker up here, the air thicker, hotter. The butler’s white hair glows in the dim light, an eerie contrast against the shadowed hall.
“Why is he doing this?” I ask, not expecting him to answer.
“You should know enough not to steal from someone like him, no matter how pretty the treasure is.” Stopping outside a door, the man cracks his knuckles as if that’s supposed to intimidate me. It does. I certainly won’t let on to it, however.
Crossly, I snap, “You made me think he wasn’t that bad! I asked you if he had magic.”
“I told you he was dangerous. I told you to leave.” With a shrug, he opens the door to a bedroom. Nudges me inside. “Don’t try to escape. Don’t even think about it.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I answer with more than a touch of sarcasm, just as he shuts the door in my face—for the second time! “You brute!”
His laugh is rough. “Sleep tight,” he whispers from the other side, so I can just barely hear.
Goosebumps erupt over my damp skin, and I back away as the lock clicks.
This is really happening. I turn to look at the room.
It’s not exactly a prison, and if the foyer was big enough to hold our cottage, this room is grander yet.
Unlike many of the dusty and forlorn rooms I spied before, this one’s been scrubbed spotless.
It smells of freshly laundered linens, wax, lemon oil.
I shouldn’t think so, but it’s beautiful.
Across the room, standing regally, is a gigantic four-poster bed crafted with a dark-brown wood, roses and gryphons carved into the headboard.
The bedding is cream and rust, with deep-red curtains pooling down from the canopy on all sides.
Another time I might find it romantic. Next to it, a dressing table with mirror attached, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and painted with flowers, a velvet stool placed in front.
On the other side of the bed, a washbasin and pitcher stand at attention.
Near an ornate fireplace, there’s a pair of chairs flanking a small table on which a domed tray holding what smells like a delicious meal is set.
I ignore the food and continue my careful surveillance of my surroundings.
Most of the wooden floor is hidden by a large carpet in shades of cream and rose and sage but the boards that are visible are pleasantly worn beneath my naked feet as I walk the perimeter.
The curtains are thick, partially shut, but I open them wide, along with the windows themselves, to look out, to let the afternoon daylight and air in.
Nothing and no one is visible on the grounds.
I lean over the sill of one of the three tall windows.
If this fails, and I need to get out quickly, could I jump?
I gaze down, the high distance twisting my stomach.
This is the third floor, and there’s no balcony.
I’d break both my legs, if nothing else.
Then the demon would kill me. I can’t exactly dance for him if I’m badly injured, and I can’t save Aven if I’m dead.
Still, I look longingly out, take a deep breath, hoping to catch the scent of the ocean.
All I can glimpse from my vantage point is a long stretch of patchy grass leading to what looks like a dilapidated greenhouse.
There’s a large fountain in the middle of a forgotten garden, and then trees, many trees, for miles.
I wish I’d been placed in a room on the other side of the house, so I could have spied the sea, or better yet, my home.
I push off the sill and circle back, trying to puzzle out what bothers me so, despite the obvious fact that I can’t get out of the room.
Even though I’m not here for comfort, I’m pleased to see some semblance of coziness included in my captivity.
Obviously, it could be much worse. Nonetheless, there’s an emptiness that makes the space cold.
No clock, no artwork, no flowers, no décor of any kind.
Even worse, I note with a spoiled amount of discontent as I gaze at the empty bookcases along one wall, no books.
I suppose he wouldn’t care to keep me entertained.
Still, what am I supposed to do with my time in between dancing for him?
I curse under my breath. I’ll have to act nice, play his little game.
Just to check, I return to the door and try the knob.
Still locked, as expected. There’s a low chuckle on the other side, and I stomp back, hating the idea that the butler is out there listening to me, keeping watch over me.
All to report back to him. I’d prepared myself for the idea of staying, for playing along with the punishment, yet I didn’t realize how uncomfortable I would find being locked away.
My throat is too raw to cry, though I’d like to—for the trauma Sélie will endure when she returns home tonight to find me missing.
With a sudden idea, I rush over to the dressing table, which looks wildly expensive—a light wood with legs that swirl to a lion’s paw at the bottom—then rummage inside its drawers.
I find a quill and an almost empty bottle of ink, as well as a yellowed sheet of paper, ripped in one corner.
There’s no envelope, but it’ll do. The words matter far more than the packaging.
I pause. What to write without saying too much?
If I tell Sélie where I am, or who has me, she’ll come looking for me.
There’s no way I can jeopardize her safety that way.
I don’t want her within a hundred feet of here.
However, I can’t leave her without answers.
The grief would sink her if I disappeared too.
Damn this situation! Determined that saving one sister won’t mean destroying the other, I dip the quill in the ink.
It’s only a slim chance they’ll even allow me to send a letter.
I sigh, running a message through my head before I scratch it out on the paper:
Dear Sélie,
I have to stay away for a while. Please don’t worry. I hate that I had to go so abruptly, but I have to take care of something important. I wish I could tell you more, but it’s better for both of us if I leave it at that.
Please don’t mention this letter to anyone. If anyone asks, tell them I went to see Darius’s family to handle some things regarding the will. Also tell Julian I’m sorry, so sorry. That I loved dancing at the Clover, and I hope he’ll have me back.
I want you to draw a picture every day that I’m away. I’ll expect to see them when I get back. I’ll be thinking of you each day. Hire someone if you need help at the shop—remember Pearl, the dancer? Please ask her to help you. I think she’d really love the shop.
I love you. I miss you already. Don’t look for me.
Here, I choke up. Take a breath. Try not to picture Sélie reading this—though a more likely reality is that I won’t even be able to get this letter to her, that she’ll just be left wondering. That she’ll be abandoned by not just one but two sisters. That she’ll presume me dead.
I hesitate over one more piece of advice. It will perplex her coming from me, but given that my cynicism has been changed when it comes to the mystical, I have to include it.
Get some garlic paste to spread on the sills. And have Bricksbee add those protective charms into your hems after all.
Your adoring sister,
Corliss
I fold the yellowed paper into thirds and rush to the door, knocking in a succession of sharp raps. “Hello? Are you still there? Butler?”
I stop myself from calling him something offensive. I’ll need his help, if he’s willing to give it. There’s quiet for a moment, then the door clicks and swings open. The butler stands on the other side and says curtly, “What is it?”
“I need to send a letter to my sister.”
He starts to shake his head. I didn’t expect any different. But I’m not going to give up.
“I need to,” I demand, pulling myself up to my full height, which isn’t saying much, though he’s not quite as tall as the demon.
“She’s probably frightened out of her mind, and she’ll get the lawmen.
They’ll come here, eventually, to look for me.
People are talking about this place, that bad things are done by your employer. There are even rumors he’s a demon.”
The rude man laughs. “I don’t think he’s too concerned.”
“Please.” I grab his gloved hands, startling him. I embrace desperation, allowing myself the vulnerability of looking weak, emotional. My voice cracks, “Please. I didn’t say where I am. I didn’t say who has me. It’s just to give her peace of mind. So she doesn’t look for me.”
“I’d think you’d want to be found.” His eyes widen a fraction, knowingly. “Unless you’re still after his help. It’s why you came here in the first place. You want something.”
I don’t say he’s right. Then again, I don’t deny it. “Here. You can read it if you want.” I thrust the letter into the butler’s hand, adding, “It’s completely innocent.”
He reads it reluctantly then raises his eyes to mine. About to say something, he hesitates, and, seeing him wavering, I jump at the chance.