Chapter Fourteen #2
I draw a long breath and inch out the window backwards, my hands grasping the rope of sheets hard, praying the knot around the bedpost holds.
I ease my way over the edge, scraping my stomach, my arms, my legs.
I curse as I climb down, banging my body against the side of the house as I grip the sheets so tightly my arms scream.
It is awkward, muscle-breaking work. I channel Lysander, his graceful strength on his silks, and that seems to help.
I go slowly, wrapping my legs around the sheet, desperate to gain safety, finding the knots along the way.
It is not easy, not that I thought it would be.
Passing the second story windows I hold my breath.
As I descend, I notice a window covering on the other side.
Dark. I let a tight exhalation slip past my lips and continue on with shaking legs, my entire body aching from the climb.
About three feet from the ground, my weakened arms give out.
I tumble down and land with a hard thud in the grass, on my thankfully generous backside.
But I did it, and I didn’t break my neck.
In the cover of darkness, I stand and then I run like I’ve never run before. To the woods. Towards home.
I can tell when I’m off the Colehart property because the sounds come at me like an orchestra, the ones missing from my world these last few weeks: the rustle of creatures; the songs of frogs; the strong gust of a September night’s breeze; animals burrowing under bushes and up in the leaves; and, farther off in the distance, the roar of the sea.
I bend down, catch my breath, my heart thrumming excitedly. I did it. I’m free.
Lifting a branch out of the way, I step forward, relief coursing through my bones, and I walk in the dark, guided by the light of the moon, stepping on moss, cool dirt, soft grass.
Clad just in my chemise, I relish the snap of twigs beneath my toes and the scratch of pricker bushes on my bare legs as I move forward eagerly.
I relish the feeling of being alive and getting distance from the mansion.
I’ll be at the cottage soon, with Sélie.
And oh, then maybe back to the Clover, if they’ll let me.
Back to my life, however patched-up it may be at times.
It’s mine, and I want it back. And now I shall have it!
I ignore the voice in my head—a reasonable one, which says he’ll never let me go. He’ll come after me again. And this time he’ll make me pay for running.
But fear will not make me turn around. Even if Sélie and I have to run, even if we have to hide for a while. I can get away safely, can even call the authorities. Report the double murder that I witnessed—make him pay.
I’m so intent on my path back to the cottage that, when I smell a lingering campfire and the odor of cheap ale, I have only a moment of warning before parting my way through a bush and finding two men standing on the other side.
By the time I blink, one is just inches away, beefy, bigger than me by a good foot up and two feet across, a sly smile across his whiskered face as he looks me up and down.
The other sports a purple bruise under one eye and reeks of the sea, onions, and stale beer.
They both wear light shirts and dark-blue pants, fish guts and salt-spray on their boots.
Sailors. But they’re not local. I’ve never seen them before in my life.
I clear my throat. With my chin tipped up, I say in as regal a voice as I can muster, “Excuse me. I didn’t know anyone was here.”
They glance at each other. Smile. Then back at me. “It’s fine,” the smaller one says. His voice carries a slur. “We were just enjoying some libation.”
Stomach dropping, I nod quickly, as though I’m not afraid at all. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
These are the men who attacked Mr. Links, intuition screams as I step away, remembering Mrs. Minthy’s comments earlier while I was in the bath.
I just know it, simply and without doubt.
I don’t glance back at them, my steps are unhurried, deliberate, the way one walks in front of an aggressive dog, so as not to draw attention.
But then a hand at the back of my neck, so sudden.
I cry out as one of them throws me to the ground.
“No! Get off of me!” I swing at the large man’s fleshy face but barely graze him. Fighting back harder, I kick violently with my bare feet, rake his skin with my fingernails. I don’t care if I draw blood. I want to draw blood.
“Hellcat,” the man grunts, as my foot connects with his groin—though not nearly as hard as I’d have liked. He cracks his palm against my face. My ears ring as my head snaps back and hits the ground. When I blink, I see stars.
“Don’t play at being a lady, not with those tattoos, wandering the woods alone at night.” The smaller one sniggers, taking a swig of his ale, a glint in his eyes as he watches me fight off his friend. Stroking a revolver at his belt. Laughing as I struggle up. He smirks. “You look like a pirate.”
“Go to hell, vermin,” I manage as the big one shoves me down again. I bite my tongue. The iron taste of blood fills my mouth.
“You’ll pay for that one.” He grins, flashing his yellowed, rotting teeth at me.
“No!” I scream, as my hands are pinned to the ground.
I fight with all of my might, but still, I can’t free myself.
I yell, gasping for help, searching the skies above, pleading with the stars for a miracle, but there is nobody to save me.
Nobody to help me. The man’s mean eyes narrow as he leers over me.
I squeeze my own shut, forget how to breathe.
Then a sudden whoosh of air and the man atop me is gone, warm breeze and emptiness replacing the suffocating weight of his body crushing my own.
A guttural cry. A shattering sound. Like glass breaking. Only I know it’s not glass.
I open my eyes to see the demon. His eyes meet mine in one burning stare before he moves again, going after the second man now, who’s pissed himself, face white with fright.
The man points his gun at the demon, the ring of the shot hardly audible compared to my screams as the demon reaches him, moving faster than humanly possible. Because, of course, he’s not human.
I roll over, squeeze my eyes shut, clap my hands over my ears so I won’t see the carnage, won’t hear the sounds, the screams. Try not to breathe so I won’t smell the blood.
It’s fast. But it seems like forever.
Now there’s only silence. Even with blood roaring in my ears I can tell.
I crack open my lids, darkness filling my senses, my face against the cold ground.
The demon stands next to me, his black, shining boots near my head. Spattered with crimson.
No. No. No. I might say it out loud. Maybe it’s all in my mind.
He lifts me into his arms.
And everything goes black.