Chapter 16 #4
He laughs, and in the middle of his laugh he transforms into the two-headed wolf, the gaunt monster that I met in the forest. His laugh turns vast and guttural, a sinister sound in the night. I shudder, pulling my red cloak tighter around myself. He is wondrous and terrifying, this husband of mine.
With his massive cloven hooves, he tears into the turf, and within a surprisingly short amount of time he has created a hole deep and wide enough to accommodate all the bodies. He shoves them in, then pushes as much dirt as he can into place on top of them.
“You’ll have to plant something here so your servants don’t get suspicious,” I tell him.
He releases a hideous choked growl in response as he carves a smaller dent in the earth, about as deep as a man is tall, and just long enough to accommodate Grandmother Riquet.
Then he switches back to the form of Beresford, hastily dresses himself, and helps me lay the elderly woman’s body in the hole.
We fetch a couple of shovels and a rake from the stable and use them to restore the ground’s surface as best we can.
There’s a noticeable mound where the majority of the bodies are buried, but a low ridge of land lies between the mass grave and the estate buildings, so hopefully it will go unnoticed until Beresford can plant something there.
Even if one of the servants did spot the mound, it’s close enough to Wormsloe Woods that they might attribute its presence to all the strange things that have been occurring lately.
“It looks like a barrow,” I comment. “Which makes sense, I suppose. Barrows are ancient burial sites, after all.”
Beresford nods. “The presence of many restless dead thins the wall between worlds, especially if there is a corresponding site of pain and torment on the other side. Think of our realms like two sides of a mirror, except the glass can grow thin enough to push through, especially if someone is calling out.”
“But I never called for any of the creatures I summoned.”
“You did, in a way. Not by name, of course, but in spirit. The tonic your mother partially drank when she was pregnant with you—it contained something that linked you to the rest of the Barrow-Man’s victims. I believe that common element was my blood or spinal fluid.”
“I was connected to you before I was born,” I murmur.
“Strange how fate unfolds, isn’t it?” he replies.
We stand there for another moment in silence, gazing up at the stars. Then we collect the lamp, the rake, and the shovels and head back toward the house.
Once the tools are cleaned off and put away, we return to our room and take turns washing up. I crawl into bed first and wait for Beresford, weary and drowsy. I don’t want to have sex, but before I drift off, I want to know that he’s there, next to me.
When he slides under the covers I reach for him. His fingers are ice-cold.
“Are you all right?” I whisper.
“I will be.”
“Come here.” I tug at him, and he scoots closer. I hold his fingers against my chest and endure the chill for the sake of warming him.
We awaken like that, face to face, with our hands on each other. We were so dead tired we didn’t change positions for the rest of the night. And we would have slept even longer, except for the gentle rapping at our bedroom door.
“Master Beresford?” The woman’s voice is timid and muffled. “So sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a lady downstairs in great distress. She’s here to see her daughter. Says it’s terribly urgent.”
“My mother is here?” I exclaim, my legs thrashing as I try to untangle myself from the sheets. I tumble out of bed and grab my robe from its hook.
I expected my mother to come by today, but I didn’t anticipate the urgency. Something must have happened. Maybe she told Anne about Beresford, and my sister didn’t take the news well.
Beresford is getting up too, only slower. I don’t wait for him; I burst out of the bedroom, nearly crashing into the servant who roused us. I fly down the stairs to the entry hall, where my mother stands, pale and stricken, holding a piece of paper.
“Mama? What’s wrong?”
“Your sister is gone. When she didn’t come down to the kitchen this morning I went to check on her. I thought maybe she was ill. And I found this on her pillow.”
She holds out the paper, and I snatch it.
There are only three short sentences, written in an elaborate script.
I propose an exchange. One sister for the other. Do not delay.
At the bottom is a semi-circle with three crooked lines and a small triangle. The symbol of the Barrow-Man.
The floor drops from beneath my feet, and the ceiling spins over my head. I have to sit down on the lowest step to keep from falling over.
Beresford descends the stairs behind me. “What happened?”
“He took her,” I choke out. “The wight took my sister. I thought he couldn’t leave the Barrow. How did he get to her?”
“There were footprints.” My mother’s voice wavers. “Footprints of creatures like your little demons, Sybil. But they never hurt us before.”
“These could be other demons from the wight’s lair,” Beresford says.
“There were some creatures that he considered successful experiments—hybrid animals that he could control. The Barrow may have opened when Sybil called his name in Wormsloe. The wight can’t pass through himself, because an offering wasn’t made to complete the ritual, but he could have sent his creatures in his place.
And they dragged your sister back with them to the other side. ”
“He wants me.” I hold up the paper. “My life for hers.”
Beresford snatches the message. He mutters the words to himself, then crumples the note angrily. “You’re not going. It’s out of the question.”
“Beresford—”
“No.” His voice is violence incarnate, threaded with dark pain.
“He will do worse than kill you, Sybil. He will keep you as a pet, as a project. He and the former Beresford may have been two different species, but they were alike in their lust for pain. The Barrow-Man is a wight, Sybil. I told you what that means. He is alive, but he does not possess a soul. No mercy, no empathy. The only way he can feel anything is through the extreme suffering of others or through the triumph of creating twisted things. He will study you, hurt you, and eventually kill you. I was his prisoner for decades. I know how his mind works.”
“I can’t leave Anne with him, Beresford. I can’t.” I grip the banister and haul myself to my feet. My legs feel weak and watery, and my eyes are brimming with tears. “What do you want me to do? Abandon the sister that I love?”
“You love me, too. Would you abandon me so easily?” Devastation and confusion swirl in his gaze, and I remember that he doesn’t fully comprehend family bonds. How could he? He never had them.
I gather his hand and hold it to my heart, beseeching him with my eyes, hoping he will try to understand.
“I love you with all my heart. But my sister is my family. I can’t leave her to suffer.
If I did, I’d be worse than the Barrow-Man himself.
I’d be a cruel, callous woman. How could I be happy with you, knowing she was living in misery?
You wouldn’t want a wife who was so merciless and unfeeling, would you? ”
“No.” His eyes glitter with keen purpose. “But the choice won’t be yours. It will be mine. You’re staying here. I will not let you go.”
The sudden darkness in his voice turns me ice-cold with fear and red-hot with anger all at once.
“You can’t fucking stop me.” I turn to run, but he catches my arm. His grip is unbreakable, strong as iron.
“He’s right, Sybil,” my mother says, her voice breaking. “You can’t give yourself up. Maybe Beresford and I can go to the Barrow and see if he’ll make a different bargain.”
“Would you have me offer myself for Anne?” Beresford’s tone is harsh, wretched.
“Do you know what I suffered as the wight’s prisoner?
No, of course you don’t. You cannot possibly imagine it.
Decades of torment, of helplessness, of despair.
” He yanks me closer to his side. “Then I get my first taste of pleasure and happiness, and you expect me to give it up? To go back to the prison from which your daughter freed me?”
“She isn’t saying that,” I protest. “I can’t lose you either. I can’t bear for you or Anne to suffer.”
“Then I’ll offer myself,” my mother says tightly. “Mine was the womb that produced you. I schemed with Grandmother Riquet to keep the Barrow-Man suppressed all those years. Maybe vengeance against me will be worth something to him.”
Beresford scoffs bitterly. “It won’t be enough.”
“At least I can fucking try,” she spits out. “Which is more than you’re willing to do, you coward.”
She turns on her heel and marches out of the house.
I lunge against Beresford’s hold, yanking so hard my arm hurts. “Mama, don’t! Beresford, you have to let me go! We can’t let her do this. It has to be me.”
“No.” He scoops me up without warning and climbs the stairs, gripping my body so firmly that even though I thrash, I can’t get free.
“Beresford, stop,” I gasp. “What are you doing? You can’t keep me here.”
“I can.”
“You’re going to lock me up?”
“Apparently I must.”
He’s striding with unwavering purpose across the balcony, down the southern hallway, toward the blue door. My heart seizes with horror at the thought of being locked inside that bloodstained room.
“This is a temporary measure, until I can alter our bedroom door to lock only from the outside,” he says.
“Beresford.” I twist in his arms, desperate to get through to him. “You can’t do this. Think about what the Barrow-Man did to you, what the original Beresford did to women. You’ll be no better than them.”
“There is a great difference, because I am doing this to save you,” he replies. “Rather than being raped and tortured, you will be treated with the utmost care and respect. You’ll be given everything you could need or want.”
“Except freedom. Except a choice, a chance to do something to save my sister.”