5. Chapter 5 #3
I paused over a wedding announcement. It was a witch I’d known before, a red maiden who’d married the Earl of Hollowmire.
Pulling the bound newspapers from a year later, I searched through the notices all over again.
I was pretty certain I’d stumbled on his name a few sections back; and sure enough, there he was—dead.
My finger skimmed through the long paragraph.
Widowed only three weeks prior.
That had been the first mention of a dead witch I’d come across.
The chamber lamp flickered, its shadows growing severe as I wracked my brain to make a connection of any kind.
I screamed, shooting up to my feet when the librarian appeared out of thin air, tapping a finger to his pocket watch.
“It’s nearly midnight. Your companions are scaring people away.
Best you take them with you and never bring them back.
” He shook his head as he took the hardbound books back to their places.
“I have a terrible feeling you will be back.”
The way out of the library was the longest path I might had ever taken. Tormented by the impossibility of the entire thing, I fumbled down the steps, nearly crashing against Henry.
“Woah, there, Lady Duncan,” he chuckled, steadying me by my shoulders.
“Took you a while, witch-woman,” Arthur barked, pulling his friend away from me and pinning him with a glare. “He’ll kill you. And I’ll mourn you dearly.”
Henry’s amusement didn’t falter for a moment. “What were you reading in there?”
“Vampires in Furs. A very saucy erotica about a coachman and a vampire high lady. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”
Liam, who’d joined them again, sighed. “Saints, please don’t.”
Henry chuckled, meeting my steps. “I want to hear all about it.”
Arthur only turned around and left, disappearing into the growing throng of vampires promenading and basking under the thick moonlight.
I turned to them with a pout. “Aw, poor Arthur. Does he have the morbs?”
My creative juices had been boiling hard because I’d pieced together the most elaborate, illicit story from all of Ethel’s sexual adventures over the years—which by consequence of friendship I’d been forced to hear.
By the time we’d gotten back to the mansion, even the horses were absolutely bewildered at what had come out of my mouth.
The Darkheim estate was a terrifying giant on a full moon. Or maybe it was because my husband stood on the balcony, leaning against the balustrade, smoking as he watched us.
I turned to whisper to Henry, “I thought you said he’d be at the parliament until the morning.”
“The orgy must have been a quick one,” he said, throwing me a wink as he headed inside.
Liam grabbed my bags, and harshly murmured, “Please don’t mention Vampire in Furs to him.”
“What?” I mockingly gasped. “But I even brought this back for him,” I said, pulling the actual book from under my cloak.
The librarian had personally recommended it to me; it had been hard to pass on it. Especially with the spoilers I’d been provided. I loved fictional scandals. And there was no better way to know how a species worked—physically mostly—than reading a little bit of their curiosa.
My steps slowed in the middle of the foyer when I noticed him standing against his study’s doorway, watching me. “What did you do to Arthur?”
He was the most undressed I’d seen him, only wearing a white cotton shirt pulled out of his trousers. Unbuttoned at the top to reveal just a little bit of his muscled chest.
“What did he say I did?”
“He won’t speak.”
“Then I guess we’ll never know.”
His head tipped back against the door, watching me up the stairs. “Got everything you need?”
I nodded, feeling the space around us eat me up as it always did in his presence. “You were very generous today.”
Stomping up the steps, I quickly veered through the corridors until I slipped into my room, sagging against the door and breathing out a slow, shaky sigh. My limbs stiffened again when I noticed something familiar across the room.
My collection of bones lined the dresser. The jars dusted and polished, with the labels neatly facing forward.
A letter was left on top.
Didn’t think you would have wanted to part with them.
It had no name, but I had a feeling the neat, strong writing belonged to my husband.
Warm pressure pushed at the back of my eyes as I grabbed the jar of tarsals, hugging it against my chest. “He doesn’t even know, does he? That you’re all I have.”
The taste of salt touched my tongue, and I could hear the sea drowning me from the inside; inhaling foam with each breath.
I reached to pull the smallest skull out of the jar and set it on the dresser. Undoing my necklace and putting it over her head, I murmured, “Hi, mother. Nice to see you again.”
I’d spent a good part of my childhood convinced I could build myself someone who I could love, someone who could love me back.
Someone who could take care of me, nurse me back from a cold, press a cold hand against my warm brow, tell me that everything would be okay.
Someone I could come home to to cry about all the injustice collecting in my heart like rust.
My face dropped into my shaking hands. “You should have stayed behind to look after Ethel. Who will look after her now?”