8. Chapter 8
Willow
There were a total of thirteen Mortdale nobles who’d died in the past nine months.
The lump majority were lost to the Madness, which seemed to prefer the upper class somehow.
I’d never met an infection so particular before, except for so-called tufthunters and adventuresses.
Gerda's words were starting to ring a bit true. Maybe this Madness was truly the work of Morngate? Though it didn’t infect outside of the vampiric kind, I’d worked out the odds to be a bit suspicious.
Nine of the thirteen nobles who’d died were wed to a witch; a witch who’d died prior to them dying.
Which brought me to another semi-awful conclusion.
What if this Madness was started by a witch instead?
Motive was not lacking from either part, but Gerda was pretty positive she’d heard that the Madness left no magical trace for a vampiric nose to detect.
Which meant, no magic was used in its creation.
Human sciences weren’t too unadvanced, however, I believed they lacked the creativity to orchestrate something like this.
So, had nature turned against them? Mainly the nobles?
Christof tailed me inside the hall. “How was the library?”
“Wordy,” I said, handing him my cloak. Glancing around us, I discreetly slid him a book under my cloak.
He took a peek at the cover, covered it with my coat, and gave me a nod. “Any warnings for me?”
“Cecil cheats on her with the cousin who came to visit the estate.”
“Becca? I didn’t think she had it in her.”
“Right? But she was actually there because she'd gotten pregnant by that Earl rake from chapter thirteen who refused to marry her, and now she’s told everyone the child is Cecil’s.” Cecil being the coachman from the first book who turned out to be a secret count in disguise.
He huffed. “Let them both burn for what they did to Camila.” —Camila being the vampire high lady.
“That’s what I said!”
A small smile had tilted the corner of his moustache up. “The sire has sent word that he’d like you to get ready for tonight.”
“Tonight? What’s tonight? Never leave things so open to possibilities, Christof. Tonight as in my exsanguination via two puncture wounds on my neck, or tonight as in a stroll in the park under the full moon?”
He leaned in. “The Earl of Galahad and his wife have sent an invite for dinner. I suspect they’d like to meet you.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they are your husband’s maternal grandparents.”
I nodded and headed up the stairs, only to turn to Christof again. “What does someone wear to this sort of thing?”
“I presume a dress.”
I nodded again, turning for the stairs. “Right, right.”
“I’ve already hung it out for you in your dressing room.”
I grabbed his face. “I could kiss you right now.”
The old man blinked slowly. “Your husband will be here in ten minutes.”
“Now, why would you mention him just when things were about to get so romantic between us?”
He shook his head when I gave him a wink and stomped up the stairs, throwing my bedroom door wide open and startling Thomas out of his pink skirt.
Whatever Piper had been doing to him these past few days had erased all his appetite for children.
Could even say he was a little disgusted by them, too.
I picked him up. “Awe, don’t you look so fat and cute.”
“I want to eat.”
A beautiful long-sleeved sapphire blue dress with a white bertha collar along the low bodice was hung up in my dressing room, and several pear pins were scattered on the desk along with a pair of heavy diamond earrings I was most certainly not going to wear.
Leaning close to the mirror, I tried the earrings. “I gave you food this morning.”
“Four dead bugs. That’s not food. I was the head of my clan in the Beyond! Until I was banished here. And you treat me with bugs.”
“You ungrateful asshole. Do you know what I went through to find them? Nearly got poked in the eye by a pigeon.”
“Let me eat the girl.”
“Mention eating Piper again and I will flush you down the toilet,” I harshly whispered, grabbing him off the bed and pressing a few kisses on his cute head before shoving him in a shelf.
The entire cupboard rattled from his little hungry hysterics. But I was too distracted; a jar of bones that had been left on top of it along with a letter.
Ten high quality hyoid bones. Still on the search for toenails and fingernails.
I muffled a squeal, running out to actually kiss the moustache-man this time, only to nearly break my nose against my husband’s chest.
Both his hands were in his pockets. He was freshly showered, hair still wet and white shirt clinging to his chest. “Running away or planning to fling yourself off the balustrade?”
I held a hand to my pounding nose. “Option none.” Lifting the jar to his face, I shook it to make the bones rattle.
“Look what Christof got for me. I think I’m in love with him!
This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
Do you know how many times I’ve had to dig into bone flea markets for at least one singular piece of an intact hyoid? ”
“I’m guessing a lot.”
I nodded. “Like eight times. They put me on a banned clientele list for haggling too much with the vendors. I couldn’t go back.
And Ethel is very funny about small bones.
” I shook the jar again. “It’s the only bone in the human body that does not directly articulate to another bone.
” Hiking the jar under my armpit, I grabbed his hand, bringing his fingers to my throat.
“It’s right here.” I swallowed. “Feel that?”
My smile slowly fell when his expression turned solemn and so tense I thought he’d snap in half. The ring of gold around his eyes had disappeared, laying flat against the dark limbal ring.
“I’m wearing a dress,” I told him, letting go of him and stepping back. “Tonight, I mean.”
His hand was still against my throat for some reason, his fingers lingering over my pulse before he pulled them back to his side, stretching as if he’d touched something dirty.
After a few seconds of stewing in the awkward, fermented air, he undid his tie and pressed it to my bleeding nose. “Be ready in an hour.”
The earl’s home was spacious, but not nearly as big as my husband’s, set on a wide drumlin surrounded by woodland that extended out to the sea.
You could hear the waves crashing in the distance, echoing through the barrier of the large pine trunks that had filled the night air with a sharp, musky scent.
The shapes of the old half-timbered building were softer, painted a warmer rosy colour with delicate pale lace curtains draping the square windows framing a starless night filled with grey thunder.
It looked like what I’d imagined home felt like.
It looked lived-in. Loved. Alive in a way.
I ran my fingers over the soft green cashmere sofa drenched in the warm yellow lamplight, and could feel the stories told under candlelight, the drunken afternoon laughter, the long nights spent on it while gazing out at the sea. And I was so sick with wonder, to know what that felt like.
The Earl of Galahad didn’t look old enough to be my husband’s grandfather.
The patriarch was dressed head to toe in a tight navy silk suit, adorned with ornate pins and various diamond-encrusted chains coming down the lapels.
His pale blond hair was almost white, short on the sides and slicked all the way back with something shiny.
A meerschaum pipe was clutched between his teeth as he smiled at Logan and patted his shoulder before pulling him in a hug.
His wife was something more gentle, reserved in the way she presented herself—her bronze-coloured hair was gathered in a flawless apollo knot and she wore a tea green dress that hugged her slender body.
Her features were soft and elegant just like the rest of her, and I could finally see where my husband had inherited his graceful nose and sculpted, full mouth.
As she let go of him with a pat on his cheek, her eyes skimmed me head to toe. “This must be Willow.”
“She is,” I agreed, feeling somewhat conscious of my overdressed state.
Diamonds, pearls, silks and brocade. None of them belonged on someone like me, and it was obvious to any working eye.
They’ll laugh at you, a voice deep in my head echoed.
Shame was the first emotion I’d learnt to swallow.
And I was awfully good at consuming it. To the point I sometimes craved it.
“Ah,” the earl said, reaching to cup my shoulders as he took the liberty to stare me straight in the face. “And she’s a beauty.”
My smile shook a little as I bowed my head. “A pleasure to meet you.”
They didn’t know the Willow I’d left back in Meridian. The fact should comfort me, but I liked her even when they laughed at her.
“Look at you two,” he said, huffing a cloud of smoke in our faces as he shook his head. “Who would have thought? My grandson. Married. To a witch, nonetheless.”
Right. That was me.
“She’s got people in a jar!” Piper wildly announced, and I winced.
“They’re bones. Just bones of people. I collect,” I awkwardly explained.
“Ah,” her grandfather gasped in mock fascination. “Incredible. You will have to show me some day.”
“And she has a talking rat,” Piper piped up, hugging my leg.
My forced smile dropped. “He doesn’t really talk.”
“And she has a talking rat,” her great-grandfather chuckled, winking at me as he picked her up and threw her up in the air a few times until she nearly threw up on him.
“He doesn’t truly talk. Honestly,” I whispered to Logan as he put a hand on my lower back and slowly steered me after the others, down the colourfully wallpapered halls that led into a grand dining hall.