Chapter 14
SAGE
The terrace stones are slick beneath my feet, ancient and crumbling like broken teeth. I’m running, but my legs feel heavy, like I’m moving through water. Behind me, footsteps echo, heavy boots on stone, getting closer.
“Stop! There’s nowhere to run!”
In my dream-hands, I clutch something important. The weight of it burns my palms. I have to hide. I have to…
The edge appears without warning. One moment, there’s solid ground; the next, there’s nothing but black water far below, reflecting like a broken mirror. I try to stop, but momentum carries me forward. My feet slip on moss-slicked stone, and the evidence flies from my grasp, tumbling into darkness.
“No!” I reach for it, and that’s when I fall.
The world tilts and rushes past me. The water rises to meet me, dark and hungry. Just before I sink, I see him, a figure standing above, silhouetted against the moon.
Troy Severin, watching me fall.
Then his face twists into my father’s with disappointment in his eyes as the water swallows me whole. I sink slowly, flailing through layers of cold water that feel like suffocating silk, wrapping around me like death and forgetting.
And somewhere in the depths…
Nell is waiting for me with open arms.
The nightmare shatters me awake.
My eyes open, but all I see is utter blackness. My head throbs. The room is too quiet, the air thick with something dark and suffocating. As I lie there breathing hard, my head threatening to explode, wanting to curl up anywhere but here, I hear it…
A creak outside my door.
And then another.
Then a soft click of the door opening.
Raw panic claws through my veins. I stay still, holding my breath. After the longest minute, there’s the sound of the door closing. I wait, counting to ten, just to be sure. Then, I draw in a ragged breath and let out a strangled sob.
Someone was checking to see if I was in bed.
My heart feels fluttery as I flip on the bedside light, wincing as the thunder behind my eyes flares, enough to make my eyes feel like they’re bleeding.
I’ve got another headache coming on, I can feel it.
They always start slow and then, by the time I’ve realized it’s too late, it’s full-blown and pulsating, making my eyelids twitch, and my stomach want to empty itself.
I fumble for my pills and swallow one with a gulp of lukewarm water.
The warm glow of the lamp and the water on my throat help chase away some of the evil hanging over me.
Then I lie there desperately waiting for the drugs to kick in.
They don’t. Not that well, anyway.
My mouth feels parched again. I reach for my glass a second time, but it’s nearly empty.
The knife I grabbed at dinner is under the bed with me. It’s a bit blunt, but I feel a lot better having it near. Slipping out of bed, I tiptoe over to the door, clutching the weapon in my hand. When I don’t hear anything outside, I open my door with a creak and head down to the kitchen.
The darkness feels frigid and thick, pressing against my chest as I move through the house at night. Goosebumps prick up my arms like cold fingertips, even with my cardigan on.
There are no lights on.
All the rooms Kathy brought me through earlier, including the kitchen, are shrouded in darkness. Moonlight peeks in at the windows, shining on the floorboards so I don’t trip over my own feet.
Using my phone as a torch since it’s pretty useless otherwise, I head over to the sink, put down the knife, grab a glass from the drainer, and fill it with water from the tap. I gulp down a large mouthful of cold water, staring at the moon.
There’s not much else to see or hear.
Just the sound of my breathing….
And the wind rattling the house like it wants to come in.
But then, there it is. That sound from the other night. It’s a steady thump thump thump like someone is trying to tear the walls down. I’ve heard it most nights when I first got here, but then it stopped for a while…until now.
Where’s it coming from?
Cocking my head, I listen until I figure it out.
It’s coming from below my feet, but nearer the back pantry.
Taking my phone and the knife with me, I walk to the storage shelves.
I don’t really know why I’m going towards the source of the sound.
But here I am. Shining the torch through the shelves, I scan the floor and walls, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
I was at least expecting to see dust and spiders. In fact, the room is spotless.
But there.
Light emits from a slight gap in the ornate wooden paneling. I trace the torch around the edge of it; it’s a door. And the sound is coming from the other side of it.
Where does it lead? It’s not in the hallway; it’s on the wrong wall for that.
“Lumen.” Suddenly, every light in the room blinks on. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting that to work.
Turning off the torch, I put my phone down, and reluctantly, the knife, and grip the end of the shelf to pull it away from the wall. It moves slowly, scraping and heaving over the boards. When there’s enough room, I slip between it and the wall.
A prickling unease creeps over my skin as I trace over the wooden flowers carved into the paneling. The intricate design is solid and cold beneath my fingertips, flowers merging in the middle, becoming a swan, with a hole in its center.
A keyhole, actually, blended into it so it’s almost invisible.
First, I press my palm flat against it, pushing on the door, but it doesn’t open, so I put my ear to it to listen instead.
The banging is louder.
As I peer through the keyhole, all I see is total darkness, but cold air seeps through, brushing against my fluttering lashes.
Until the thumping noise on the other side of the door stops suddenly.
I move back, my heart pounding, knocking the shelf behind me.
Boxes and tins stacked go flying, making a loud clattering sound.
Wincing, I stay completely still, heart pounding, ears pricked.
There’s silence at first, and then footsteps echo behind the wall, coming fast and close.
There’s barely enough time for me to fall away in a panic, flattening myself against the wall to the side of the shelves.
Whoever is on the other side of the door, their footfall stops behind it.
And then nothing.
Just the wind blowing a gale. And maybe a crack of thunder.
Go look, Nell urges.
Why would my brain make Nell say that? Why aren’t the pills working? I don’t move. After several seconds, she adds. What kind of investigator are you?
My heart is having a disco in my chest. I try to ignore it, grabbing the dinner knife from the shelf where I left it. I shuffle toward the door, psyching myself up to look through the hole.
Cautiously, my mouth dry (again), head pounding now, I bring my face close to look through.
A red eye blinks back at me.
The scream tears from my throat. I don’t remember running out of the pantry and the kitchen, but I’m at the bottom of the stairs, on my hands and knees, no less, when a rough hand circles my ankle and yanks me back down.
I struggle to get away, but my assailant has hold of me tightly. They flip me over and straddle me, grabbing and twisting the wrist of my hand holding the knife. They shove a palm over my mouth to stop me from making another sound.
“Shut the fuck up. You’ll wake the whole damn house!”
It’s Severin, looming down over me on the dark staircase, looking severely pissed off.
For once, he’s not wearing a pristine suit, but a black t-shirt and sweatpants, but he’s covered in dust and dirt, like he’s been somewhere dark and dirty.
At least he smells of whatever dark place he’s been hiding in, like dust and metal, and whatever is indefinably him that makes my stomach flutter with a want I don’t understand.
His green orbs are particularly piercing tonight, even in the low light of the hallway, razing over me at the base of the steps where he has me pinned.
I can’t speak with his hand over my mouth, so I stare at him wide-eyed, stomach in a confusion of knots.
It honestly feels like my whole body is shaking so hard he must be able to feel it.
Was the eye his in the keyhole?
But the eye was red!
Was it? It’s all a blur now, and fragments of what I thought I saw don’t make sense. I really do hate my brain. I hate that memories slip through like shadows, intangible, twisting away from me when I try to keep hold too tight. It makes investigating my sister’s death really damn hard.
“I’m going to move my hand away, so don’t fucking scream.”
I nod frantically.
Slowly, he moves his hand from my face. I suck in a breath and then another.
Severin’s eyes narrow. “Now. Why the hell were you screaming like a damn banshee?”
“I was getting a drink of water, and I heard a noise. There was someone…” What do I say? There was an eye looking at me?
He cocks his head, waiting. I’m acutely aware of him sitting on top of me, the weight of him keeping me trapped beneath. The stairs are so uncomfortable, the edges pressing into my spine, but I dare not move because of the sheer material of my borrowed pajamas and the angle of his hips.
I’m suddenly feeling very hot and lightheaded, and the worst part is I don’t want him to move. My body is betraying every logical thought in my head, responding to his weight on me like I’ve been waiting for this exact moment my entire life. God, what’s wrong with me?
“So you grabbed a dinner knife?”
I bite my lower lip. “I thought I saw something. I got a fright.”
He snorts. “What am I going to do with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re like a pest, trapped under the floorboard, getting stuck and into trouble every bloody second. I didn’t ask for this.”
That’s not a very flattering comparison. It’s a horrible one, actually. “And you’re a beast. Grabbing me, tossing me about. There’s such a thing as personal space, you know.” I hiss at him.
His jaw clenches, and he leans in slightly, as if to make a point. But his grip feels as though it lightens a touch, even though I might have just made him even angrier. “Is that why you were in my office? And why were you wearing my sweater? Because you respect personal space so much?”
My cheeks warm at the accusation. I should say nothing to that. He’s right. But I refuse to back down. “I thought we were getting married.”
His eyes gleam in the darkness, his breathing deepens. “I see. So what’s mine is yours?”
I nod, though this feels like a trap, but I can’t see it.
“And is what’s yours also mine?”
Shoot. I walked right into that one.
“We’re not married yet.” I hate that I sound breathless.
“And yet”—his gaze flicks over me, tracing my lips, then my throat, and then drags down to the rest of me, making my heart jerk as it slams against my chest—“the contract clause you seem perfectly happy to hide behind says the opposite.”
“That’s not—”
“You didn’t leave when I told you to.”
“Because….” I search for the right words. I can’t, doesn’t quite cut it.
“And you’re wearing my ring. That means…” He leans close, his breath warm on the shell of my ear. “Now I own you.”
I have nothing to say to that. What can I say? Any answer I give could make him change his mind, and so far, he seems to be letting me stay. But his words should terrify me. Instead, something dark and traitorous in my chest purrs at the claim, like a cat sinking into a comfy pillow.
I shove that thought away, hopefully into some dark recess of my mind. I can’t let his man’s pretty looks distract me. I have to let him read into that what he wants. Even if that means letting him do what he wants, when he wants….
He pulls back, enough for me to see the green in his eyes, and takes me in. However, it feels like I’m being cut open, like every part of me, my thoughts and prayers, are flayed apart for him to see.
Even my desires.
My body trembles as my lower half tightens again, and then again. The feel of him on top of me, the feeling of being trapped, unable to escape, his breath on my skin, should be too much. But it’s not.
I don’t want to feel this way about him. Not my sister’s killer.
But I can’t get that kiss out of my head.
“No. Please…”
“What are you begging me for? Your life? You already gave me that, little finch.” There’s no smile on his lips, no amusement. He looks just like the villain in the story you don’t want to root for.
I couldn’t care less about my life right now. But I would die of shame if he knew just how much I’m…liking this.
Oh God, something is really wrong with me.
“Please. Just let me go.”
“Go where? There’s nowhere to run and hide. This is my house, my island. Water surrounds us. Wherever you go, I will find you, little finch.”
At that, a shiver runs through me, making my toes curl. And not from fear. “I-I made a mistake.” Yes, I did. I can’t do this.
“I warned you, you would regret staying.”
“Please. I just want to go home.”
“Too late.”
His mouth slams into mine.