17. Beneath the Blade of Words #2
In the end, I go for a mixture of both.“That’s... irritatingly anachronistic. I was expecting bloodletting, if I’m being honest.”
“If it helps, I trap my enemies in the pool and delete the ladder.”
I signal, a blaring tick-tick-tick, before saying, “Ah, that sounds more Sheffolk.” A light drizzle hits the windscreen, and Francesca snorts to herself whilst I reach for the heater. Whatever lavender oil she’s smeared on lifts, nearly suffocating my train of thought. “You just play the one?”
“No, I contain multitudes, obviously.” The wipers thump, and she tilts the vent so more of the warm wind hits her neck. “Sometimes I binge Crusader Kings III and murder my way through the map.”
One point for me because, alarmingly enough, I know what that is.
The only reason I even recognise the title is because Kai once spent an entire summer playing that game and wouldn’t shut up about it.
Every other week I had to hear about how his wife had given birth to another child of dubious parentage or how his vassals despised him.
The summer of 2016 taught me that Kairos Atherbourne shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a council chamber.
I ransack my brain for a way to drive the conversation forward. “Which kingdom do you usually play?”
“Ours.”
“ Ours ? What, are you an undercover patriot?” I deadpan.
“Not really; I just like seeing how long it takes me to destabilise your family.” She grins at her reflection when I scoff lowly, but I’m fighting (and losing) against my own smile.
“All these years practising with pixels, and then you appear. Why scheme in my pyjamas when I have the heir to the throne all alone at 4am?”
Maybe it’s because I can’t really tell the difference between teasing and intent with her, but my mouth goes suddenly dry. Heat blooms at the back of my neck, even though the heater isn’t even that high. “At least take me on a date before you try and depose me.”
She laughs again and leans forward to thumb the power button of the radio. A swirl of static gives way to Connie Francis, already deep into her song. Her voice is high, girlish, and meant to soothe.
Pretty little baby, I’m so in love with you.
She goes rigid. That brief smile dies at the hands of whatever memory has risen to choke it.Her mouth shuts tightly, trying to stop her thoughts from leaking out, and she doesn’t even realise I’m staring, too focused on how Connie continues her gentle cruelty.
Meet me at the car hop or at the pop shop
Meet me in the moonlight or in the daylight
Pretty little baby, I’m so in love with you
The countryside rolls by, and the castle has long left our sight, yet it seems ghosts travel well.
There’s one on the backseat right now, spilling forward until it wraps around her seat.
I realise she knows it, lets it do this.
The song concludes with no final note, no clean cadence, and a slow fade into nothingness.
There’s static for a moment before another woman’s voice fills the car.
I don’t try to figure out who she is or if I recognise the song because my attention refuses to detach itself from Francesca.
We don’t speak about Connie Francis.
Francesca points towards a turnoff, and I obey, even as logic whispers this place is creepy as fuck.
The road has narrowed further, the drizzling has stopped, and mist coils high enough on the ground to reach the windows.
If this were a horror novel, my headlights would’ve given up, but thankfully they persevere and land on a sliver of gravel up ahead.
The trees are skeletal, tall and too still for this hour, but I park in the designated area anyway.
Parking bay is too nice a word, I think as I turn the engine off. This is nothing more than a stretch of dirt. No lights. No sign of other cars. Just a beaten wooden sign with what looks like the faded image of a park.
Behind it, the woods wait.
Francesca removes her seatbelt, unlocks her door and moves to open it, but I’m quicker, and I click the central lock.
She peeks over with an unimpressed look. “Problem?”
“Usually, this is the part where the audience starts yelling at the screen for the handsome and charismatic male lead to turn away from the obvious danger,” I tell her softly, as though unwilling to provoke whatever spectral figures haunt the woods this time of morning.
Edmund’s little joke may have been pulled from his ass, but I’m not dumb enough to overlook Sheffolk’s evident eeriness.
I’m rewarded with a hint of that earlier smile. “You think I’m going to kill you?” she asks very gently. I don’t answer yet, shifting my stare to the trees whose branches stretch like broken fingers towards each other. “You’re frightened.”
That phrase slides under my ribs smoother than any blade.
My head snaps to her. I lean back slightly, right palm still loose on the wheel as I let my gaze rake over her. “Cute.” I study the tension in her shoulders, how her fingers twitch on her thigh, prepared to reach for a knife she’s set down. “Using my own words against me.”
Satisfaction flickers behind her gaze at being called out. “I thought they might sound better coming from me.”
“All you Sheffolks think everything sounds better coming from you.”
“I don’t exactly see you disagreeing.” Her chin lifts in challenge. “So, are you frightened?”
With a sigh, I nod towards the trees watching like sentinels. “If I were frightened, Francesca, you’d know it.”
She follows my gaze and then leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Show me.”
I tap the steering wheel absentmindedly, enjoying the brief hush that follows her challenge. The tension builds, and I can practically feel her impatience rise, her need to know whether I’ll lay down the gauntlet or accept. She gives a quiet huff when my mouth twitches into a crooked smirk.
“Unlock the door, since you’re not frightened, Eric.” Her tone creeps closer and closer to pleased.
My expression doesn’t shift, but I let my gaze track from her to the rickety fence outside, half collapsed, then to the deer path that disappears into the woods. “I’m not frightened, just assessing murder etiquette. Being cautious doesn’t equate to fear.”
“That sounds like fear wearing the Monopoly man’s outfit.”
“ Control ,” I emphasise, thumbing the unlock, and the actuator snaps up. Her fingers don’t reach for the handle right away, and she doesn’t even so much as blink. The locket shifts slightly with each breath.
Fine .
I sigh through my nose and reach for my seatbelt. She watches me as I lean closer, one arm sliding around her seatback, the other sliding to the door handle. Hinges groan into the mist as the scent of her wraps around me.
Close enough to see my reflection in her pupils, I mutter, “After you, Lady Hannibal.”
The side of her mouth notches upwards, and a pulse jumps in her throat. She slips out of the car the instant I return her space to her, and the door traps me inside this vault as she saunters off. I watch for a moment, running a gloved hand over my face.
My father would have a fucking field day if he knew I was about to follow this half-ghost girl into the woods.