Chapter 6
KENNA
T hey are going to kill me.
Darkness befell the Ravencroft Estate as I stood outside Laney’s door. After she got pulled off of me in training, I’d been itching to see her again. Not only because of her disappearing act that evening—this place was shrouded in mysteries that I wasn’t yet privy to—but also because I feared that I was the cause for her worried expression as she left the training room. It was code for regret.
I’d only seen her in passing today. It wasn’t good enough.
“I see the shadow of your feet under the door.” A voice semi-shouted from the room. She’s awake and feisty . I liked it. “You can come in.”
I opened the door without a word. The sight before me took me by surprise. Laney sat at the centre of her bed, legs crossed, with a grey matted face mask on and a nail file in hand. It was a gentle image in comparison to the brutalist style of the barracks and the men who filled them. I was lucky that they placed me in the main house. They told me boys and girls don’t mix. It wasn’t problem for me, I wouldn’t look at the boys twice anyway.
Her eyebrows raised as she took me in.
“Surprised to see me?” I said.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I see you today.” She returned to focusing on her nails, which annoyed me. I had to feel her eyes on me.
I shrugged and strode to the edge of her bed in two steps. She still hadn’t looked up, so I slowly let my leather jacket fall from my shoulders. I was only wearing a deep maroon tank top underneath, the tops of my lace bra visible. I leaned over to show it off.
That got a glance from her. “You don’t have to do that.”
I blinked, “Do what?”
“Manipulate me. Tempt me. Make me forget. It won’t work.”
My voice grew huskier. “What makes you think I want to tempt you?”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
That pissed me off. Princess being touched by somebody else? The visual alone made me sick. And for a moment I was too frozen by that thought that I didn’t consider who that could’ve been. So, I guessed. “Was it Neenan?”
“Ew, no.”
“Then who? A man?” That earned me a look and I had my answer confirmed when a sadness seemed to briefly wash over her. “Ah men. Isn’t it always?”
“Not really, you’re trying their tricks all the same.”
“But I’d treat you better.” And God I wanted to. I could satisfy her more than any man could, I knew it for certain. My dedication to the mission seemed to wane anytime I was near her. Get under her to get over her. Point. Blank.
She only rolled her eyes at that, so I reached across the bed and placed my hand on her knee. The spark was there as it was in the training room yesterday morning. I knew she felt it too when a soft redness lightened her cheeks, but her shoulders hung heavy. “Please, I’ve had a long day.”
I changed tact. “Off load on me. Speak your fears out loud and it’ll be cleansing.” I positioned myself at the top of her bed, back against the headboard and my legs spread either side of her, so that she could perfectly slot between them. Not in that way. Not yet.
She looked uncertain. As she reached for the nightstand, it looked like she was about to get up and walk away, away from me , but she grabbed a makeup wipe instead, lifting it to scrub at the grey mask on her face. To my shock and awe, when she disposed of the wipe, she sat down in front of me. Her back to my chest as she slowly reclined. My heart fluttered, but the proximity felt good. This touch was indulgent rather than sexual. It was new.
“You trust me?” I whispered in her ear.
“No.” Smart girl. She responded with a complicated look on her face. I knew she wanted to. I heard of her lonely walks into the forest and the way she stared at joking guardsmen. She wanted to be a part of that. “But let’s pretend.” She continued.
More than anything, exhaustion was written in bold across her features. The marks of a tough week are scattered around her room. Piles of clothing on the floor. The overflow of the bin. The numerous half empty glasses dotted atop the furniture.
I looked around to gauge her style. Dark pastel greens and earthy browns painted the place as if it were a construction of nature itself. The fireplace was understated as the glowing embers released periodic gas, causing a spark. A painted portrait hung above the fireplace; Laney’s subtle smile contrasting her father’s sullen face.
The decor was deeply personal, capturing Laney’s down-to-earth manner and an obvious inspiration from the surrounding hills with those that filled it—a pile of books on her bedside, mostly classics, but some romcoms. If she wouldn’t talk about herself, she could talk about books. Stories were a language everyone spoke.
“You like to read?” I asked.
“My father basically taught me English through Shakespeare and classic literature. Though, the romances are my favourite.”
Of course, they were. On the top of the pile was Troilus and Cressida— the tragic play about love and betrayal. I hadn’t read it, only heard Mama talk about it. She had a collection similar to Laney’s, but much smaller; she lost a lot of books in a fire when she was young. My bedtime stories were a mishmash of what she could remember.
“Do you want love like that?” I said, pointing at the book.
“No.” She looked down. “But it makes me wonder.”
“About how war corrupts promises?”
“About what it would feel like to be in a love so intense that it feels like sanctuary and sacrifice.”
“Like is the love that is worth fighting for also worth dying for?”
“Yeah, but does it matter anyway if both options end in pain?”
Her words made me uneasy; she was entering a realm I’d always been told to avoid. Love wasn’t something we celebrated at home. Instead, we focused on trust and loyalty. There was no doubt I loved my family, but I sometimes questioned whether my parents' exchanged glances were rooted in genuine affection or merely a shared commitment to our family’s legacy. Whether that was love at all.
Suspense clung in the thick air, intensifying the longer we remained silent. Laney stared transfixed at the fire, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. A deep frown became engraved on her mouth.
She was thinking too hard.
“I had a dream about you,” I broke the silence, and her ears perked up. “Not recently. But it is strange that we have the same recollection of this moment. We were barely teenagers in secondary school, and you were in a tartan skirt.”
Questions began to form in her head. In all my time observing her at St James’, she was prettiest when she was thinking. Behind her eyes were worlds of intellect and if the piles of books were any indication, they would be filled with intricate stories. I could see it at play now as the frown she wore was replaced by confusion. I got her attention.
“What colour?” She asked.
I smirked. I knew she wanted to know if I thought of her the same way she thought of me all this time. But whether I corroborated her story wasn’t important. The truth wasn’t important right now, I just needed her to focus on this rather than my history.
“I remember a room, dimly lit with mirrors reflecting off each wall. There was a faint dripping from a tap in the corner. I thought I was alone in there. Confused.”
She tried to interject again, twisting in her seat to look at me, but I kept still and continued speaking.
“The light would flicker when the wind swept in through the stained-glass window. It caused a chill, so I tried to hide in one of the alcoves of the room.”
The cubicles hid me well enough as I observed the lonely girl who had been sitting alone at lunch. While the chatter of children filled the room, she remained quiet. I could hear that same quiet now as she clung to each word. “But then, I heard a slight crying in the dark and it drew me out of the shadows. It was you, most definitely. I saw you then as I see you now, long dark blonde hair, piercing grey-green doe eyes, and these wonderful lips.” I placed a hand on her upper thigh, leaning in. Her eyes fixed on me. “With your looks alone, you won me. I wrapped a comforting arm around you, wishing to ease the tears with my caress.”
I shook my head. It was cruel, making it seem like a dream when it was the truth, but it wasn’t fair to give her an illusion of connection when I needed to get over her. Truly, this obsession has brought me to this haunted house, and directly to the sight of an innocent dead girl. There was no future for us. Break the illusion.
“But–”
“And then you screamed a terrible screech, a light flashed, and my eyes flew open. I blinked to return to that place, but I just couldn’t do it.” I fixed my gaze on her portrait, lifting my hand from her thigh to her hip. “My mother was at the foot of my bed. Dad was ready to begin my lesson.”
Laney opened her mouth to speak but no words tumbled out. Vulnerable. Malleable.
My hand dipped under her hoodie; my thumb gently caressed the soft skin. She hadn’t recoiled from my touch, not even glanced at the journey of my hand. It didn’t feel sexual, just close. Very close. And it was new.
“I dreamed of you.” Her gaze focused on me, and I suppressed a groan at her softened eyes. “Your dark hair, the way you walk, and the way you eased my hurting. But it was all a daydream.” In an instant, she turned herself back around. “A teacher ushered me out the bathroom. Away from a ghost,” she spat underneath her breath, “Apparently.”
She turned back around and shivered when I tickled the fine hairs on her stomach.
“What did you think of me?” I said.
“I thought…” She began but paused as my fingertips grazed the top of her trousers and her breath became increasingly laboured. “I thought you walked down the corridors with strength, exuding confidence that I envied.”
“Uh-huh,” I urged.
“But you seemed lonely,” she said.
My hand slid below her waistband, “What else?” I whispered, my mouth in her ear.
“You looked hot in a skirt.” She blushed. “As you do now, in a leather jacket.”
Fingers thread through her pubic hair. “Oh yeah? You like that?”
“Oh yeah.” She said, “But I hate liars.” Suddenly, she slapped my hand away from her trousers and jumped from the bed to sit at her vanity. My hand stung. “Leave.”
“Laney,” I pleaded.
“Leave. Now.”
I left without another word.