Chapter 21
Twenty-one
Corabeth
The scarce light that the winter months doled out was fading fast, eaten away further by the dense woods. The heavy clouds were an oppressive force that threatened to take out their anger on the world below.
The people of Gravebook were distrustful of the dark, choosing the close their businesses earlier in the winter months. But Corabeth knew Ely had always been slower than the other mill workers. She’d heard them complain. He was often left behind to clean and close up.
She could see him now from the small window, blowing out the last of the candles. Safely tucked in the shadows between the buildings, she had been waiting for him long enough to feel the cold nipping at her.
At last, the heavy door fell shut. The silent jingle of keys rang out in the air. Then, she heard approaching steps. Corabeth stood between the mill and the neighboring house, quite near the line of trees behind the buildings. She would have but a moment to catch his attention.
Ely’s familiar figure, clad in a thick jacket, marched into view, head hung low. The heels of his heavy boots, hand-me-downs from his father or brother, Corabeth guessed, dragged against the frozen earth.
“Ely!” Corabeth called out, making her voice soft despite the churning she felt in her stomach upon seeing the man.
Ely walked past the narrow opening between the buildings, but Corabeth could hear that his steps had stopped. Slowly, he backed up and peered into the murky space between the buildings.
“Ely, hi!” Corabeth called again and waved, trying her best to seem glad upon seeing him.
Ely turned fully towards her now.
“Corabeth?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps closer to her. He blinked rapidly as if she were but a trick of the eye he could blink away.
“Yes,” Corabeth said with a smile.
“Where have you been?” Ely asked, walking closer to her more confidently now. Corabeth did her best to stand her ground, although her muscles were itching to back away. The memory of what he had done was still fresh on Corabeth’s mind. It was a wound that festered and tore open again.
“When my house burned down, I went to a neighboring town and found my great aunt. She took me in. She’s quite wealthy, you see,” Corabeth explained.
She smoothed down her full skirts, dyed a luxurious red, and swayed from side to side, making the fabric swish around her to show it off, as if she were nothing but a silly girl.
“Really?” Ely asked, mouth agape, and watched the movement of the fabric. “Everyone thought the Beast took you.”
Corabeth laughed shrilly. “Of course not.”
When Ely looked her in the eyes again, there was a new emotion marring his features., something Corabeth had not seen on the face of a Fabel before—shame.
“Corabeth, what happened that day…” he said, “You must understand, Turner… And then my father…”
It was an apology that did not quite take the shape of one.
“It’s in the past,” Corabeth said, shaking her head, but she could not help looking away.
“Still…” Ely tried, but Corabeth did not let him finish.
“I have come back because of you,” she said. If she heard a proper admission of guilt or regret from Ely, she wasn’t sure she would be able to do what was necessary.
“Me?” Ely asked with a frown, the apology forgotten in a moment.
“Yes,” Corabeth said and downcast her eyes, much like a blushing bride. “No one has ever touched me the way you did. And I have not been able to stop thinking about it.” Her voice turned quite husky, although she felt bile at the back of her throat.
This was too much for poor Ely to understand. He reared back slightly, his frown deepening further.
“But I thought…” he said, slightly shaking his head in an attempt to get his thoughts in order.
Corabeth had had enough of standing in the cold. Each minute they spent there increased the chances of being spotted.
“Ely,” she breathed, her tone low, and gently bit her lip.
She removed the hairpin that held her long, black hair in a bun and shook it loose.
Then, she unbuttoned her cloak to reveal the low-cut dress she had worn just for this purpose.
She knew she was being overly theatrical in her seduction attempts, but Ely had always been simple-minded, quick to do what others asked of him.
Ely went slack-jawed, eyes glued to her chest.
“Will you not come to me?” Corabeth asked, reached out a hand, and took a single step back so she was just out of reach.
A fire lit behind Ely’s eyes as he reached for Corabeth’s hand.
“Do you want to come back with me?” Ely asked, eager now. “Mother and Father will be home, but…”
“No,” Corabeth giggled lightly, pulling Ely along, back towards the misty woods behind her. “Look what happened the last time we were seen together. I know a place where we can go.”
A branch snapped under Corabeth’s foot as she reached the first tree, and Ely halted all of a sudden, her spell broken.
“In the woods? What about the Beast?” Ely asked, peering warily into the forest over Corabeth’s shoulder.
“It’s quite safe. I’ve gone looking for firewood plenty of times, and the Beast never bothered me,” Corabeth tried to convince him. Still, he stalled.
“I don’t know…” he hesitated and went to pull his hand away. But Corabeth took a desperate step closer to him, pressed his hand to the bare skin on her chest, slightly lower than was necessary, and gazed up into his eyes.
“Can you feel how fast my heart beats for you?” she asked. This was something she didn’t need to fake. Corabeth’s heart truly raced, although for different reasons.
Whatever doubts Ely had managed to form in his mind were gone the moment his hand landed on Corabeth’s chest. When she started walking backwards again, there was no resistance from him. In four meager steps, they had crossed the tree line. They were now in Rooke’s forest.
Corabeth’s expression hardened in a second, and she dropped Ely’s hand. Then she looked at the tall shadow looming behind him.
In the blink of an eye, Rooke had his large hand wrapped around Ely’s throat, and he started dragging him. Ely was a ragdoll, being hauled along. He grabbed uselessly at the hand holding him, his feet kicked, and some pathetic sounds escaped his lips.
Corabeth hurried after them and grabbed hold of Rooke’s cloak as the three of them navigated the unnaturally thick fog that suddenly surrounded them. In mere moments, it thinned out again, and they were behind the familiar mansion.
Corabeth let go of the cloak and fell behind a few steps to get a good look at the helplessly thrashing Ely.
“Makes it quite impossible to scream when someone holds your neck like that, doesn’t it?” she asked, looking down at him.
Ely’s bulging eyes were on Corabeth, mouth moving like a fish on dry land without a single sound coming out. As she watched him like that, she realized she had felt more pity for the animals she had brought for Rooke.
Rooke tossed his body to the ground, allowing Ely his first breath in nearly a minute. Coughing and hacking, he drew a ragged breath.
“Corabeth,” Ely cried between coughs, “Help me!”
Rooke squatted down by the man. “You dare beg for her help? Try asking for her forgiveness first,” he spat, pure venom coating his words.
Corabeth stood rigidly, hands clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking, and beheld the sorry sight.
“I don’t want an apology,” she said, her tone cold. She did not look him in the eyes. She only stared at his grubby hands, which had turned red from the cold and had once torn at her against her will. Hands that deserved to suffer.
Ely looked from Corabeth to Rooke and nearly screamed. He still clawed at his neck, although he wasn’t being held anymore. He made a feeble attempt to crawl backwards away from Rooke, but he was shaking too badly.
“What is this?” he asked, addressing Corabeth again, voice breaking.
“You’re going to die, Ely,” Corabeth announced and gave him a moment when he began to weep. “It’s not entirely your own fault. Some generations back, your ancestors placed a curse on my friend here and now…”
Ely’s weeping became louder and louder, streams of tears and snot streaking his face.
Corabeth sighed and glanced at Rooke. “He’s not listening.”
A loud crack sounded across the courtyard as Rooke backhanded the man, silencing him.
Corabeth squatted down into the snow on the other side of Ely.
“Please, Miss Corabeth, I don’t want to die,” Ely begged, reaching out towards her with a shaky hand before Rooke swatted it away.
“It’s necessary to break the curse, I’m sorry,” Corabeth said without feeling much regret. “You might not be entirely evil yourself, Ely, but you are the fruit of an evil tree.”
Corabeth stood again, looked at Rooke, and nodded. At this, Rooke leaned closer to Ely and said, “Run!”
Confused, Ely looked from Rooke to Corabeth to Rooke again, his sobbing subsiding for a moment.
“Go,” Corabeth said, “he has given you a chance to run.”
Ely scrambled to his feet, although it took several tries. The snow was slippery under his feet, and his limbs wobbly from the fear. All at once, he sprinted off towards the woods from which they had come from.
Rooke looked after him, a familiar animalistic glint in his eyes.
Corabeth stepped up, pressed a quick kiss on his lips, and said, “Happy hunting.”
Then, Rooke was gone.