She sobbed quietly, and the scent tickled his nose.
“I’m not Catherine.”
Don’t lie to me. I know my own wife, he thought, though he could not express such complex thoughts in this form. He pinned her to the ground with his human-like hand and leaned in.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she squirmed in his grasp. He inhaled her scent, relishing this moment of completion. Then she stared up at him with wide blue eyes. “Edward? No, it cannot be. Edward, it’s me, Henrietta! What has happened to you?”
Unfortunately for Miss Jones, he was crazed by the blood and could no longer hear her.
Chapter Eighteen
There was so much blood. The iron taste filled his mouth, and the scent overpowered his nose. Edward panted as he leaned over the mangled corpse, using the bed for support. His eyes went in and out of focus, and then reality struck him like a blow to the head. He stumbled back and came across the shattered body of Mrs. Jones.
“What have I done?” His hands trembled as he held them up to his face, blood embedded in his nail beds and smeared on his arms. “What have I done!” He sobbed.
Too late he came to his senses and realized he had murdered Henrietta and her entire household. He crawled on hands and knees towards her battered corpse. Her fair hair was splattered with blood, and abrasions marred her once beautiful features. He reached out to touch her and brush away the hair matted with blood but could not follow through with the action. Tears rolled down his face, and he suppressed the need to retch. The afternoon had been a muddled nightmare, and the physical evidence was impossible to deny.
He jumped to his feet, thinking to flee, to run far away. He must get home, clean up, and pretend none of this had happened. Maybe once he was in clean clothes, he would realize this had been a terrible nightmare. However, when he turned on the balls of his feet to run, his escape was thwarted.
Lady Bastien smiled at him from the doorway. A hunched-over man stood just behind her shoulder, peering at Edward with a sorrowful expression. His aunt, on the other hand, appeared amused. His stomach sank. I have been discovered. How shall I explain this scene?
“My, my, Edward, what have we here?” She strode into the room, surveying it with indifference as if murder scenes were a daily occurrence for her. “You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?”
Her blasé appraisal of the grizzly scene only served to heighten his defense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stood up, straightening his cravat and rearranging his tattered clothing. That would not be easy to explain away, but perhaps his aunt would be too distracted by the dead bodies to take notice of his shabby appearance.
“Oh, I know exactly what I am talking about, Edward.”
Her servant walked into the room and paced about. He kneeled beside Miss Jones and checked for a pulse. He looked up at Edward and shook his head, indicating that there were no signs of life. Not that he had expected any less.
He tore his gaze away from Miss Jones and his aunt’s servant and looked back at his aunt, who was regarding him with a tilt of her head and a crooked smile. “We should call the constable. The Joneses have been murdered in cold blood. I ran in here and found them like this. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too late…”
He stopped as Lady Bastien laughed a cackling sound that sent made his knees turn to water. “You silly man, I know you killed them all because I gave you the power to do so. Of course, I had meant for you to kill Mr. Thorn. This is a delightful turn of events. It makes things much more interesting, don’t you think?”
“Interesting? Delightful? Madame, these people are deceased. We should be searching out their murderer!”
“Do not protest, Edward. It is futile. I came here to remind you of your task, now that you have gotten this,” she motioned across the room, “out of your system, perhaps now you can complete the true task.”
He felt sick. How could he have done such a thing to Henrietta; he loved her. Then he remembered the woman in the garden who had commanded him to kill Mr. Thorn. His aunt had instructed him, had made him this. No, his love for Henrietta had made him into this beast.
“Why is this happening to me?” He moaned and sank to his knees. He no longer had the power to stand on his own two feet.
“You are not to blame, my pet.” She came to stand before him and cupped his face in her hands. “Mr. Thorn did this with his spells. He meddled in your life, and being touched by his magic has warped you. But fear not, if you destroy him, you will return to normal.”
“Mr. Thorn,” he croaked, and the banked fire was stoked within him. Mr. Thorn, Catherine’s lover, the man who had ridiculed him and cheated him out of a proper duel.
“Yes, Edward. Catherine is off in the forest with him now. She came to me and confided in me that they plan to run away together. I saw them slipping out for a rendezvous just a few moments ago. You best go catch them.”
Edward saw red. “Yes, you’re right.” He stormed past Lady Bastien and out the door, intent on finding his wife once again.
Her servant scurried about, mumbling spells under his breath, ones that would conceal the true nature of these people’s deaths. It did not suit her to have the residents of the neighborhood question these things too deeply.
As her servant worked, Lady Bastien strolled across the room. She lifted her skirt to avoid trailing it in the gore. She picked up a broach off the bed. It had a small hinge and when opened, revealed two silhouettes, a man and a woman: Henrietta and Edward.
“His love for her was too strong. It nearly overrode my spell, and it was the death of the girl, I’m afraid.” There was no hint of remorse in her tone. She tossed the locket down onto Henrietta’s body. “We cannot blame them. These simple humans are so weak. I could have told the fool not even love is worth dying for.” She strode out, and her servant followed behind her.
The screaming stopped and the pain receded, but Catherine remained on the floor, panting and clutching her skull. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her chest and that the foreign thoughts had fled at last, for the first time in ages. She looked up, and Mr. Thorn stood over her, a hand outstretched.
“What happened?” She looked around. The trees had returned to their stationary position, but she felt a chill wind coming through their branches. She had the distinct feeling of being unwelcome.
“You tried to bring that into the forest.” He nodded towards a shriveled bit of meat on the ground, and not far from it, the inlaid box Lady Bastien had given her lay open on the ground.
Catherine opened her mouth and then placed a hand over it. She moved her fingers enough to speak. “Lady Bastien gave that to me. She said it was essential I bring it into the forest and place it in the crook of an old oak tree.” The rest seemed a bit muddled after that.
Mr. Thorn frowned. “She said that, did she?”
“Yes. She—” Catherine stopped. She had also told her that Mr. Thorn was trying to trick her and coerce her into a marriage to take over the forest kingdom. Why had she lied to her, and what was this object she had tricked her into bringing into the forest?
Catherine looked to Mr. Thorn, who was staring at the contorted artifact lying amid the shattered remains of the gem. She could still feel the overpowering desire that the gem had produced, and she feared the emotions it had awoken in her. She shook her head and steeled herself for a question that could not wait to be answered any longer.
“Mr. Thorn, what are your true intentions for me? You know why people have gone missing, why everyone here seems to live in ignorance of things unseen.”
He sighed and took a step back and turned his back to her. “I should have told you when you first arrived, but I feared the truth would be too much for you to handle. Even now, I can sense your fear. I know you want to run away from the truth. I thought to ease you into this.”
She lowered her gaze. It was true; even now she felt that desperate urge to flee. But by the same token, she also desired the truth mor
e than ever before. “It is true that I am afraid. Someone once told me that I cannot run forever.” She gave him a small smile, and he regarded her over his shoulder with a raised brow. Tell me now, what are your intentions with me? Are you plotting to use me to take the throne?”
He rounded to face her and tilted his head back and laughed. He laughed long enough that Catherine felt childish for demanding answers from him. She wrung her hands and looked everywhere but at him until his laughter subsided.
“Catherine, I brought you here to save our king. I have never held designs to rule myself.”
She exhaled, relieved to hear him say so. Without Lady Bastien’s spell upon her, she felt much surer of Mr. Thorn, though she wished he had told her sooner. One thought persisted, however, and she could not proceed without it answered. “Then if I am your princess and the key to saving your king, why was I sent away?”
He measured her with his dark gaze, and for a moment Catherine thought he would not answer her at all. “For your protection. The kingdom of the thorns is not as it once was. When you were sent away, the king was weakened and unable to protect you from her. Had you been raised in the forest, fragile as it is, you would have been in danger. The king sent you away to live as a human. He used the last of his powers to protect you before falling into a deep sleep.”
“Then why do you not simply wake him?” His story echoed Lady Bastien’s, and she began to wonder how much truth was buried in her lies.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he said. “I will take you to see him, and then you will understand.”
He turned and started walking towards the forest. Catherine peered down at the object lying on the ground. “Shouldn’t we do anything about this?” She was stalling, and she knew as much as she desired the truth, she also feared it.
Mr. Thorn shrugged. “It has no power here without the gem, that’s why she encased it, to protect it until it arrived at its destination.”
“What would have happened if I had taken it to its destination?” Catherine asked, guilt gnawing at her gut. If only she had been stronger, she would have realized Lady Bastien’s ill intentions. “She spoke of an oak tree with a cleft in it,” Catherine said. “Is there something significant about that place?”
Mr. Thorn stopped and looked across the forest. “There is only one place she would have led you to, and that is the heart of the forest, where the Thorn King sleeps and where we are headed now.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mr. Thorn was unusually subdued, no glib remarks, no taunting looks. He walked in front of her, bending branches for her to pass under and, on occasion, stopping so she could keep up.
They had gone deeper into the forest than she could have imagined, farther than the forest dance and deeper still. It was hard to imagine that places this wild and untamed still remained in this modern society of steam locomotives and industrialization. Not that she had seen those things either. Perhaps an endless forest behind her home was not such a stretch of the imagination.
Catherine stopped to untangle her gown from some bramble that had snagged it for the thirtieth time.
“Is it much further?” she asked, panting. Though it was unladylike to do so, she wiped the perspiration from her brow.
He did not answer straight away but tilted his head as if listening for something she could not hear. When he did answer, he regarded her with a solemn expression. “Not much further, come.” He motioned for her to follow, and she was forced to stumble after him for another hundred meters or so.
The brush cleared and opened onto a circular clearing. Mr. Thorn entered the clearing and walked towards a massive oak tree at the center. Catherine ducked beneath some low-hanging branches and followed him.
“Where is he, the king?” she asked, looking about. She imagined a grandiose bed draped in vines with pillows made of braided flowers and servants awaiting their king’s awakening.
Mr. Thorn bowed at the base of the oak. The leaves in the trees rustled as he approached as if they quivered with anticipation. The small hairs at the back of Catherine’s neck prickled, and she hung back, afraid to come closer to the massive tree.
She regarded it instead. The knotted branches reached towards the sky, the great canopy of green shaded the area, and light breaking through made a mosaic upon the forest floor. Catherine realized in the stillness how silent it was. No birds sang, nothing made a sound but the wind through the trees. Unlike the hush she had felt upon entering the forest with Lady Bastien’s package, this seemed to be a hush of anticipation. As she looked around, she noticed that nothing but the leaves on the tree moved.
“Mr. Thorn?” Catherine’s voice wobbled. The need to flee beat against her good senses, but she felt glued to the spot.
He stood up, and his long hair fell forward, shielding his face. “Mrs. Thornton, this is your father, the King of the Thorns.”
Catherine blinked a few times and stared at the gnarled oak tree. Surely he jested. She was willing to suspend belief and accept the fact that she was some child of the otherworld but a tree?
“Do not tease me, Mr. Thorn. Why did you bring me here to look upon a tree?”
The tree rustled, and the wind brushed against her face like a caress. Catherine shivered and folded her arms over one another, rubbing the gooseflesh that had blossomed along her skin.
“I brought you here so you could understand, so you could see what it is that you are.”
She shook her head. This was madness. She had reached her limit of willingness to confront reality. She needed to run away, as she was prone to do. Perhaps they could continue this another day, she thought. “Mr. Thorn, it is getting late, and I cannot waste time on your folly.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her against his chest. Catherine gasped, surprised by the action, and for a moment was transfixed by Mr. Thorn’s dark gaze.
“This is not for my amusement. Believe me, I would not have brought you here now had our need not been great.”
She felt his heart beating against hers, a steady even rhythm. She needed to look away; it was imperative she did. But she could only imagine his lips against hers and the feeling of his lean but strong arms wrapped around her body.
“Mr. Thorn, this is grossly inappropriate,” she said in a hushed voice.
He let her go, but his touch lingered on her shoulders before slipping away entirely. She felt the loss of it but for a moment before subduing the feeling. Now was not the time to grow an emotional attachment to Mr. Thorn. She was a married woman—even if under false pretenses.
“Touch the tree, and you will understand why I brought you here.” He stepped aside, and Catherine thought he was attempting to change the subject. He pointed to the tree.
She did not move. She had no abilities, no powers. She had been overcome by spells and enchantments from the moment she had accepted Edward’s hand, even before that.
Edward. The thought of him brought a guilty pang. She owed him an explanation, and once this madness was over, she planned to set things right and set him free. He deserved a life with the woman he truly loved.
Catherine took a deep breath and approached the tree. After a lifetime of running, perhaps now she should face other’s expectations. She stepped up to the great tree and tilted her head back, taking in its imposing presence. If there were such a thing as king of the trees, this tree would most certainly hold that title.
The same caressing wind goaded her further, and she stopped a hand’s breadth away from the rough bark. It was creased and folded upon itself as if it had grown for many years, and perhaps it had. She reached out to touch it and hesitated. She drew her hand back. What if nothing happened, or worse, what if something did happen? Would that justify all the wrongs she had committed? All of the lives that had been ruined because of her.
“Mrs. Thornton, there isn’t much time,” Mr. Thorn urged from behind her. His voice had a sharper edge then she was accustomed to, but it was the final step to propel her to act.
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She laid a flat palm upon the woody surface, the scratch of the bark rough against her hands. She waited for an explosion of magic, a new awareness, anything. She felt nothing. After a few moments of polite waiting, she turned to look over her shoulder at Mr. Thorn.
“Nothing is happening,” she said.
Mr. Thorn frowned. “You are his kin. You should be able to undo the spell.”
It worried her, and though she had fought it all along, it was disappointing to discover she was of no regard at all. She was just as plain and average as before.
“You have magic; I can sense it. Maybe because it is dormant.” He walked around the tree, examining her and it together. She felt like she was an attraction in an exhibit.
“If you do not mind, could you not stare at me so. It makes me uncomfortable.” She blushed and lowered her gaze. She could not help but feel like a failure; all of this fuss for nothing.
He stopped his pacing and put a fist on his hip. “I cannot understand it. I thought you were the one.”
She let her hand fall to her side. She buried her feelings of failure. It would not help them now. “Will you tell me what this is about?”
He sighed and slumped onto the ground. She looked around and battled internally as to whether or not it would be wise to sit down beside him. She decided, since no one else was around, it would be acceptable to sit down. She straightened her skirts as to not seem improper. Even if they were alone, she did not want him to think her forward.
He watched her with that familiar twinkle in his eye, which she avoided by taking overlong to smooth a wrinkle in her skirt. “Please tell me,” she said, wanting a distraction from his upsetting gaze.
He chuckled and then said, “I guess you could say I am a bit of a fool. I thought that I had found the king’s lost daughter. That is, I thought you were she, but now I am not so certain. The spell is supposed to be broken when his daughter returns to the forest.”
“What spell? Is this the king, then?” She pointed towards the oak beneath which they sat.
Those Who Dwell in the Thorns Page 12
