*
The third floor was eerily quiet. The day staff had left and the live-in staff were already peacefully asleep. She was glad of that. She didn’t like to think that they had heard her crying. Not now that she was head of the household.
She came to the end of the hallway and paused at the last door. There would be no turning back from this, she knew. She stared at the lock on the door. It didn’t look old enough to take the key in her hand, but much to her surprise the key slid in easily and turned with a quiet click.
She turned the handle and pulled the door open. Steps led up into darkness. She could hear a soft hum of music, something she vaguely recognised from her childhood.
She took a deep breath and took a step forward.
The stairs seemed endless, but she took another step. The door creaked shut behind her and closed with a similar click to the key. She turned to stare at it, but everything behind her was perfect blackness.
Her heart thudded a little harder. She could taste dust in the air. The music still flowed, barely loud enough to hear but just enough to entice her. She turned back to face the top of the stairs.
She reached for the bannister, her hand pale against the darkness and she gripped it tight, trusting her father’s words as she made her way further up.
A glow seemed to fade into existence, or her eyes adjusted to the blackness. She could just make out the edge of each stair. She felt something akin to anticipation as she walked. She felt as though someone were watching her, marking her progress. It chilled her to think that she was alone- no one knew that she had come here. Perhaps she should have left a note for them.
It was too late now, however. She recognised the song. Her father had often hummed it to her when he came to bid her good night. Part of her hoped that he was there in spirit at least to greet her, though she knew it was impossible for such a thing.
The bannister evened out as she broached the last step and walked along the short walkway. She turned into the room proper and couldn’t help the small gasp that came from her throat.
Warm, soft light fell in pools on a rich wooden floor. Elegant rugs were scattered about, books stacked up on most of them. In between there were tall, ornate candelabra covered in the drippings of old wax. Candles sat fat and melting, casting a warm glow over everything. In fact nearly every surface that wasn’t covered in papers or books was covered in candles that had, over time, melted together, leaving thick trails of wax stalactites reaching for the floor.
The room smelled of polish, dust and warm wax. It was surprisingly stifling.
She stood in the entryway, taking it all in until her gaze finally came to rest on the figure lounging in the wingback chair. There was a large book resting on his crossed legs, his hand indicating his place as he calmly gazed back at her.
“You?” Annalise murmured at last. She had expected him to be involved somehow, and couldn’t understand why she was surprised to see him.
“Annalise,” he smiled, marking his book and closing it before standing. “I have been expecting you. Not quite this soon, but nonetheless.
He came to a stop in front of her and bowed.
“May I offer you some tea?”
“That would be welcome, yes,” she said, taking his offered arm and allowing him to escort her to the second chair.
“Where is this place?”
“It is the attic of the Yorkshire Manor. Your father purchased the property some years ago so that I may have a place to call my own.”
“The entire manor, just for you?”
“Indeed. He was a most generous man, though I keep myself to the attic. It is large enough for my needs.”
“And by what manner was I transported here when a few moments ago I was in my house in London town?”
He grinned.
“Magic,” he murmured. He offered no other explanation and she did not ask for one. Instead she watched him as he poured tea. He was wearing a different waistcoat- this one was a deep burgundy. His shirt was a little rumpled and undone at the throat. His trousers were fine spun wool- casual but smart. His slippers were a little more flamboyant than she’d expected- more embroidery than one would ordinarily find, yet they suited him. They were certainly well worn.
“Does my attire interest you?” he asked, presenting the tea to her.
“I find the clothes one wears say much about the man.”
“And what do my clothes say about me?”
She sipped her tea. It was the perfect temperature. She indulged herself with a small smile.
“You are a man of taste. You prefer fine clothes, though you also like them to be comfortable. The materials are hard wearing. You’re frugal, no doubt preferring to spend your money on things better than clothes. There is some eccentricity however. There is a mischief in you- an extravagance. Whether it is malignant or benign I cannot say yet.”
“Yet?”
“This is our first real conversation. I cannot tell everything about a person in the first instance.”
He smiled and lowered his cup from his lip. Annalise watched it descend to its saucer.
“Quite perceptive. I assume your father’s letter gave you all the information you require?”
“Most of it.”
“You have the contracts with you?”
She nodded.
“And your decision?”
“Rests with the answers you give to me tonight.”
“I see. You have questions?”
“Indeed. Firstly, what was the nature of your relationship with my father?”
“That of master and servant only.”
“I doubt that.”
He smiled, one finger circling the rim of his cup.
“He did say you were perceptive. Very well. Your father was the last in a long line of masters I have had over the years. He had grand plans. I facilitated those plans.”
“Where did you come from? Your accent is not native to this land.”
“I have lived almost everywhere there are people. I travel where I must. I do not remember where I first called home.
“How old are you?”
“Older than time.”
“And your appearance?”
“Malleable. I take on the appearance that best suits my master.” He smiled, amused by her.
“Why do you wish for a master?”
“I cannot answer that.”
“Nevertheless I require an answer.”
“You will be disappointed.
“What happens if I refuse the contract with you?”
“I wander alone until there is someone new to take your place.”
“Do you need a master?”
“No.”
Annalise sat back in her chair and regarded him. She licked her lips, enjoying herself despite the circumstances.
“Are you the devil, sir?”
“Neither devil nor god, angel or demon- though your spiritual leaders would brand me such, depending on which man I serve. I simply am. I was long before your ancestors crawled out of the primordial soup and created their own chains.”
“What are you then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you evil?”
“I have been called that. I have also been called ‘saviour’. Let us just say that human morality is a fascinating concept and one I indulge in from time to time- depending on the will of my master.”
“If you are as old and powerful as you say, why serve a human master? It makes no sense to bind yourself to a lesser creature.”
He grinned and sat back in his chair, regarding her over steepled fingers.
“I have many reasons- boredom, curiosity… I have marvelled at the sheer creativity of the human mind for centuries. You are all so interesting when it comes to destruction and hate, or love and creation. I have served alchemists, scientists, businessmen and farmers. Rich and poor alike. Each one was different, even if their lives were but a blink in my time.”
“To what end do you d
o this?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he leaned forward and took her hand, sliding elegantly out of his chair to kneel at her feet.
She held her breath, looking down at him.
“My reasons are my own,” he murmured. “But know this- I will never lie to you nor toy with you. While I serve you, every skill I possess will be at your disposal. Your protection and wants are my only mission. I will serve you in every way that you wish, and I will never betray you.”
“And the cost?”
He grinned, and for a moment he looked wicked.
“I too am searching for something. You will help me find it. If you cannot then your soul becomes mine.”
“I do not believe in souls.”
“That is irrelevant.”
“This is the same deal you offered my father?”
“It is.”
“And he was happy with it?”
“He never complained.”
“Where is his soul now?”
“It is comfortable. He is comfortable. As masters go, he was a good one. It is only fair that I reciprocate in kind.
“What are you searching for?”
“I cannot not tell you that.”
“Are you close to finding it?”
“Sometimes I believe I am. Other times I feel it slipping away from me.”
“Then that brings us to the small matter of the contract
“You have an issue with it?”
“Eternity is a long time in comparison to a human lifespan,” she said. “What would you be doing with my soul?”
“Nothing bad. Think of it like this- I am tenured as your servant in this world... and the role would simply be reversed in mine.”
Annalise looked back at him.
“Still, I think eternity is too much to ask given the insignificant nature of my own lifespan.” She pulled the contracts from her pocket. “I read the small print,” she said, loosening the ribbon around the roles. “There is no provision made for unsatisfactory performance.”
“Because there has never been a complaint about my service.”
“Still- I myself would not feel comfortable signing my soul away to someone who would have no reason to give good customer service.”
The demon grinned.
“As for eternity, I believe three times the length of your service to me would be sufficient.”
“I hardly think so, given the quality of my service.”
“Then you may add a clause where, should I unsuccessfully defend my actions you can add another twenty years.”
He was grinning, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes making them appear almost demonic. Annalise shivered, though she noted it was not through fear.
“I like you,” he said. “Very well, I will amend the contract to your liking.”
Annalise looked down at the unravelled parchment as words bled into it. She smiled.
“You gave in rather easily,” she said.
“I have no doubts of my ability to please you,” he said, “and I have very exacting requirements of my servants. You will be mine for eternity either way.”
Annalise looked down at the contract in her hands, watching as ink bled through the surface, adding the new stipulations to the small print.
“Finally,” she murmured, “there is the matter of my father’s death.”
“Yes?” he whispered, watching her.
“From what he wrote in his letter, it seems you were not as big a secret as he thought.”
“It seems not. I can promise you that I never uttered word of my nature, and neither did your father. He was an honourable man.”
“His death was no accident, was it?”
“No. I give you fair warning that whomsoever wanted him out of their way will likely come for you too. It seems that I am their goal.”
“What is it you offer them?”
“Anything they desire. I am a creature outside of nature. I hold the potential for vast wealth, unbelievable influence and power. A man with ambition would have a great all in me.”
“I have no interest in those things. Do you know whom it was that killed my father?”
“The one that completed the deed is already dead. I saw to that immediately. The one that ordered it, I do not know. Yet.”
He looked up at her. She considered him.
“Why?” she murmured again. “Why shackle yourself to humans when you have all this power to call your own. You could reign over us so easily, if what you say is true.”
“Ever the sceptic,” he smiled. He hadn’t moved from his place at her feet. “It’s time to make a decision, Annalise.”
“You will help me find my father’s murderer?”
“I will.”
“And you will be loyal?”
“Beyond reproach.”
Annalise smiled.
“Then I would like another cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”
He grinned and rose to his feet. He was delicate as he poured the tea. Steam rose from the cup as he placed it at her side, a sharp knife resting on the saucer.
She couldn’t help the flick of a smile that crossed her features as she picked it up.
“A drop is enough?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Would you like me to do it?” he asked, holding out his hand. She took it, studying the long fingers and fine lines.
She placed the knife across his index finger pad and looked up at him. He watched her, a faint smile playing across his features.
She cut him.
It wasn’t deep, and only a little blood oozed up and beaded on the surface. She wiped it away and watched as the seam in his skin sealed, healed and faded away.
“That was rude,” he murmured. “Though your reaction is remarkably calm,”
“What would be the point in hysteria? You have made several claims about yourself. I have tested a theory of my own and it is accurate. There is no need to panic.”
“So I am to be an experiment of yours?”
“No. You will be my servant. My man. You will carry out my wishes with elegance and style. Eventually you will tell me your secrets or I will discover them for myself.”
“So you agree to the contract?”
“I do.”
She jammed the tip of the knife into her finger pad and watched the blood well up. Once there was a sufficiently large enough bead she pressed it to the contract.
She watched the blood soak into the paper, resting next to the faded spot that was no doubt her father’s mark.
She felt a tingle in her hand that spread up through her body and came to rest at the base of her skull. It was almost comforting as it throbbed for a moment and then faded.
“It is done, then,” he murmured. “I am your obedient servant ma’am. Would you like to give me a name?”
“What did my father call you?”
“William, after the bard.”
“Suitable for a man of business… but I believe the things you do for me to be of a more devilish nature.”
“You wish to name me after a demon?”
“Mephistopheles does suit you better; however a man cannot walk freely with a name such as that. No. I will name you Marlowe.”
He grinned. “It is a good name.”
“Then let us begin the first of our quests.”
He grinned and bowed low.
“Your father was right.” He murmured. “Being bound to you is going to be fun.”
END
About the author
Leanne is a graphic designer and complementary therapist by trade. Writing is her escape. She lives in the middle of nowhere, England with her long suffering other half and three cats. Sometimes she emerges from her ever growing aloe vera forest and grumbles at the outside world before retreating back into the shadows.
Occasionally she blogs over on her website, but more often than not she’s hunched over her desk drawing and muttering to herself.
Other Titles by Leanne Fitzpatrick
> The Bitter Taste
My Guardian Angel
Runaway Dead: A Cherry Garcia Investigation
In the Hands of a Saint: A Cherry Garcia Short Story
The social network bit
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AcidAmoeba/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/WriterLeanne/
Blog: https://www.leannefitzpatrick.co.uk
My Father's Gift Page 7
