A blush fired up in my cheeks. It was only moments ago that I was bent over this bed—half in agony, half in exhilaration—experiencing the sweetest pain I had ever felt.
Abram growled. “Those are private.”
Satina picked an invisible piece of lint from her sundress, hamming up her boredom with Abram. “Whatever gets the job done, Beast.”
“A-and what do I do?” I asked.
“There’s a room at the end of the hall, by the entrance of the wine cellar. I’ve seen the king going in and out a few times while I was able to stay. He seems very protective of it. All you have to do—”
“Is break in,” I finished.
“No” Abram said flatly. “What if they catch her in there? Somehow I doubt they will await my arrival to deal with her for an offense that large.”
“They won’t find me,” I answered.
“You don’t know that.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Abram. I’ll be fine.” From the bed, I reached up and took his hand into mine. “People are going to die if we do nothing. I can do this. You know I trust you. I’ve proven that. I need you to trust me, too.”
“It’s not you that I don’t trust,” he muttered.
I turned my attention back to Satina. “What am I looking for?”
“No idea.” She chewed her lip. “It could be anything. The enchantment is stopping me from seeing in that room. It’s as though that room has a secondary protection above and beyond the one put on the castle. I can’t get in at all, for any amount of time.”
“So how am I supposed to find these answers?”
“Do what makes you special.” She flickered into and out of existence, like the flame of a candle that was about to go extinguish.
“What does that—”
“I have to go!” she said. “It’s throwing me out.”
And she was gone.
Chapter 10
When I woke, Abram was standing at the window. He was already dressed, wearing a ridiculously loud purple suit that King Archibald had sent to him the day before. He was perfectly put together, clean shaven with his hair slicked back. Obviously, he looked younger than his century-and-a-half as the early morning sunrise filtered across his face. But more than that, he looked completely and fully awake.
“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” I asked, stretching in bed.
His only response was a slight grin that perked up his ears.
“You have to sleep eventually,” I said, noticing the way his eyes gleamed against the light.
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve seen a sunrise with my own eyes?” He exhaled slowly. “Or even been able to sit still in the quiet of the night? Or when next I’ll be able to stand there and watch you sleep, watch you dream?” He shook his head. “I’ll sleep later.”
I dressed silently as Abram continued to watch the sunrise. It must have been strange and a bit beautiful to be him right now. To have so much of himself taken away for so long, and then to have that back; I couldn’t even imagine. The sweetest joys often came tinged with pain. I had learned that recently.
“I was thinking,” Abram said, turning toward me. There was a bulbous and gaudy golden lilac broach pinned to his jacket. “The magic in the castle, the way it deflects all other energy, I think I know what it’s for.” He followed by gaze to the ugly pin, then glared at me. “It came with the jacket,” he added, noticing the distasteful way I was staring at the broach.
“King Douchebag strikes again,” I murmured. “So, the magic?”
“Yes,” he answered thoughtfully. “At first, I thought it was defensive; something the king enforced to keep himself safe.”
“That would make sense, given all he went through,” I said, cinching a belt at the waist of a yellow dress that (if I did say so myself) fit like a dream.
“Right, but I don’t believe that’s the case. You were touched by magic, too. It made your life a living hell, and you have no interest in wrapping yourself in it.”
I walked toward Abram barefoot. “Oh, God, no. I hate the damn stuff.”
“As do I,” he said. “And King Archibald has been dealing with it far longer than either of us. I can’t imagine he would put much stock in it to protect him. And, if he did, I doubt he would spend so much money on a security detail.”
“Maybe it’s just for show,” I suggested, settling in front of Abram and wrapping my hands around his neck. He was warm, hard, and inviting. And as I breathed him in, I caught a whiff of sandalwood and musk.
“Not likely. I used the window shopper on your mobile device while you slept last night.”
“The browser,” I corrected him, trying hard not to smile. He hated when I laughed at his mistakes.
“Yes. That,” he said. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since the good people of Grimoult have seen its royal family?”
“No idea.”
“Neither do they,” he said, his hands sliding down to my waist. God, didn’t he know how much that drove me crazy? “It’s been decades since any member of the family has made a public appearance. In fact, other than press releases and the exceedingly rare dinner party, I couldn’t find evidence of any royal sighting in at least the last fifty years.”
“That’s odd. I probably saw Kate Middleton on the cover of US Weekly ten times last year,” I said, my eyebrows knitting together.
“Yes. Well, I doubt the Windsors have an ancient curse to worry about.” Abram’s head tilted up. “Though I suppose you never know.”
“What does this have to do with the magic here?” I stepped away from him before our close proximity caused a repeat of last night and settled between him and the window.
As I leaned against the sill, the sun beat against my back and, for the smallest of moments, I wanted to be on the beach again, free of the knowledge of all of this. Of course, at this point, that was about as likely as evening ponchos making a comeback.
“I don’t believe the magic in this place is for defense at all. I believe it’s to ensure punishment.” Abram shook his head. His perfectly coiffed hair moved just a fraction with the motion. “I know something about curses, and I know they’re no good if they don’t make the person suffering through them…well, suffer. I don’t believe King Archibald can leave this castle. And I think the fact that no magic seems to be able to maintain itself inside these walls is intentional. Meant to keep the curse in effect, stop anything from breaking it.”
“I gotta be honest with you, Abram. I really don’t feel bad for the guy if that’s the case. He’s a rapey asshole.”
“That’s not fair, either, Char, and you know it.”
I shrugged. “There’s plenty of people who wouldn’t disagree with me.”
Abram’s whole mood shifted so quickly that it was as though the room had taken on a sudden arctic chill. “I’ve been a part of this world for many years, much like King Archibald, and because I’ve been given the opportunity, I’ve changed with the times. If King Archibald is trapped here, he’s had no such luxuries. He’s watched the world spin from the prison of this castle. He’s never been part of the outside world, so how could he fit in with it?”
“You can’t seriously be defending him.”
“I’m—”
“Look, Abram. I don’t buy it. The reason he’s like that has nothing to do with being stuck in this castle—if that’s even the case. The only luxury that pig has had is the luxury of being able to keep his island stuck in the dark ages. And generations and generations of women have suffered because of it.”
Abram’s hand found mine. “Are you suffering, Charisse?”
I pulled my hand away. “Don’t. You aren’t like him. I wasn’t comparing. Just forget it and get on with your theory.”
For a moment, I thought he would challenge my request, that he wouldn’t let it drop. But when he spoke again, the defensive tone was gone.
“If he is trapped here by magic, that means he can’t leave to find help, and i
f calls for help and they come to him, then whoever arrives finds themselves useless.”
I pressed my lips together. “Like Satina. Her abilities here are about as potent as watered-down 7-Up.”
A short knock came on the door. Before we had a chance a respond, it flew open. Good old King Douchebag himself was standing there, matching ugly flower broach and all.
“Ah, I see you’re starting the morning off right,” he grinned sleazily at me. “And by the window, no less. If you want to give the locals a real show, you should lose the dress.”
He winked, and my stomach churned.
“Just reminding her to stay in her place,” Abram said, giving me a swift swat on the ass.
Heat rushed through me, but I bit my lip, as if that would do anything to keep the redness out of my face.
“Good man,” King Archibald said. “Now, if you’re quite finished, I believe you wished to see the royal portrait room.”
“Right. The royal portrait room, on the other side of the castle.” Abram shot me a look. “I can’t wait.”
“Good.” King Archibald motioned for Abram to follow him through the doorway. “Should I lock her in?” he asked, looking from me to the door. “We wouldn’t want your little firecracker getting herself into trouble. She’s already garnered a reputation as being something of a free spirit. Can’t be too careful.”
“No.” Abram looked back at me. “She’ll stay because I tell her to. Won’t you, Charisse?”
“Yes,” I answered, almost breathlessly. It was easier for me to say it this time, easier for me to play the game. Part of me wondered how much of that was because the game had finally gotten fun.
Abram turned to the king. “After last night, I don’t think she’ll give us any more trouble. But if she tries, she’ll pay for it later.”
King Archibald laughed as he led Abram out of the room. “Why do I get the feeling you hope she’ll slip up?”
Abram turned to close the door and winked right at me.
* * *
I waited a few minutes after they left before sneaking out—just long enough to be sure they were gone. Part of me wondered if, when exiting the room, I would find someone standing guard. But Abram would have warned me of that, and besides, they probably didn’t think a woman was capable of outsmarting them.
I strode down the hall pretty easily. The entire area was an expanse of nothingness. No people. No movement at all, it seemed. Every few feet sat a dresser with some sort of plant that was turning brown (likely because of the drought), but that was all.
The drapes were closed. The only light in this half of the castle, much like the foyer, came from strategically placed lantern lights. It seemed as though this would be a cakewalk. And why shouldn’t it be?
If Abram was right, it was likely that no one other than trusted advisers had come into this castle in decades. And no magic, either, aside from Satina’s neutered ghostly visits. King Archibald was, for all intents and purposes, an immortal. And anyone who could harm him had always been stopped at the gate. So it made sense security would be a little lax once inside.
I found the room Satina mentioned—it was located right at the end of the hall as she’d said. The thought that this might actually go smoothly crossed my mind right up until I jiggled the handle to find it locked.
Well, at least it didn’t burn my hand the way Abram’s bevy of locked doors had. Maybe things were looking up.
Peering around to make sure the coast was clear, I got on my knees (not easy to do in a dress that fits like wet paint) and pulled a pin from my hair.
Okay, Char, time for that summer on the bad side of the Bronx to pay off.
I broke my bobby pin in half and stuck the pieces in the keyhole, trying to get the pins in the tumbler down. I tried to think back to how Charlie Prince (the cutest guy I had ever seen before Abram) used to it do back when we went out. Okay, so maybe I’d done more than watch him do it. I’d been so fascinated, I’d had him teach me to do it, too, but only because I wanted to help myself if I ever got locked out of my own apartment.
It took longer than the last few times I’d done it—probably because it’d been years now—but finally the door popped open, and I let out a huge breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Standing and walking in, I found that this room was unlike all the others. Where the rest of the castle was put away, sparse, and even unlived in, this room was chock-full of just about everything. Boxes lined the walls, stacked one on top of the other. Papers were strewn across the floor, lying about messily. An open notebook lay on a desk covered with what looked to be files.
If the rest of the castle was pristine, then this was a pig sty.
“I hope the talisman isn’t a broom,” I muttered, trudging through the mess. “Because it doesn’t look like this room has seen one in years.”
I had never been the type who did a lot of research. Hell, Lulu did most of my homework through high school. So the idea of digging into this pile looking for a vague ‘something’ wasn’t my idea of fun. Still, a girl with magic blood had to do what she had to do.
I was twenty minutes and three boxes in when I felt like giving up. This was useless. I didn’t even know what I was looking for and, even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to find it in a place like this.
Sliding the last folder back into a box marked ‘Autumn ‘63’ (I was afraid to even ponder which ‘63 it referred to) one of the papers nicked my finger, giving me one hell of a paper cut.
“Damn,” I muttered, staring at the trickle of blood that seeped out from my cuticle. I reached for one of the stray papers to blot it.
Light, golden and bright, swirled around the red blotch. It was like when Abram touched my blood and his entire body lit up.
And that was when it hit me. This entire place was cursed. My blood would react to this whole place the way it reacted when it touched anything supernatural.
And then, the gold light began to move. Like a lightning bug, it darted around the room, moving toward the back of the desk.
There was no way. Was this magic light, born from my blood, showing me where the talisman was?
And then I remembered Satina’s words to me the night before.
Do what makes you special.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered. Apparently bleeding was what made me special.
But if Satina’s visit and Abram’s not-changing were any indication, I didn’t have a lot of time before my magic would be cut off. I darted after the light. It settled behind the desk, floating to the floor and disappearing as it touched the hardwood. At this point, I knew better than to ignore mystical signal flares, especially when they were this big. So I knocked against the floor, and sure enough, I found a loose board.
Pulling it up revealed a small red box hidden beneath.
I sighed, grabbed the dusty-as-hell box, pulled it toward me, and opened it. A single letter lay unfolded inside. The script was a dark flowery thing and written with what looked like a quill and ink.
Picking it up carefully, I read its contents.
Dear Valued Customer,
While your request is still under advisement, it falls upon us to inform you of the innate difficulty of what you are asking of us.
The curse in which you have been placed is, as you know, no small matter. And the Conduit who placed it on you—again, as you know—is a near legend.
While it is true that the price you have paid has far outweighed the goods you were given, it does not discount the fact that you DID enter into this pact of your own free will, and as such, we can offer nothing by way of refund in this matter. As we’ve already lifted this curse once and yet you find yourself again in the same predicament, we find the situation requires further investigation before attempting to grant you immunity.
However, we ask you do not despair. Your matter WILL be resolved one way or another. Take this letter, and the gifts it gives you, as a beacon of hope in what must seem like a dark eternity. In the mea
ntime, we have granted you a magical safe-haven within your home, so that you may protect all of your efforts and findings until we are able to assist you further.
And, as always, retain this correspondence. Any and all future decisions regarding this matter will appear upon it.
Best Regards,
The signatory was a blur. I tried to focus on it, but the name looked to be nothing more than a mishmash of symbols and letters.
As I held it closer to my face, something shuffled by the door. The turning of a doorknob soon followed.
I froze. Someone was here, and if I was found, that would be the end of this entire endeavor. Possibly even the end of my life.
Luckily, I was already behind the desk. Quietly, I slid into the crawlspace. All I would have to do is stay here and, with any luck, I could wait this out.
But then a spot of my blood touched the letter, and the entire thing started to glow, lighting up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Damn mystical signal flares.
Chapter 11
The letter was getting brighter and brighter by the second, as if it wanted me to get caught. Which, as far as I knew, was exactly what the stupid thing wanted.
As the door to the room creaked open, I folded the damn thing up and sandwiched it between my palms. A few months ago, the thought of hiding from backwoods-thinking guards in a magical castle with a glowing letter in my hands would have been the craziest thing I could imagine. Now, as it turned out, it was a Tuesday.
Footsteps clunked into the room. Just inside the doorway at first, then after a pause, clomping even closer. The letter burned even brighter somehow, burning against my palms, but I knew better than to yelp or let go. Doing that would get me caught. And in a place like this, where women were about as valued as dish rags, that was not something I was keen on experiencing.
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