by Noelle Marie
“We’re from a small town east of here,” Abram answered more amicably, though there was a stiffness present in his voice that hadn’t been there when we were only talking to Cornelius. “I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
Felix raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? Try me.”
It sounded like a dare – a dare we were saved from taking by the maid – Marianne – hurrying back into the room. She set a plate and napkin of silverware down in front of Felix before leaving and returning with a steaming bowl of garlic-infused mashed potatoes and a platter of glazed carrots. “Dinner is served,” she declared. “Let me know when you’re finished, and I’ll bring out the peach cobbler I made for dessert.”
“Thank you, Marianne,” Cornelius said. “As usual, you’ve outdone yourself.”
Abram murmured his agreement, and if I could talk around the lump of hatred in my throat, I would have agreed. For all his faults, the man had good taste in chefs.
But I hadn’t come here to eat. I’d come to collect Wisp.
Which was why before anyone could so much as reach for a lamb chop, I stood from my seat, my chair’s legs scraping loudly against the floor. “I need to use the restroom,” I announced bluntly.
Cornelius blinked. “C-certainly,” he managed after a moment. He turned to Marianne, who’d yet to leave the room. “Marianne, would you care to take Mr. Crowe to-”
“Allow me, Cornelius,” Felix said, standing.
“Nonsense, Felix,” the man declined, waving off his offer, “you’ve just sat down.” Apparently, even Cornelius, oblivious as he seemed, had picked up on the tension between us. He obviously wanted whatever deal he’d arranged with Abram to go through badly enough to keep us well away from each other. “Marianne doesn’t mind showing Mr. Crowe to the bathroom, do you, dear?”
“Of course not.”
Felix seemed irritated by that answer, but stiffly sat regardless. “Very well.”
“If you’ll follow me, sir…” Marianne said, leading me out of the room, through the entryway, and back into the living room. She approached one of two doors that were lined along the back wall before opening it to reveal a bathroom. “You’ll find any toiletries you need under the- mmph!”
Before she could finish talking, I grabbed her from behind, one arm reaching up to hurriedly cover her mouth and the other wrapping around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides.
She tried to scream, but my hand muffled the sound. That, however, didn’t stop her from throwing her head backwards in an attempt to connect it with my nose.
“Stop it!” I hissed. “Stop! I’m not going to hurt you!”
Judging by the way she scraped her teeth against the palm of my hand, trying to sink them into my skin, she didn’t believe me.
“Goddamn it, woman!” I spat, but I refused to release her. “I just want to find her. Wi-” I cut myself short, shaking my head. “Sloane. Please.”
The woman tensed at the sound of Sloane’s name, her struggles slowly dwindling. Her glare, however, didn’t soften in the slightest. She caught my eye before pointedly glancing down at the hand covering her mouth.
“If I let you go,” I cautioned, “you have to promise not to scream.”
The woman rolled her eyes, but nodded. I had no reason to trust her. Unfortunately, I also had no choice but to let her go if I wanted answers.
Thankfully, when I released her, the woman kept her mouth shut. She turned to face me. “What do you want with Sloane?” she demanded tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.
The obvious suspicion in her voice made my (not so) metaphorical hackles rise. She had asked the question like she thought that I was there to hurt Wisp.
“I’m not here to hurt her if that’s what you’re thinking,” I spat, hurling out the word “hurt” between clenched teeth. “I’m here to help her.”
“Help her?” Marianne repeated incredulously. “Help her with what?”
“She-… I-…” I said, struggling to describe the situation to her without giving away anything supernatural. “I’m the one asking the questions here,” I said eventually, giving up on trying to explain entirely. “Now, where is she? I know she’s here.”
Marianne shook her head. “I don’t know who told you that, but it’s not true. Sloane hasn’t been here in weeks. She’s been staying at a hospital in California. The staff there is trying to help her with her… memory issues,” she finished delicately.
I scoffed. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
The woman pursed her lips, clearly affronted. “Why wouldn’t I believe it? Cornelius wouldn’t lie about such a thing.”
I didn’t trust that for a second, but she clearly had enough faith in her employer to take his word for it. So I changed tactics.
“And what about Felix?” I asked, using the mutual dislike that had been so easy to pick up between the two to my advantage. “Would he?”
Marianne opened and closed her mouth a few times before finally shutting it with a click. Her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes drifting past me to focus on something over my shoulder.
“What?” I demanded, turning.
“Nothing!” she exclaimed, but her frown deepened. “I… it’s just….” Her eyes found their way back to what could only be the door beside the bathroom. “I’ve noticed Felix disappearing into the basement from time to time at the end of my shift, and the door’s been locked the past few weeks, which, I admit is… unusual.” My inside turned to ice. “I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing,” she rushed to add, eyes zooming back to mine. “The very idea that Cornelius would allow something so nefarious to go on under his own roof is ridiculous. Downright preposterous even. He would never-”
“Listen,” I demanded curtly, cutting her off mid-ramble. “You’re going to go back in there,” I said, pointing in the general direction of the dining room, “and finish serving supper. You’re going to act like everything is business as usual.”
“And what will you be doing?”
My eyes glided to the door she had been eyeing. “I’ll be checking out the basement.”
Marianne shook her head. “I already told you, Cornelius would never allow-”
“Then you have nothing to worry about!” I snapped, struggling to keep my voice down. “Look, if the basement’s empty like you claim it is, no harm, no foul. I’ll be back before anyone even notices I’m missing.”
Marianne frowned, but I could tell she was wavering. “Fine,” she agreed, voice clipped. “You have ten minutes. That’s it. If you aren’t back in the dining room by then, I’ll have no choice but to tell Mr. Radcliff he let a vagrant in the house.”
I nodded, relief flooding me. “Deal.”
Marianne turned, but hesitated to leave. Then, sighing like she couldn’t believe she was actually allowing this, she strode from the room.
As soon as she left, I turned my attention to the basement door. I quickly approached it, giving the knob an experimental jiggle. Just like Marianne had claimed, it was locked.
Having neither the time nor the patience to tinker with it, I simply snapped the metal knob right off the door. It opened with a slow creak.
I stood at the top of the staircase, and for a moment, I simply peered into the dark. I wanted Wisp back more than I had ever wanted anything in my life, and yet as I stared into the darkness, I couldn’t help but feverishly pray that I didn’t find her down there.
The stairs groaned under my weight when I finally ventured down the steps.
The smell hit my nose before I’d even reached the bottom. The syrupy scent of honey nectar. But something was wrong. Because overlaying the sweetness of the familiar smell was the sharp scent of fear. My stomach lurched.
“Wisp?” I called.
Then I saw her, and he roared.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Wisp?”
I stared, wondering if I had somehow drifted off while resting against the wall.
Because the figure standing at the bottom of t
he stairs couldn’t possibly be real.
It was Derek, dressed in a suit of all things – the navy pinstripe a foreign sight against his tan skin. Other than that, though, he was almost exactly as I remembered him: his dark hair a beautiful mess atop his head and his green eyes so bright that they were like beacons in the dark of the basement.
But that was just it: Derek was in the basement.
And the only logical explanation I could come up with was that my mind was playing tricks on me.
After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time I had dreamed of Derek finding me – rescuing me. Almost every day I would imagine how he would hold me, how his hands would feel running through my hair instead of Felix’s. How he would say he’d made a terrible mistake and that everything he’d said to me before he’d kicked me out of his cabin – “I don’t love you.” – had been a lie.
“Wisp,” he repeated, his voice thick with a kind of emotion I didn’t have a hope of identifying. It should have been strange to hear that name again after three weeks of being called Sloane, but somehow it wasn’t.
And then, before he had even finished saying it that second time, he was moving – rushing to me. He dropped to his knees next to the dirty mattress I sat on, and I flinched when he lifted his hands to touch me, my body conditioned to expect Felix’s long, cold fingers.
But the fingers that tenderly cupped my cheek were warm. The thumbs that brushed over the dark circles beneath my eyes were calloused. They were impossibly gentle as they held my face like it was something precious. Like I was something precious.
They felt real.
And all at once, I realized it was real. Derek was kneeling in front of me.
My heart leapt into action at the overwhelming realization, throwing itself against my ribs with abandon. I could hear it pounding in my ears as a sudden rush of endorphins or adrenaline – something – threatened to overwhelm me.
“Oh, honey… what have they done to you?” he asked, a quiver present in his voice that I’d never associated with Derek before. He examined the tape stuck to my mouth, touching the frayed ends with careful fingers, before his eyes were attracted to the chain that connected me to the wall. Although the hands on my face remained endlessly gentle, the green orbs flashed black.
He released me to examine the manacles, carefully fingering the cuffs that encircled my wrists. I flinched when they brushed over a bruise.
“I’m going to get these off of you, okay?” he said, voice pitched low like he was talking to a scared animal. “I just need you to hold as still as you can for me.”
At my shaky nod, he took hold of the center of the chain connecting the manacles together and pulled. The chain broke in two with a loud snap.
As soon as my hands were freed, I brought them to my chest. My wrists were still stuck in the cuffs, but, unfortunately, without the keys or a hammer or something, there was nothing Derek or I could do about that right then.
I was just thankful to be able to move without every little change of position sending a painful jolt through my shoulders.
Derek brought his fingers back to the tape strapped across my mouth. “I’m sorry about this,” he murmured, and then wincing, he wrenched it off.
Unfortunately, weeks of similar treatment hadn’t caused me to grow used to the sensation and I couldn’t suppress a flinch. I licked my lips, wincing when my tongue passed over the cut on my bottom lip that hadn’t yet healed – mostly because it was constantly being tortured with duct tape.
I froze when Derek reached forward and gently prodded the cut. His touch alone somehow made it feel better.
“Der-ek,” I muttered, voice almost breaking on the word. I could no longer resist and brought my own hands forward to touch his face, refamiliarizing them with the sharp slope of his nose and the roughness of the stubble that covered his chin. “Are you real?” I couldn’t help but ask. I closed my eyes, clutching the lapels of his suit with my fingers and burying my face into his chest. “Please be real.”
His arms wrapped around me immediately. “Of course I’m real,” he murmured.
I felt him press a kiss into the crown of my hair, and tears filled my eyes. It felt so nice. But I couldn’t let myself enjoy it – not when there was still a chance it – he – could be snatched away. “What if this is just another dream?” I demanded, watery voice giving away the fact that tears were near. “I’m afraid I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone. It’ll be Felix here instead and he… he’ll…”
Derek’s arms tightened around me. “Shh,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. That… man,” he decided on finally, “is never going to touch you again.”
But saying Felix’s name aloud only reminded me that there was so much Derek didn’t know. Everything Felix had told me about the fire… about Derek’s parents…
My belly clenched. I needed to tell him.
I ripped myself out of Derek’s arms – as much as the man would let me, anyway. His hands clutched at my biceps, refusing to let go. “Derek,” I said urgently, “the fire! Your parents! Felix told me that he and the Vanderbilts-”
“I know,” Derek interrupted, voice like steel.
I blinked. “You know?” I repeated disbelievingly.
Derek offered me a stiff nod. “Abram told me.”
I frowned. “Abram? You… you mean you spoke to him?”
“Yes, I did,” he confirmed. “It’s a long story, and not one we have time to get into right now, but he helped me find you. He’s upstairs right now, even, hopefully doing an ample job of distracting your father.”
Your father.
Derek didn’t know everything then.
I swallowed. “I’m glad you talked,” I admitted quietly.
Derek’s entire countenance softened. “Only because of you,” he admitted.
“Because of me?” I repeated, a frown pulling at my mouth. “But how-?”
“We can discuss it later,” he assured, cutting me off. (There was a lot to discuss.) “Right now, we need to figure out how to get you out of here without being seen.”
I allowed Derek to help me stand on wobbly legs. “Those doors lead to the backyard,” I revealed, pointing at the curtained double doors that had been taunting me with their presence the past two weeks. To be so close and yet so far from freedom had been torture. “I’m pretty sure the gate out front is locked, but if we hike through the patch of woods out back, I imagine we’ll come across a road eventually.”
Derek nodded. “It comes out onto Highway 19.”
I blinked. “How-?”
“Abram and I studied a map when Cornelius finally gave us his address,” Derek explained before I could even finish the question. “To examine possible emergency exits,” he added.
I frowned. “Oh.” Unfortunately, Derek’s mention of Abram made me realize the fatal flaw in the plan. I bit my lip. “But if we leave, what about Abram?”
Derek waved off my concern for the man. “Abram can take care of himself,” he assured.
My brow wrinkled in confusion when he began to hastily unbutton the jacket of his suit. “Okay, I guess. But what are you doing?”
Derek glanced up from where he continued to unclasp buttons with nimble fingers. “You can’t go outside in that,” he declared bluntly, eyes running down the length of me. “You’ll freeze.”
I glanced down at my pajama-clad body and tensed. In all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten that I was dressed in nothing but a white (or, it had been white at some point, by now it was an off-white, almost yellow color) camisole and pair of plaid sleep pants.
And they were both filthy.
I hadn’t been allowed to change out of them the past two weeks.
It had been a sort of punishment, I think, for refusing to take them off a week ago and letting Felix bathe me. He had left me in the sopping wet clothes afterwards, content to let me catch a chill in the dank basement.
An embarrassed blush bloomed across my cheeks, and
shame welled inside me.
The feelings ebbed somewhat when Derek carefully placed his crisp suit jacket over my shoulders, wrapping it as snugly around me as he could. It hung down to my knees.
Instead of making a move for the glass doors afterwards, though, I was bewildered when Derek grabbed the mattress I’d spent the past two weeks confined to and lugged it across the room. He didn’t stop until it was at the bottom of the stairs.
“This really isn’t the time for redecorating,” I pointed out dumbly.
Derek snorted, the first hint of a grin pulling at his mouth since he’d found me. But it disappeared a moment later, his face returning to its typical somber disposition as he pulled a switchblade out from the pocket of his pants. I recognized it as the one he liked to carry with him when he walked the perimeter of his land and checked his traps every morning.
“What are you doing?” I asked, concern growing as he stabbed the knife into the mattress, dragging it across the top and creating an impressive slit. Stuffing spilled out of the opening.
“Making sure they can’t follow us,” he answered simply, not looking up from what he was doing.
I frowned. “What is that supposed to…?” I trailed off, leaving the question unfinished when he switched the function of the pocketknife so that it would work as a lighter.
And just like that, I understood. Derek was going to start the house on fire.
My insides froze. “Derek!” I hissed, hurrying over to him. “Stop!” I protested. “What about Abram? You said he was upstairs!”
Derek frowned, finally turning to face me. “I also said he can take care of himself,” he pointed out.
I bit my bottom lip, wincing when my teeth grazed the cut. (A muscle twitched in Derek’s jaw.) “Even if that’s true,” I argued, hoping to divert his attention from the minor injury, “do you really think that lighting this place on fire is a good idea? I mean… your parent’s house burned to the ground. It’s just… I don’t want you to regret this,” I confessed.
For a moment, Derek stared. And then… “I regret a lot of things,” he admitted softly. A moment later, however, his eyes – and his voice – hardened. “But setting this place ablaze will never be one of them.”
