I had never been the capitulating sort. Besides, Rosamond had taught me enough about relationships to know that subtle problems before marriage meant certain trouble after. If I ever married—and I rather doubted I would—I planned to marry a man I could respect, who would respect me.
After what he had done, I could never respect the Master of Briarstone Abbey.
“There is more I need to tell you,” he began, in a desperate way. “About the dangers here—about—”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I interrupted as I shoved my chair back and stumbled to my feet. “Please, may I be excused?”
He let me go without a word, but he looked wounded. As Twilight led me from the dining hall, I told myself it was impossible. He could not truly care for me after so short and unpleasant a time.
Chapter 8
Corwin
I WAS WAITING for her each evening after that. She never once acknowledged the roses I left for her. She had been with me a week when I hunted for an entire armful of precious blossoms, stuffed them into a pewter pitcher, and plunked them down in front of her plate where she couldn’t miss them.
When she arrived, Quarrel rushed to greet her and licked her face. She cupped his large face in her hands, grinning. “Hullo, there!” she exclaimed, clearly glad to see him.
I sat down, feeling stupidly jealous. Of the dog.
“I am told you’ve been poking your nose about,” I said, not lifting my eyes from my meal. I attempted to use my fork, but the utensil felt ridiculous in my hands. “During the day you are free to wander about as you will, but the basements are off limits.”
“The basements?” she echoed. “I am not sure I know where they are.” She took her seat and immediately spooned half the contents of her plate onto the floor. I gaped at her, appalled. There would be no living with that dog after this. Granted, I did not exactly keep a proper household, but even I had my standards.
“On the contrary, I’ve been told you know exactly where they are,” I retorted. I’d sensed her prowling around the corridor leading to the catacombs around midday. Our gazes locked and held. I could tell by the set of her chin that she was not about to be frightened into compliance.
“Will you at least tell me why?”
“You said you didn’t want to talk about it. So, no.”
“By the Never!” she sputtered, slamming her fork down on the table. “I meant I didn’t want to talk about marriage. This is different. Where do you go all day long? Why can’t I go down to—”
“You really are irksome,” I interrupted, watching as Quarrel nudged her hand. She held out a biscuit, which he swiped shamelessly. “You’ll spoil him.”
“You have not answered my questions.” She speared me with a glowering look. “It’s time you ’fessed up. Why am I really here?”
“I have tried to tell you—repeatedly.” I tried to skewer a gray hunk of turnip, but it skipped off my plate and across the table. I chucked the fork after it. I heard a second clatter and looked up to see Bet popping a bit of roast into her mouth with her fingers. She pointedly picked up another piece and shoved that in as well.
Well then.
I unclenched my jaw. “I have tried to speak with you, but you do not listen. You argue, and fuss, and growl like a bear.”
“I have made every effort to listen, but I don’t believe you have told me what you think you have,” she said around a mouthful of meat. “You say you need help, but I spend my hours doing nothing at all.”
I feared she wanted to know more than she was prepared to comprehend. I had delayed this long only because she managed to say something rude and unpleasant every time I angled the conversation in the appropriate direction.
I was not used to speaking to anyone who could answer me.
I grasped my cane and rose to limp toward her. She watched with narrowed eyes as I pulled out the chair next to hers and eased myself into it. Quarrel ran around her chair to sit between us, whining. I settled a hand on his head, enjoying its warmth against my calloused palm.
I finally looked up. Bet’s attention focused on my hand cupped over Quarrel’s head, her expression quizzical. Did it unsettle her to discover that even monsters have a need for comfort? My throat constricted, but I forced the lump down.
“Will you marry me, Miss Haverly?” I asked, just as I had every night since her arrival. “Because that is what I need.”
Bet did not answer immediately. “I do not understand why I should,” she finally said. “You will not even tell me your name.” The candlelight danced across her face, reflecting in her eyes. They were blue like a dusky sky. I felt my pulse quicken beneath the intensity of her gaze. I thought she might be seeing me, truly seeing me, for the first time. Perhaps she was getting used to me, as I was growing accustomed to her. Was that not a good thing?
My insides felt tight, my breath short. Why then did I feel only more anxious?
I considered telling her all, but I was loath to undo what little I had accomplished. She would not believe the truth. I had seen enough of the villagers to know that they liked fantastical tales but did not truly believe them. I had seen enough of her to know this.
“My name is Corwin,” I finally said, my voice nothing more than a whisper as fleeting as the candlelight. I felt a pulse of approval from the Lonely, almost as if they breathed a collective sigh of relief. She had heard truth enough for one night. I had waited this long, why would one more night hurt?
“Hullo, Corwin,” she said. She took several fortifying breaths. “It’s nice to meet you . . . I think.”
“You think,” I echoed. I allowed the ghost of a smile to touch my lips.
Still Bet stared at me. “I think,” she repeated. “Yes, yes, I think.” She must have immediately realized how stupid that sounded. With her short, unruly curls tucked behind her ears, I could see them turn pink. For some reason, I smiled.
That’s what broke the spell. She saw my sharp incisors, my animal teeth, and sat back abruptly. I leaned away as well, feeling pained.
“Goodnight, Miss Haverly,” I managed as I eased out of the chair and hobbled toward the doorway. Quarrel whined as if torn. I passed from the room without ordering him to follow. He stayed.
And I left alone.
Chapter 9
Bet
I COULD NOT sleep.
His name was Corwin. Corwin.
I paced the length of my prison, still wearing my green muslin gown. Twisted black and green ribbons laced down each side, and I tugged at their trailing ends, tying them into knots as I walked.
When Corwin finally said his name, he had looked almost ill. I could still feel his eyes on me, staring as if he never intended to look away. The dog, the Master, the servants . . . they all shared that haunted, untended look. They were all Lonely.
I shivered and rubbed my arms, my fingers brushing over the bruises and scabs. Scabs from his creeper-loving teeth! I should feel no pity for this monster.
But, strangely, impossibly . . . I almost did.
A loud noise tore through the Abbey. It sounded like a crack of thunder but felt like the felling of a tree. I froze mere feet from the arched doors. The floor trembled beneath me as the noise continued to rebound on stone after stone. I felt Twilight brush past me; I almost heard her movements. Sometimes when the Lonely moved I fancied I could hear them, but the sound was muted, like the echo of a footstep and not the step itself. She left the door ajar in her haste.
Dawn came up behind me, her cold fingers on my arm. She throbbed with fear as the rumbling beneath our feet continued.
From somewhere deep in the Abbey a voice cried out. At first I could not make out words, but I rushed to grab a torch from its wall sconce. Dawn clutched at me as I moved to peer into the darkness, my heart racing in my chest. Her grip tightened, but she lacked Twilight’s strength.
My name echoed through the Abbey as the floor continued to shudder.
“Lilybet, help me!”
I kn
ew that voice, and the sound of it filled me with blind terror. It was Sookie. My own dear Sookie!
I wrenched free of Dawn’s fragile hold and dashed into the corridor. “Sookie!” I shouted as I ran. “Sookie, where are you?”
What was she doing here? Had she followed me? Or worse, was she a prisoner here as well? How could I have not known? How could I have missed her coming?
I neared an open door, but before I could reach it, the door slammed shut in my face. It would not open.
“Sookie!” I yelled as I ran further into Briarstone. I felt Dawn following behind me, her fear as tangible as the torch in my hand, as real as Sookie’s voice screaming for my help. What was happening to my sister?
I heard stone grinding against stone as I rounded a corner in the hallway. I lifted my torch, scanning until I found an open passage in the wall. But the wall was closing as if it were a hidden door someone had just tripped.
“Lilybet!” Sookie’s voice echoed through the opening.
Dawn caught my arm and pulled, but I lurched forward, twisting sideways to jam myself through the narrowing gap. Dawn tumbled after me. I found myself rushing down a windowless, winding staircase.
Something reared up in front of me. I could not stop in time but plunged straight through it. The air suddenly felt thick and smelled foul. I broke free, gasping, and whirled to investigate.
I did not know what I looked upon. It was like peering through a sheet of rushing water. Behind the rippling air I saw a dark shadow that moved, as if it pressed against the moving barrier.
The shadow began to leak into the stairwell. The air grew hot and smelled putrid like sulfur and charred flesh.
Choking, I swung the torch with both hands and backed down the stairs. Dawn plucked at my clothes, her terror battering against me, out of sync with my own galloping fear.
The shadow rose above me like a serpent coiling to strike. I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound was sucked right out of my mouth. My vision began to spot at the edges. Tears leaked from my eyes as one minute led into the next, building into an eternity I feared would never end.
What was happening?
Chapter 10
Corwin
BET HAD STUMBLED into grave danger.
Briarstone threw pictures into my mind with blinding speed. I glimpsed torchlight and a green dress. Rippling shadows. Stone steps, winding.
Bet was in the stairwell leading to the catacombs.
With a roar of panic I stumbled through the tunnels. I had sensed an impending assault but had not guessed how vital the danger had become. And how could I have known Bet would get herself caught up in the middle of it? But she would, of course! Stubborn, bullheaded girl! I cast aside my cane and ignored my pains as I ran. I was close, but was I close enough?
Let me be close enough! Don’t let her die!
My thoughts thundered the prayer; the plea for help was instinctual. I should never have brought her here. Was this to be my punishment for taking matters into my own hands? Had I truly lost so much faith in my mission that I would risk the lives of the innocents I was sworn to protect?
In my haste, I stumbled against the wall when I reached the entrance to the stairs. I smelled burning and felt Dawn’s terror hammering against my mind. I shouted for her to be silent as I began climbing.
Only a turn and a half and I found them. Bet hung in the air, surrounded by putrid shadows, a torch still clutched in her right hand. Behind her, the breach rippled where the underworlder had broken through.
The wraith was feeding.
I opened my mouth and blasted the creature with a wave of echoes. The sound was too high for humans to hear, but not for underworlders. The wraith recoiled and lost its grip on Bet, howling in pain as it turned on me.
Bet thudded to the steps, coughing, her arms outspread as she tried to catch herself. I lurched up beside her as the wraith recovered.
Strengthened by its feeding, the wraith had taken its solid form. It was thin, featureless. I saw the smoldering embers beneath the veil of darkness the wraith wrapped around itself in place of skin.
Briarstone came to my aid, wrenching stones right out of the ceiling and hurling them down on the underworlder. The wraith tried to avoid them but the barrage drove it back toward the breach. It began to lose control of itself, dropping its form and turning back to shadows as the laws of its own world demanded its return.
Like the pull of gravity, the Underworld tugged it back. The wraith could not resist us all.
Bet moved up beside me and looked as if she meant to thrust her torch at the wraith, but I shoved her back roughly. I would not risk her harming herself further. I flung another series of echoes and did not relent until the ripples swallowed the wraith whole.
Briarstone continued to pull stones from the ceiling, filling in the stairwell ahead of us. Imagining an invisible wall, I yanked at both sides of the rippling breach and knotted them together in the middle. From within the breach, the wraith flung itself against the weak point with renewed vigor, pummeling it again and again. Sparks exploded with each impact. But I’d had much experience and shifted my focus to block each renewed attack until the invisible wall solidified into stone and mortar.
Briarstone worked alongside me, groaning and shifting with each alteration, filling in the stairwell and changing the shape of herself to make sure the breach was completely sealed. Even then I could hear the wraith’s muted screams.
I groaned and sagged against the wall. Dawn was instantly there. I could feel her weeping, her thoughts for me, not herself.
Bet stood across from me, her torch sputtering and hissing as it began to fail her. I stared at her, unable to believe she lived. I had rarely seen anyone survive a wraith attack. They were quick with their work. They didn’t linger like the ghouls, who enjoyed the pleasure of the kill. No, wraiths ripped through people, sucked them dry, and discarded their husks.
I reached for her but stopped when she jerked away. “Can you walk?” I asked. “You must come with me.”
Her torch hissed and failed her completely. We stood in utter blackness.
“You must come,” I continued, as gently as I could manage. I needed to get her out of here. I needed to get us both out before I collapsed. Within moments my eyes adjusted to the dark, but I knew she would see nothing.
“Where is my sister?” Bet croaked. “I heard her screaming—” She broke off, as if either her voice or her will had failed her.
I closed my eyes, realizing then what had happened. I was such a fool. “She is not here,” I whispered as I reached out once again. “I will explain, but you must come with me. Now. Please.”
For a moment I thought she would refuse. But then she reached out a tentative hand, searching the darkness. I breathed a sigh of relief and grasped her hand in mine.
Chapter 11
Bet
CORWIN STAGGERED IN the pitch darkness, dragging me alongside him. My throat burned as if I’d swallowed acid, and my head throbbed in pain. I kept one hand on the wall and clung to Corwin’s hand with the other, but I still stumbled in blindness.
Ahead of us, barking echoed down the tunnel, growing steadily louder. Soon a torch appeared, and then another. The dual promise of Quarrel and light cheered me onward. When we drew closer, I saw that the torches were held by several Lonely standing right outside a doorway.
Quarrel barreled out of the darkness. Corwin released me and snapped his fingers before the dog was near enough to knock us over. The poor beast dropped to the ground, whimpering but obedient. I felt the Lonely tugging at my hands, trying to pull me through the doorway. I hesitated, but there were more torches within, so I stepped into the chamber.
The room stretched before me, long and narrow, with a higher ceiling than the tunnels. There were stone benches, tapestries on the walls, and torches flickering in wall sconces. I could see several alcoves branching off the main chamber, but they were dark.
Something thudded behind me. I whirled and saw Corwi
n on his knees, with several Lonely moving in around him. Quarrel pressed his head against his master’s shoulder. “I am all right,” Corwin said, hunched over and seeming to struggle for breath.
“What is happening?” I choked out. It hurt to speak, but I desperately needed answers. “Where is Sookie?” I felt cold hands take hold of me and let them guide me onto a nearby bench. I watched as several more Lonely moved into the chamber, filing in one after another. There were dozens of them.
Corwin lifted his head to look at me. If it were possible, he seemed even paler than normal, his eyes huge beneath his hulking brow. He was trembling.
Dawn offered me a cup; I took it but did not drink. “My sister,” I pressed.
Corwin’s throat convulsed as he swallowed. “She is not here. I swear it on my life. It was the wraith.”
I wished I could be sure he spoke the truth. I did not see how I could trust him.
“It was a trap,” he said, his voice cracking. “It was my fault. I should have . . . I should have told you sooner but I—I did not wish to frighten you away. I thought you would be safe in the tower. The wraiths hate light. They are strongest below ground, in the catacombs. I told you there was danger here, but I did not tell you how imminent the peril is. That was my error, and I beg your pardon.”
I did not know what to say. I did not want to let his humility change my opinion of him, but it unsettled me deeply. “My sister is safe?”
He nodded.
I lifted the cup at last and took a tentative sip. It tasted bitter, but when I swallowed, it was as if I swallowed a breath of fresh air. I drank again, deeper, and closed my eyes as the tingling liquid slid down my raw throat. “That creature—that wraith? It is the danger you spoke of? There are more of . . . that thing?”
“Many, many more.”
“Are we safe here?” I glanced about the room, at the Lonely huddled around us, shimmering in the torchlight. “Can it come back?”
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 13
