“Just because I’m a priest doesn’t mean I don’t have desires, Amelia. And you know as well as I do priests don’t have to stay confined in Malva as nuns must.” He purses his lips, his eyes full of pondering. “I’ve never viewed sex as anything impure. To me, the raw pleasure would be spiritual.”
I have to take deep breaths to combat the intense heat that threatens to dehydrate my body. “D-don’t talk like that, Olly.” I look away so he doesn’t see the blush blossoming in my cheeks.
Oliver laughs. “My apologies. What I’m trying to say is that a relationship between us is possible. I can have my own house, provided I receive funds from Cathedral Reims. As long as they believe that this is all for the benefit of Deus, they will support me until I die. They will never have to know about us. We could never be married, but marriage is a contract and doesn’t elevate one’s love to a higher form because of such a mere binding.”
I am lost in Oliver’s words, staring beyond the lake, imagining that we live in one of those mansions. I see ourselves on a boat in the springtime, holding hands as we kiss, maybe even conceiving our first child there. The thought makes me internally blush, but it’s a far more beautiful dream than the numbing reality of the promise I made with my father. “Olly, that sounds--”
His sudden serious demeanor dissolves the rest of what I wanted to say. Out of nowhere, he asks, “Was that the first time Asch visited you?”
I curl my fingers against my gloved palms. He didn’t bring me all the way out here to wax poetic. The question nonetheless irritates me because Oliver has set the mood so well that all I want to do is get lost in us and forget these Shadowmen ever existed. Asch himself said I should forget about them. That is what I want to do. Even so, my curiosities can only be buried for so long before they come back ever more powerful.
“In a way yes, and in a way no.” Oliver cocks his head. “He came into the cell I shared with Colette on the day of our first trial. Both he and Sash. Sash had his suspicions, tried to touch me to confirm them. They knew one of us could see them, but I suppose later Colette gave herself away more than I did, as Asch told me they’d been following Colette.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Oliver leans forward. “Colette has gone missing.”
Before my eyes, the lake seems to crack into large sheets of ice, as water bursts through their barrier and drowns the mansions with such force the waters reduce them to piles of rubble. “What do you mean she’s gone missing? She just up and left, like that?”
Oliver nods. “But for a reason you may find hard to believe. I think she has…I think she has completed her change, the process a witch goes through to become a Shadowman. Those who aren’t witches have souls that immediately pass on to the next life, leaving bodies behind. Witches take their bodies with them as they become Shadowmen, but the process is only able to happen when no one else is around.”
What Oliver told me shouldn’t come as a surprise. Everyone seems to be a witch, but she was my best friend. That is the terrible punishment I inflicted on Colette, and it is all my fault. “I really did--I-I-I killed her…” I dig my fingers in the wooden seat as though I can find some splinter to stab away these crushing feelings.
“Amelia, I don’t think you did.”
My hold loosens. “How is that possible? The smoke rose from my hand, the fire came from me. I felt it.”
“You may have thought you did, but you didn’t. The mind is a thing easily tricked. If you had truly set her on fire, then everyone would have been able to see the burns. As it were, only witches and Shadowmen can see them. So you didn’t do it. A Shadowman did.”
My first instinct is to cry out my disbelief, but when I piece everything together, it all makes sense. This is why everyone else thought she had an epileptic fit and only I was convinced that I burned her. “But then why did you lie to me? Why did you keep this from me? Why did you want to convince me I couldn’t see any of this, just like Colette wanted to convince me? Nat didn’t even want to tell me anything, at least not until Asch appeared.”
“To protect you because anything else could have put you in danger of turning into one of them.” He brushes the bangs away from his left eye. “Most of the time, the Shadowmen do know it when you can see them because you have no knowledge of them or because you’re so certain of their existence that you don’t even try to hide that you can see them. But by convincing you otherwise, Colette and I were able to protect you. In fact, I suspect Colette drew more attention to herself to keep them away from you. I don’t know how, but she did. I’m certain she knew Sash was interested in you.”
My fingers retreat back into the wood, and burning despair funnels through my body. Colette put herself out there as a martyr to protect me. What makes me so special that I should be allowed this life and not her? The rage threatens to burn through me, so I pick up some snow from the railing of the gazebo and dab my face with its coolness. The blame does not rest with Colette. The blame falls on those blasted Shadowmen.
“Why would Colette protect me? Why not protect herself? I don’t understand.” I shake my head, painful guilt slicing through my heart. “I should have protected her, Olly. That should have been me with the burns, suffering in bed, suffering under the scrutiny of the Professed Order as they decide what to do with me. Not her. I couldn’t even stay at Cathedral Reims. If it had been me and not her, she’d still be enduring the trials, on her way to being professed. Her life has far more potential than mine does.”
Oliver crosses over to me, sits down, and draws me toward him. His gloved hand rubs the back of my neck. His whisper caresses my ear. “That’s not true, Amelia.” He kisses the top of my head. “She’s your friend. She would have done anything to protect you, just as I’m certain you would have done anything to protect her if you had known. Colette has always known about the Shadowmen. Her youngest sister died from diphtheria, and she came and visited Colette as a Shadowman. Colette never told me what happened to her sister after that.”
“I never knew that about her, but I don’t blame her for never telling me. But why do you know?”
His hand pauses on the back of my neck. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”
Tears spill over my eyelashes, but I wipe them away, tired of crying. “Olly…”
“You might not want to be with me in the way that you do now if you knew. I wouldn’t blame you, but I’d like to hold on to you, even for a little bit.”
I lace my fingers through his, rubbing my thumb on top of his hand. “But then I wouldn’t be able to be with you knowing that you keep things from me. I don’t think there is anything you can tell me right now that will make me not want to be with you.”
“I’ve never done anything bad, I can promise you that much. But--”
“But what? Just tell me, Olly. You know what I’ve had to endure since Colette’s death. I feel like I’m strong enough to handle anything now.” I now realize this is true. In spite of all that has happened, I haven’t given up on this life. I cling to it, when anyone else might have wanted to let go in favor of exploring what is after. “Tell me.”
“Like Asch, Sash, and now Colette, I am a Shadowman. Colette had an inkling when she met me before you came here, since she knew her sister was one. She already knew the characteristics of a Shadowman. Granted, her sister didn’t look like me, but I had no problem telling Colette when she told me she was a witch.”
A twinge of jealousy rattles in my veins knowing that Colette and Oliver shared secrets I was never privy to. They have never stepped beyond the boundaries of acquaintances though. Their interactions were never friendly like my interactions with Oliver. They were often formal, always pertaining to something that had to do with Cathedral Reims. And this was before I came to Cathedral Reims. I didn’t know what Shadowmen were, that they even existed, that I was a witch, so Oliver had no reason to divulge anything, just as Colette never had a reason.
“Are you disgusted with me, Amelia?” Oliver asks. “You’re
awfully silent.”
I shake my head and remove a glove. I reach out and touch his face with my bare fingers, feeling the coolness of his skin. I look more deeply into his eyes too, trying to find that trace of Shadowman. Oliver was likely so hesitant to tell me because he assumed I would think he was like Asch or Sash or the rest of those Shadowmen. If all witches turn into those creatures though, then they cannot all be bad--especially Colette. There is nothing in me that would judge all Shadowmen to be alike. There is nothing in me that would judge all humans to be alike, after all.
“You don’t look like one though. Why?”
I take my hand off his face and he kisses my fingertips, his cool lips sending beautiful shivers that I want to stay. Now his “blood disorder” makes more sense. I’ve never touched a Shadowman besides Olly, but I can only assume that because they are dead, they would be cold. “As soon as I turned, I immediately took the blood of a human who already died. I didn’t know human blood would make me look like one. I just wanted to cling to some essence of humanity. I hated the way I felt after I turned, which made me appreciate my own blood in life, my ability to bleed. That’s why I took it.”
His explanation brings me back to the train, to the vision, to the Shadowmen talking about Purgatory and taking the blood of a human. “Purgatory--”
Oliver encloses his hand around my own. “This is so painful to talk about, Amelia. Can we speak later? I know you have more questions, but I need to gather my thoughts. Tomorrow night perhaps?”
I groan. “But that’s so long.” I don’t mean the waiting for answers, but being able to be like this with him again.
He smiles, gives me one kiss on the lips. “But I’ll be there, I promise. Your Father and brother must be worrying about you. I just need time, Amelia. Talking about one’s own death isn’t exactly pleasant.”
I suppose remembering one’s death would be traumatizing, so I return the kiss in understanding. “Tomorrow night it is then, but you cannot skirt anything that I ask you. I want to know everything about you, Olly, even the darkest parts of your past.”
Oliver smiles, proffers his arm, and leads me back through the winding streets of Norbury to my Father and brother. When I look behind me to bid good-bye to Oliver, he has disappeared amongst the crowd. When I turn back around, Nathaniel proffers a doll in my arms with sunshine hair, bright blue eyes, and an alabaster complexion. She is a delicate thing, a perfect likeness of Colette, although the dress is too gaudy, with its lace trimming and blue silk material. Colette has always preferred hiding her body from the world. But she would look beautiful in this doll’s dress.
Either out of nostalgia or depraved wanting, I decide to call the doll Colette.
Chapter Seventeen
In the morning, I spend the day cleaning my room again for Oliver’s arrival at night. Father retires at nine, so Oliver should be outside my window by then. Then I will let him in through the back since the door there is quiet. Getting him to my room shouldn’t be hard since we no longer have maids or servants. Before, getting him through would have been impossible, particularly with Lily’s careful eye.
I have the window wide open to push out the musty air, and I spend my time dusting the furniture, both sweeping and scrubbing the floor, and scenting my room with bowls of rose water I set on my vanity. Later, if I can, I might root around the house for scented candles. I don’t want to just spend tonight having Oliver explain more things to me about these Shadowmen and Purgatory; I want to have a meaningful moment with him, a deep connection that will strengthen our relationship. I’m not certain if I necessarily want to do what we did in my dream. I’m willing, of course, but I suppose I will let Oliver be the one to decide.
As I go toward my window to beat my bed sheets in the snowy air, I spy a stopped carriage far down our drive. A figure emerges. I throw the sheet down and go downstairs to Father’s study at the back of the house near the back door. His door stands ajar, so I step in, finding him deep in what I assume to be paperwork that involves accounting. Visible dust stands out on books and his desk.
“I think we have a visitor,” I tell him.
He turns around, a sheen of sweat on his brow. Just from the glossy look in his eyes, I can tell he was lost in numbers. He smiles. “I was just thinking of launching my own business, balancing out my budget with some start-up money that I’ll be able to scrounge together from savings.”
Father’s happy tone sends a shred of hope through me. If he can find happiness by having Nathaniel and I back, then maybe I can find happiness living a life that doesn’t involve being in a convent.
He rises and leads me out of the door, heading toward the entrance. “A visitor at this hour though. How peculiar. I haven’t had a visitor in years, especially in the afternoon. Rather rude, if you ask me. Decorum demands a calling card.”
An insistent, metallic knock greets our ears as we enter the darkened foyer. Father undoes the chain and swings the doors wide open. The visitor is Theosodore Branch. At first my nerves fly into a frenzy over his presence because I still associate him too much with trials and punishments. Rationality then tames my nerves, which now surge with excitement over the thought that he may be here to ask me back to Cathedral Reims. Mother Aurelia said she’d write, but she never said how the letter would arrive here. It isn’t in her nature to deliver anything informal. Cold letters, in her opinion, have no meaning unless they are delivered with care. Although Theosodore isn’t exactly the person I would choose to deliver anything with care.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Father says. He looks behind Theosodore and spies the carriage, his mouth falling into a hard line. “And what are you here for today? You aren’t here to evict me, are you?”
Theosodore presents Father with his signature jagged smile, throwing a sharp look of fear through Father. I don’t think that man knows how to smile any other way. “Not in the least, Mr. Gareth. I am here to extend an official invite to the city of Malva to attend a witch burning a week from today at Parson Hill. Well, this isn’t necessarily an invitation, but an official order from Pope Gilford.”
My stomach twists at the mention of ‘witch burning,’ at the frankness of Theosodore’s words, and how he can speak them so easily without considering that behind every witch is a human being.
Theosodore continues. “He wants all well-to-do families there. There will be check-ins at the city to make certain you are there; otherwise, you will be arrested.”
Father puts a hand on my shoulder, seeming to sense the knotting of every single muscle within me. Coincidences do not exist in my world. Something spurred this event, something that made Pope Gilford want to arrange all of this. Witches have never been burned, to my knowledge. I have no doubt witches have been killed, but there was never an official law that claimed they had to be. There also wasn’t one that claimed they couldn’t be, but this event makes me think Pope Gilford wants to make this law, for whatever reason. This puts Nathaniel and I in an even more precarious position. Though I haven’t officially proven I’m a witch because my fire hasn’t come, I can see the Shadowmen, and that is proof enough that I am one. It is only a matter of time, however, before that fire does come out of me. There must be a way I can control it.
Father steps up to Theosodore. “Must my children attend? My youngest is only eight.”
Theosodore’s smile widens. “All must attend, Mr. Gareth.” His eyes dart over to me, his grin turning lascivious. I then realize he has never seen me outside of my gray dress. I’ve worn a corset since coming home, one that reveals every curve of my body and hides nothing as my shapeless dress did. “Do you mind if I come in for tea? The journey here has been terribly long.” He looks me up and down. My hands fly to cover my chest and waist. “And I would like to know how Miss Gareth here has been doing since leaving Cathedral Reims. I’m certain Mother Aurelia would be delighted to know.”
Father seems like he wants to say no, but he has always been a man who could never say no. “You may come in.�
� He leads Theosodore to our parlor.
I’m certain Theosodore expects me to stay, but I want nothing to do with him and his roaming gaze. “Father, if you don’t mind, I’ll be retreating to the library for some studying. I want to make certain I’ll be prepared for when I start school.”
Father smiles. “She’ll be attending a finishing school at the start of spring. It was her decision. I’m very proud of her.”
A brief glimmer of dissatisfaction appears in Theosodore’s eyes. I hurry off to the library, grabbing my doll along the way, before his look becomes something more.
#
In the library, I sit among a pile of books, my Colette doll sitting in front of me. Our library is small, the size of my room; yet, the shelves are brimming with books coated in a layer of dust.
“Can you believe that man is here, Colette?” I ask the doll.
I try to imagine what Colette would say in response to this question but can come up with nothing. Perhaps she’d give him a cheeky response. Sadly, I know nothing about her. Colette, for me, exists only in a convent, never doing anything that isn’t for Deus in some manner. She will never be a Shadowman in my mind.
I stroke the doll’s straw-textured hair, sadness swelling my heart. I never knew Colette enough. “I’m sorry,” I say to the doll. And that is all I can say.
Talking to an inanimate object is silly, but I feel less silly than if I were speaking to the air. It is comforting to speak to something that looks like Colette. Even though the doll will not answer, I desperately miss saying Colette’s name. She is out there though. Will I ever see her? I’m not certain, and I don’t know if I’d want to.
“It’s unnerving that he’s here. I wonder how many so-called invitations he’s extended. And I wonder if he’s asked to have tea with any of those other families.”
When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) Page 14
