Her face contorts with grief, and she wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing into my hair. “I don’t want you to go.”
A lump rises in my throat as I rub her back. “I know. But we’ll see each other again. I won’t stray too far.”
“Where will you go?”
I shrug. Although I’ve given up on thoughts of moving back to Isola—mostly because I can’t afford it—I’ve yet to settle on my next destination. “Maybe I’ll wait until the Verity Hotel is complete, then visit my new friend Foxglove at Maplehearth Palace.”
She pulls back, eyes red. “Promise me you’ll be happy.”
I nod. “I will.”
She squeezes me one more time, then releases me. Side by side, we descend the stairs. A mix of terror and exhilaration washes over me. I have no idea what to expect. I’ve never traveled on my own before, much less lived on my own. But I know I can do this. I must. And just like I promised Nina, I will be happy.
We reach the bottom landing when frantic footsteps draw near. For a split second, I wonder if it’s Father coming to see me off, or even to stop me from leaving. But of course, it isn’t him; I know it even before Susan rounds the corner. “Miss Bellefleur,” she says, somewhat out of breath, “there’s someone here to see you.”
A spike of alarm rushes through me. Could it be Imogen? Or Elliot? Both together? The thought is absurd but sends my mind reeling just the same. “Who is it?”
“I don’t recognize her. She’ll only say that she’s a friend.”
Relief and disappointment root me back to the ground, and after a few steadying breaths, my head stops spinning. I give Susan a nod. “I will greet her at the door, whoever she is.”
Nina remains at my side, looking just as perplexed as I feel.
It’s probably some random person I’ve met in passing, coming to make my acquaintance, I tell myself. Or perhaps it’s a detestable reporter, here to take my statement on the latest scandal circulating town.
I steel myself against whatever confrontation awaits as we draw near the front hall, but nothing could have prepared me for the figure I find standing just inside my door. I stop short, eyes wide. “Bertha?”
The fae woman smiles wide and closes the distance between us. Before I know what’s happening, I find myself wrapped in her embrace. My arms return the gesture before my mind catches up.
Once we pull away, I waste no time asking, “What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Rochester sent me here on business, but I can’t stay long. I promised him I wouldn’t.”
A sliver of ice pierces my heart, and several more questions beg to be asked. How is he? Is he back to being a wolf already? Are the children happy now that the curse is broken? Pushing all these questions away, I focus on one I think might hurt the least. “What business could Mr. Rochester have regarding me?”
Without a word, she gestures toward the door and lets herself out onto the doorstep.
Nina and I exchange a glance, then follow her. My sister’s fingers find mine and give them a comforting squeeze. I can’t help the way my eyes prick with tears as a result.
We join Bertha on our front stoop, and I see two of Father’s household servants hefting a large chest between them. They appear to have brought it from a coach that awaits along the sidewalk, one I’ve never seen before. I furrow my brow and look to Bertha. “What is this about?”
She waves a hand from the chest to the coach. “It’s all yours, my dear. Courtesy of Mr. Rochester.”
The chest suddenly makes sense, and I narrow my eyes. “I already told him I want none of his money.”
She grimaces. “Well, I suggest you rethink that. He won’t take it back, nor will he accept the coach to return. He has no need for it. It’s in your care now.”
I’m about to argue when Nina elbows me and burns me with a pointed look. Even without words, I know what she’s trying to convey, and she’s right. I don’t have the luxury of being prideful when it comes to money right now. The coach provides an element of confusion, for it couldn’t truly be mine. With that thought comes the horrifying realization that Elliot could have heard about my situation and decided to save me the indignity of walking to a hotel on foot. But how could word have gotten out so fast? And why would he care, anyway?
“Where do you want this?” one of the servants asks as they reach the bottom step.
“I suppose it should go back on the coach.” My words come out slow, a new plan forming as I speak. Maybe I don’t have to stay at a hotel in town after all. Perhaps I can head straight to a more desirable location at once. But where should I go?
The servants pause, then begin to turn around.
“You should at least look inside it first,” Bertha says.
Again, the men pause and look to me for guidance.
I sigh. “Very well. Bring it just inside.”
Nina and I step out of the way while the chest is brought inside. The two men leave it in the middle of the front hall, then take places near the wall, awaiting further instruction. A sudden trepidation washes over me as I approach the chest. Slowly, I lower to my knees before it only to realize I don’t have the key.
Just as I think it, Bertha appears at my side, handing a brass key over my shoulder. I take it from her with trembling fingers and insert it into the keyhole. Once unlocked, I flip the latches. Bracing my hands on the lid, I pause, my pulse racing. Why am I so nervous to open it? I already know what’s inside. Twenty thousand quartz rounds. Payment for a bargain I completed, despite the fact that I forced Elliot to dissolve it.
Nina crouches at my side and puts a soft hand on my back. “Go on,” she whispers.
With a deep breath, I lift the lid. Inside, glittering orbs of smooth quartz greet me, far more dazzling than the small, oddly shaped chips in my purse. Even without counting, it seems like there are far more than twenty thousand rounds inside. But my attention is quickly drawn to what lies on top of the quartz. A letter.
I lift it and scan the script written in a hand I’ve only noted on a few spare scraps here and there—Elliot’s handwriting. A lump rises in my throat as I read it.
Dearest Gemma,
I am gifting you one hundred thousand quartz rounds. Do not try to give it back, I will not accept it. I also leave you this coach and four. Its services, care, and driver have been paid in full for a year in advance. I have instructed the driver to remain with you upon penalty of death. Yes, he now knows who I am and he will not defy me, so don’t even try to send the coach back. You will not defy me either, for I leave you with one final request, demand, and gift.
Go, Gemma. Be free.
And know that, wherever you go, I will always love you.
Elliot.
I’m so torn and confused, for several moments I can only stare at the letter. Then I read it thrice over, puzzling out his words. Why would he leave me with so much money? Why remind me of his love when we parted on such bad terms?
Go, Gemma. Be free.
And why in the name of the saints did he write it with such a somber air, as if it were a will?
Seeking answers, I turn to find Bertha. But she’s already gone.
With several more bags now packed and all the books I own bundled up and ready to be loaded into my new coach, I face my journey with a new sense of possibility. I still don’t know where I’ll go, but I can at least ask the driver to take me to a new town while I decide on my final destination. The only thing that dampens my outlook is the dread that’s settled into my heart ever since I read Elliot’s letter. That, and the fact that Nina continues to remind me about it every spare moment she has.
“Are you at least going to stop by and thank him?” she asks, hurrying along at my side while I carry my final bag of possessions down the stairs and toward the front hall.
“No, Nina,” I tell her for the fifth or sixth time. Every question has been about whether I’ll write to him, thank him, or send her to thank him for me. And every answer of mine is the same. No. No. Absolu
tely not.
“But it was so kind of him, and he clearly still loves you.”
We reach the front step, where I hand my bag off to Susan, who in turn takes it to the coach. Seeing as the front hall is now clear, that’s the last of my things. I turn to my sister and force a smile. There’s no point leaving annoyed. It’s not like she can help being a hopeless romantic. I gather her in my arms. “I love you, Nina. Take care of Father while you can.”
“Will you come back for my wedding?”
“Of course I will.” We pull apart slightly, and I try not to focus on how my heart sinks. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss—”
“What did you do?” The voice is so unwelcome and startling that it makes my skin crawl. Clenching my jaw, I release my sister to face Imogen standing at the bottom of the steps, hands on her hips. Her face is furious, blonde curls a tangled mess. She looks as if she hasn’t slept in a week. Or perhaps she’s been crying.
Narrowing my eyes, I descend the stairs and face her. “What are you talking about, Imogen?”
“What. Did. You. Do?” She bites out each word through clenched teeth.
I release a frustrated sigh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I have somewhere to be. Have a good life.” I turn my back on her and make my way to the open doors of the coach.
“Are you going back to him?”
I pause and whirl back toward her, brow furrowed. “No, I’m leaving Vernon.”
She lets out a bitter laugh and takes a few steps closer. “Sure you are. I know what’s really going on. You’ve decided you’ll be the one to break his curse.”
My heart begins to hammer against my ribs. “Imogen, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Then a question I dread to ask flies from the tip of my tongue. “Are you and Mr. Rochester not married?”
She throws her hands in the air. “No, Gemma. Don’t play stupid. I know this was all your doing.”
Nina hurries down the steps and storms up to Imogen. “Don’t you dare talk to my sister like that.”
Imogen rounds on Nina. “You should be careful before your reputation is tainted by her wicked ways.”
Nina’s mouth falls open, and she takes a step closer. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was preparing for a fight. “How dare you! Who do you think you are?”
“It’s all right, Nina,” I say gently. “I can handle this.”
Nina pins Imogen with a seething glare but takes a step back.
I face Imogen, my fingers curling into fists. “Now, I am only going to say this once more. I have no idea what in the name of the saints you’re going on about. Speak clearly and say what it is you’re so desperate to hint at.”
Passers-by have stopped to gawk, but I pay them no heed. All I know is if Imogen doesn’t explain herself in a matter of seconds, I’ll shake the words out of her myself.
Finally, Imogen turns up her nose and speaks. “I’ve been waiting for him to propose like you said he would, but he wouldn’t see me all week. I’ve come to call every single day, and yet each day it’s the same. Mr. Rochester is busy, he’ll see me tomorrow. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he was merely preparing for our upcoming nuptials. Then finally, he accepts my visit today. I find him outside in an unkempt courtyard of brambles staring at some horrid, withering rose. Minutes passed and he didn’t say a word to me. Then finally, I threw all propriety to the wind and asked if he was going to marry me. You know what he did?”
She waits for me to answer, but I can’t bring myself to speak.
“He shook his head,” she finally says. “And when I asked him why, he gave me a single word as his reply. Can you guess what that word was? It was Gemma. Your name is the reason he won’t marry me, and he refused to say a word more, much less look at me. Why is that? What have you done?”
My eyes go unfocused, and a chill crawls up my spine. He didn’t marry Imogen. Nor did he break the curse himself. That means…
Saints, no.
“Tell me what you did!” Imogen lunges forward and grasps my wrist in her fingers, squeezing hard.
I yank my arm back, but her grip is painfully tight. “Let me go!”
Nina tugs on Imogen’s other arm. “Get away from her, you lunatic.”
She ignores my sister’s attempts to pull her away. “Not until you confess. Tell me the truth. Tell me you’re just like Mother said. Just like your father said. You’re a whore. A temptress. A seductress. You let me fall for Mr. Rochester, just to yank him away.”
My stomach sinks with guilt; she’s partially right. I orchestrated this scheme to trick her, to punish her for how much I dislike her, for the awful things she’s said to me. And yet, it’s clear she’s hurting, funneling all her grief into rage. It’s as familiar to me as a mirror. “I’ve wronged you,” I say, speaking through clenched teeth. “And that I am sorry for. I never should have involved you with Mr. Rochester, and I never should have lied to you.”
Nina’s eyes dart from me to Imogen, her expression perplexed.
Imogen’s eyes widen. “So you admit it! You’re a shameless harlot!”
“Think what you will of me, I don’t care. I meant it when I said I’m sorry, and I’ll mean it for the rest of my days.” I step closer, sharpening my tone. “But if you don’t release me at once, I’ll break your freezing arm!”
She holds my gaze for a matter of seconds before going a shade paler. Then she takes a reluctant step back and slides her fingers from around my wrist. Nina steps between us, burning Imogen with an angry scowl and forcing her to step back even farther. If matters weren’t so dire, I’d have time to admire Nina’s ferocity in my defense.
But I don’t have time. In fact, I might be too late.
Nina seems to understand, even without knowing the severity of the situation. “Go,” she whispers.
With that, I dart to the front of the coach. “Thirty-three Whitespruce Lane,” I call to the driver. “Hurry!”
40
The manor is as quiet as a tomb when I reach it. I enter the front doors and am taken aback when I find the front hall crowded with wolves. Not the wolf-people I’m used to but actual canines. Some sit back on their haunches, heads hanging low. Others rest on their bellies or their sides. A few stalk from one side of the hall to the other, restlessness written in every move. I take a step inside the hall, and all stop to look at me, dozens of sets of eyes locking me in their predatory gaze.
That’s when I realize—it’s been nearly a month since I first came here and fell into Elliot’s trap. A moon cycle has passed, and it is once again the time of the full moon. Time when the curse allows the wolves of the manor to shift into their unseelie forms.
Despite knowing the wolves are the same creatures I’ve spent time with over the past few weeks, I can’t help but be unnerved by their silent, prowling presence. I swallow hard before speaking. “Where’s the king?”
A wolf with tawny fur pads toward me, but a shaggy brown—the first wolf I ever saw when I came here—leaps before me, a growl tearing through its mouth. “Who are you?” It speaks with Gray’s creaky voice, filled with an uncharacteristic rage and suspicion.
“It’s me…it’s Gemma,” I say, voice trembling as I lurch a step back.
“I don’t know you,” she says.
The tawny wolf bounds in front of Gray, trying to block her view of me. “Easy. We know her.” This voice belongs to Blackbeard.
“I don’t know her. I don’t even know you.”
My heart clenches. Gray’s memories have been taken. Does that mean the curse…no. If Blackbeard still has his memories—or at least some of them—then the curse can’t have come to claim them yet.
“It’s all right,” Blackbeard says, along with a low, almost soothing growl. “She’s a friend.”
Gray lets out a frustrated bark, then takes off down the hall and up the stairs.
Blackbeard pads forward, head low. “He’s in the rose courtyard.”
&n
bsp; That’s all I need to hear. I rush down the hall, past more wolves, hoping I’m not stopped by anyone else who’s forgotten me. Desperation won’t let me slow down or feel the fear I should be experiencing amidst these creatures. But as I reach the doors that lead to the back gardens, I pull up short. Four small wolves huddle along one of the walls, whimpering. At the sight of me, one lifts its head and comes bounding over.
“Why did you leave?” comes Micah’s furious voice.
Another young wolf perks up at the sight of me. “Do…we know her?” It’s Jenny’s voice.
A lump sears the back of my throat. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to leave you—”
“Then why did you?” Micah asks with an angry snarl. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
He’s right. In my haste to flee Elliot, I said my goodbyes to no one. I simply got dressed and left on foot without even looking behind me. Guilt weighs me down as I recall the promise I made to Gray—the one stating I would take care of the children, should the worst come to pass. “I thought you would be taken care of. I thought the curse would break and you’d be wolves again, running free in the mountains by now. I never would have left if I thought otherwise.”
Micah’s shoulders heave as he continues to whimper. I slowly extend my hand until it makes contact with his soft head. He lets out a bark that sounds more like a sob, then a violent shudder ripples from his head to his tail. The fur dissolves and leaves Micah’s seelie form in its place. He collides into me with an embrace. “I’m scared. I don’t want to lose my memories. I don’t want everyone to die.”
I pull him close, breathing deep to keep from unraveling into sobs of my own. “I don’t want that either.”
He looks up at me, tears streaking over his face. “What will happen?”
I crouch down. “I don’t know, Micah. First I need to speak with the king.”
He sniffles, then reluctantly pulls away. With a trembling hand, he points toward the garden.
My feet feel heavy as I leave the children behind and enter the garden. As I approach the rose courtyard, my heart quickens and my stomach churns along with it. All I can think is, what if I’m too late?
Curse of the Wolf King: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Entangled with Fae) Page 29
