The Rose Master (28 page)

August’s words, so cold and indifferent, had left me emptied out, as if someone had carved me like a pumpkin. Had I imagined the tense moment the night before? Had I mistaken friendliness for an affection even I didn’t understand? Maybe Miss Bellingham, whoever and wherever she was, truly did still have a hold of his heart. Maybe he was waiting to be rid of this wraith to return to her, and I was just the one who’d help set him free.

I’d never been in love, had never come anywhere near it, so I couldn’t tell which part of me was bleeding, my pride or my heart. Was this how Dora had felt all that time, as if she’d swallowed fire?

It all needed to end. We (a confusing word) needed to destroy the creature and get on with our lives, whatever that meant for him. For me, it would mean picking up dirt on a daily basis. Back to what I was used to.

Why, then, did the thought leave me breathless?

I sat at the dining table and focused on the words.

With “Alchroth,” the first word in the chant, I had to make sure the “ch” was pronounced as “k,” and that the vowels were pure. Having no idea what the words could mean, I memorized them by rote, learning the first two words, then adding a third, then going back to the beginning and trying again. I wrote them down as I spoke them.

The creature was near. I could feel it, ducking behind me, breathing against my back, doing everything it could to crack my delicate concentration.

Finding myself under the protective mirror’s gaze, its hum a blanket of sound around me, I felt little fear, only the cold becoming a serious nuisance as the minutes wore on. Finally, it spoke.

“Anne, why are you going to all this trouble?”

I ignored its words and kept reading.

“You know he’s just using you to get what he wants. You must realize I can’t allow that to happen. He’s risking your life, and he doesn’t even care for you. You could never fill his heart, you silly girl.”

I held myself still, not allowing my pain to show.

The wraith cackled, making me shiver.

“Do you really believe you can defeat me? I can smell your fear. Maybe August was right, and you are nothing more than a maid.”

I flinched as I remembered the moment the wraith spoke of.

“This is the last warning I will give you, Anne. The next time we meet, you’ll be seconds from death. Think about that, sweet girl, while you stamp those words into your mind. They will be useless to you when your blood soaks the floor. We are done playing, Anne.”

The current gave my shoulder a push and then left.

“We never were,” I said to the empty room.

August didn’t come back down until dinner time, and by then, I was so lost in the strange words that I barely registered his presence. He nursed a cup of tea between his hands as he sat down in front of me.

I kept my eyes on the paper that was wrinkled and stained, although the concentration had left me as soon as his soft scent brushed up to my nose. Maybe if I kept my gaze lowered, he would leave me be.

Of course, no such thing happened.

“Have you memorized the words?”

“I think so.”

“You better be surer than that if you attempt to help me.”

I don’t know why the asperity in his voice irked me as much as it did. He’d spoken to me in that fashion before, and I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t continue to do so in the future.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t, then,” I said.

His laughter was a vicious thing, full of teeth and claws.

“Then what, may I ask, are you still doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps you should leave, then.”

My head spun as I rose from my seat with a gust of cloth. “Perhaps I should,
sir
.”

I spat the last word at him and left the room.

I slammed into my old room, ignoring the cold and the decisively unforgiving atmosphere. I would be damned if I retreated to the master’s rooms again.

In those first few moments, I was prepared to leave by foot to another manor, to anywhere that didn’t smell like roses or carry cold like a shawl on its shoulders. Anywhere away from him.

But reason took over as my tired mind stopped banging about my head. I could do no such thing, of course. For one, I had very little money, no references, and, in all honesty, I didn’t fancy traveling through the forest on foot just as the sun was setting. No, I had to remain and face whatever was coming.

Sighing, I went back to the kitchen to put together a dinner I was sure neither of us would eat.

I carried the covered dishes to the dining room, afraid of finding August still sitting there, but not quite relieved when I didn’t. I sat at the table and took up the words again, finding a vague comfort in their sounds.

An hour later (an hour of waiting that dug itself deep as a splinter into my chest), he still hadn’t come to eat. The room was dark, almost in complete darkness, and I had been unable to read the lines before me for long minutes.

I shrugged and returned to the servant’s quarters.

The last thing on my mind was sleep, even after all the disrupted nights. I shuddered at the idea of lying still. I wondered if this was how August felt every day, that unquenchable shifting of energy that made him who he was.

I lit the lamp on my night table and leant my silver cross against it. Kicking my shoes off, I sat down on the bed.

A name. It all came down to a name. Tomorrow, I would face that creature to wrestle it from its jaws. I wondered if I’d be able to before it killed me.

Shaking my head in an attempt to also shake my fears away, I began to chant to myself, growing calmer as the words came to my lips with ease, frowning when one would stick to my tongue, sending me fumbling. I kept thoughts away by humming, filling my head with noisy minutia until not a single, fat thought could squeeze in.

I spent two hours in an almost trance-like state as I hummed or whispered to myself.

My body finally began to sway with sleep.

I had just placed the crumpled paper in my pocket for safekeeping and was pulling back my bed’s covers when the knock sounded against my door. A whisper of knuckles that made me shiver.

I don’t remember walking to the door, but I must have because I suddenly found the doorknob in my hand, turning in my shaking palm.

He was barely visible in the gloom. His face was veiled in shadows, yet I felt the familiar tug of his eyes on mine.

“I’m sorry, Anne. I thought it was the right thing, pushing you away. Forgive me, it’s not.”

He reached out, past my face, and I felt the weight of my freed hair as it tumbled down.

His hands lay with a hesitant flutter on its waves. And then his fingers plunged in, cupping the base of my head. I gasped at his touch. He kissed me, swallowing the pain and matching it with his own as our lips became torches, fighting against each other.

August’s arms clasped around me, dragging out a low moan from his throat. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath, everything in me ached and vibrated, the buzzing of blood filling my ears as my heart crashed against my ribs in a panic I didn’t understand.

We were pressed so close, burning so tightly, that there was not a single edge of my skin that was not as alive as it had ever been. His thin arms pressed against my body with such urgency. His rose scent was as overwhelming as when I’d first stepped into the manor’s grounds.

I didn’t want to release him.

From somewhere behind me, a noise began, a growl that seemed to seep into my very skin, digging down into my bones until every part of me echoed with the sound.

I didn’t have time to do anything but gasp as a frozen claw wrenched me backward. There was nothing, then.

Nothing but darkness.

TWENTY-
six

The pounding in my head brought me back up to consciousness. I opened my eyes to a tight darkness that pressed against me. My body was stiff and frozen, but my head was screaming in pain.

I attempted to sit up, only to roil in dizziness. I stopped and moved again, a bit slower, inching my body up layer by layer until I was upright. My hand went up to my head, and I winced at the stinging my fingers produced. They came away wet with a slick blackness that could only be blood.

What had happened? I couldn’t recall anything past . . .

My skin warmed at the memory of burning arms, of a wave of dark hair against my brow. My skin felt raw where it had touched August’s, but I smiled in the dark at the sweet discomfort. Taking a look around, I realized I was sitting on the floor, that I’d most likely been lying there for a while if my stiffness could be trusted.

I stood, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and I saw I was still in my room. A glitter on the floor told me the whereabouts of my lamp, now many sharp pieces scattered on the wooden boards.

Beside them, there was a twisted lump of metal.

Oh, no.

I bent down and picked up what had been my cross, now, nothing more than a shapeless, sad thing. Cursing under my breath, I moved to the door, which was wide open. I leant against it so my unsteady legs could relearn to sustain me, and felt something wet under my bare feet.

A jolt rose up my legs to my chest, and my breath was swallowed up by a gasp.

August.

The last few seconds before I’d been knocked unconscious flashed through my head. A scream of fury, a growl twisted by hate, a wall of frozen air flinging me backward, away from August’s arms. My hand brushed the door and felt another slick streak of dark liquid.