Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  Annabeth never forgot to address her with polite etiquette, nor had Ariana ever seen her so agitated.

  “Why not?” Ariana asked, though her skin crawled and, in her heart, she knew the answer.

  “My aunt, when she was young, was a servant in that man’s household.” The fear and disgust in Annabeth’s voice made Ariana’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “He’s a bad man, my Lady. I don’t want him to see you. He shouldn’t see you.”

  She rushed down the hall then, only turning at the end of it to make a shooing motion with shaking hands. Ariana turned on her heel and ran to her room. She couldn’t say why, but she’d pushed her vanity in front of the door that night, something that she was immediately reprimanded for the following day at breakfast. But her father’s heart had not been in the reprimand and his eyes were knowing. She’d asked about the man at breakfast and her father’s answer had been short and evasive.

  “Count Repugian had business to discuss with me,” he’d answered her. “But we did not come to an agreement, so do not worry yourself about it. He will not be a frequent visitor. Indeed, I very much doubt he will visit again.”

  Ariana had been unaccountably relieved she would not see him again, and so had her father. He usually liked men with titles to visit.

  “I remember him, yes,” Ariana finally answered. Her appetite fled with the memory of the man’s deep-set eyes, leering grin and looming presence. To her, he felt like a dark corner, a shadow hiding something.

  “I shouldn’ have pried, miss, but I brought them tea that night, so I overheard the Count’s offer. He wanted to marry ya.” Her face twisted in disgust. “Him who’s been married three times already to girls yer age. And widowed three times.”

  Ariana’s mouth fell open and her stomach dropped to her feet. “What did father say?”

  “He told the Count he was aware of the compliment he was payin’ ya in asking for yer hand, but that you were yet too young to marry,” Ruth answered.

  “But father has been trying to marry me to other men for almost a year now. Did he change his mind?”

  Ariana couldn’t help but be grateful that her father had not wished to marry her off, then, but she couldn’t account for this change in heart.

  “Lady Grey, I know it may not always seem it, but yer father loves ya in his own way,” she answered carefully. “And he did not care for the Count.”

  “You mean my father lied to him? Why?”

  “He did not want that fate for ya, lass. It’s why he has been growing more and more upset with ya, of late.” She shook her head. “The Count was persistent. He said he would wait a year, and if ya had yet to be wed would appeal to your father again. He dare not refuse such a powerful man a second time. He hasn’ been trying to marry ya off to be rid of ya, lass. He has been tryin’ to marry ya to save ya.”

  Ariana sat down hard on her bed, placing the still-full plate next to her on the bed. “I can’t marry that man. He...he makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

  Ruthie nodded. “I know, dearie. I do. And ya can’t stop the spells. But yer da can’t pretend anymore. He has gone to invite the Count to dinner in two days’ time. I was told, so I could cook for you all.”

  Fear and disgust closed Ariana’s throat. She could not find words strong enough to protest the injustice of such a match. How could her father not advocate for her better? It was his job to protect her. She knew it was also his job to provide for her, but surely throwing her at the mercy of such a man was not protecting or providing for her.

  “But...that’s not right, Ruth. It’s not right! . Don’t I get a say? What if I tell father I don’t want to marry him, that he scares me, that the maids whisper terrible things? What if…”

  Ruthie put a hand on Ariana’s should. “Listen to me, Lass. We are women. We are told we don’t have a say, that we have to leave the thinking to the men. All that means is we have to be more clever than those who do have a say. We have to get what we want by makin’ the men in our lives think it was their idea. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”

  Ariana’s stomach hurt and her head spun. She simply shrugged in answer, not having the strength to tell Ruthie she had no idea how to make a smarter, older, wickeder man do what she wanted.

  Ruthie pointed to the cake. “Eat. Ya need yer strength for what lies ahead. Besides, it’s my best recipe.”

  Ariana made to argue, but Ruthie put up a finger. “Eat and listen, lass. Listen to a woman who has had to navigate the rough waters of men before.”

  Ariana put a small forkful of cake in her mouth to appease Ruthie. Ruthie sat next to her on the bed. “Ya often seem to hold back when those spells of yers take over. What do ya think would happen if ya didn’ hold back? If you sorta even fed ‘em?”

  Ariana frowned, chewed, then answered, “You mean, if I tried to have a spell? I suppose whatever was going to happen would just happen sooner rather than later. I don’t have much control over them. They will eventually happen no matter how hard I try to stop them.”

  Ruthie smiled. “Well, while I think yer right ya can’t stop ‘em, maybe that don’ mean ya don’ have control. Have you ever tried to control ‘em, lass? Direct ‘em?”

  Ariana frowned, then grinned, catching on. “No, I haven’t...but if I did…”

  Ruthie patted her on the head. “If ya happened to have a very bad, very messy, very scary spell when the Count was here, it might just convince him he don’ want the trouble of ya. Think on it, lass, and eat that cake. Maybe get some practice in before the Count gets here. Remember, we have to be more clever than men. You make that man remember that he don’ want nothin’ to do with ya.”

  For the first time in the past year, Ariana smiled her full-toothed smile. Ruthie sighed and stood up. “Ya have the most beautiful smile. Full of fairy mischief. Yer eyes...I swear they glow when yer happy. Now, eat that cake. Dr. Ruthie’s orders.”

  Ariana’s giggle sounded like the high chime of a bicycle bell. “Yes, Dr. Ruthie.” In a very unlady-like fit of mischief, she shoved almost one-fourth the slice into her mouth, which sent Ruth into gales of laughter.

  “It couldn’t hurt if ya showed the Count how much cake you can shovel in yer gob.” Ruthie winked at Ariana, then left.

  The two days leading up to the Count’s dinner raced by in a restless, sleepless stupor. Ariana’s mind would not stop spinning. She’d been sleeping poorly for weeks, or rather she felt she’d been awake even while sleeping lately. After the initial dreams she could not remember, the ones just on the edge of her consciousness, she was troubled by the most horrifying nightmares.

  All the nightmares were the same, possibly the dreams were, too, but she only remembered the nightmares. In the nightmares, she was in a room she didn’t know, in a dark manor she did not recognize. Though she’d never seen it, she knew it to be Count Repugnian’s home.

  She could not find a way out of the dark bedroom, though she knew she must escape. She turned around, only to face a single, open window. The dark purple drapery flapped in the breeze in the frigid winter air. She opened the window to its full width, and leaned her head out. Icy mist coated her raven hair. She looked down, only to see that she was three stories high.

  Steps sounded on the other side of the door, heavy steps that pounded fear into her already racing heart. They were his, and if he opened the door, she was his. She would never be his. The knob of the door turned slowly, deliberately. Ariana’s heart pounded harder.

  The door cracked open. The creaking of the hinges sent shivers down her spine. She searched the room for another exit, but there was only the door and the window. Count Repugnian’s stooping frame filled the door. Ariana pushed herself up onto the wide window sill, the icy breeze flipped her hair in front of her face so that it waved alongside the purple drapery.

  “Arianna, my sweet,” the Count hissed. “Come here, child. It’s time we play.”

  Arianna’s stomach turned with his words. She felt them sour and rise up her throat. Suddenl
y, she knew that she could not allow herself to be cornered like a scared animal anymore. She would not be the frail, silly girl that the man of the house used as needed then locked away when unwanted. The count’s crooked-fingered hand reached out for her. She pushed herself out of the window and fell, like icy nighttime mist, to the ground. She always woke before she hit, but she was too scared to fall back to sleep afterwards.

  Now, she had no more time left, no more nightmares or dreams between her and the dinner that would decide her future. The pressure in her body, that bespoke the unpredictable spells to come, already pressed against the skin, muscles, and bones of her body. She felt like a firecracker ready to burst. But this time she would not stop the explosion. For the first time, the pressure rising inside her didn’t feel like helplessness. It felt like power.

  Annabeth dressed Ariana very slowly that day. Her hands shook and her eyes were red with tears she shed before coming to Ariana's room. Ariana felt very grateful to her sweet handmaid, who was clearly distressed on her behalf, but when she started sprinkling her green brocade dress in her tears, Ariana knew she would have to say something. Father would be very upset if she came dinner looking less than perfectly groomed. He'd already said as much.

  "Ariana, please do try to look nice and behave when Count Repugnian visits,” her father told her when he called her to his study before dinner. “It is different with younger men, men who will find a suitor without trouble, men who have less...influence." Her father's hands were steady as he placed them on her shoulder, but there was something in his eyes that seemed to have died a little. Usually, there was an angry little spark he reserved for her. It was a look that settled somewhere between love and hate. Today, he just looked worried and tired.

  It made her stomach flutter uncomfortably. Her eyes started to lose focus, but she pushed back against the pressure of the rising spell, and simply said, "Father, I will do my best."

  Her father only sighed, nodded and sent her up to get ready for dinner, his eyes dull and defeated.

  Another tear sprinkled her expensive brocade. She patted Annabeth’s hand. "Annabeth, you are showering me. Father will be displeased if I look as though I were standing under a raincloud before dinner."

  "Sorry, my Lady." Annabeth sniffled. "I don't mean to. I am just..." Her mousy timidity faltered into sobs that wracked her body, but she stepped away from Ariana's shoulder, so as not to continue to shower her.

  "It's not right. You are innocent, miss, and he is an old man. An evil, vile old man! Your father cannot be this heartless!"

  Ariana was so thrown by Annabeth's brave criticism of her father that it took her a moment to collect herself. When she did, she stood, crossed to Annabeth and put her hand on her maid's trembling ones.

  "Annabeth, I want to thank you for all you've done for me. You have been a good maid and a good friend to care for me." Her words only made Annabeth cry harder.

  "But you needn't worry for me. I am not without wits. I may not understand completely what I'm dealing with, but I am not unaware of the danger. I have plans to deter the Count's notice."

  Annabeth sniffled and lifted her red eyes to Ariana. "Plans, Lady? You must be careful. Your father..."

  Ariana jerked her chin into the air. "My father has chosen not to protect me. I must consent that he made some effort to marry me off to someone less reproachful, but I have no doubt he will abandon me to the Count if it comes to it. I may be young, but I am not stupid. I know whatever love my father holds for me, it will not override his sense of duty to a man more powerful than he. Count Repugnian may be the worst of several evils, but my father would not save me from lesser ones. He has been given the chance. It is up to me, now. And I am not afraid."

  Ariana felt power surge under her skin, felt it well inside her, like a match set to her wick. "I am as presentable as I ever will be, Annabeth."

  She smiled at her maid, who stood eye-level to her, though she was at least three years her senior. Ariana had always been tall and wispy. "I’m ready." She squeezed her maid's hand once, and the trembling in them abated a bit.

  “My Lady, you are a woman, now,” her maid almost whispered. “And not because of all this suitor business. You have grown brave. I only wonder where you get it.”

  Her maid’s words fed her power like dry kindling to flame. Ariana wondered where her bravery came from, too. Maybe she got it a little from Ruthie and Annabeth, maybe from her unknown mother. Though, how brave it was to abandon your daughter to the whims of a cowardly father, she could not say.

  Quietly, she’d always searched for a very good reason for her mother’s abandonment, a grand excuse for the woman, so that she could say she had at least one good parent. It was becoming harder and harder to understand it. If her mother was not dead, how could she leave her to fend for herself like this? The anger that fueled this thought only intensified the pulsing pressure of her bottled power.

  She pushed open her bedroom doors and walked with purpose down the hall to the staircase. She did not notice the smoldering footprints her defiant steps left in her wake, but she did feel the power pull back from her skin a little.

  The Count made them wait. Her father was not a man who waited, but he quietly, seethingly waited for the Count's gold-gilded, oak carriage to slow in the drive. Lord Grey forced a smile onto his tight lips and even bowed the man into his home ahead of Annabeth, who he immediately dismissed. The Count followed the maid's exit hungrily with beetle sharp eyes.

  Arianna waited from her position behind the open dining room door for the approach of the stooped figure. She dug her fingernails into her palms, hoping the stabbing pain would keep the surging power at bay for a few more minutes.

  The deep intonations of the men's conversation in the hall sounded forced. Her father's voice was tense and restrained with unfelt politeness. The Count simply sounded as though speaking to Ariana's father was the last thing he wanted to do in a long line of annoying chores.

  Ariana hurried to her seat, standing by it, rather than sitting. Her father consistently coached her in niceties of tableside manners. She was not to sit until everyone in the room was present. She had been in a constant state of play acting for the last year, and the irritation she felt at having to perform to an audience she loathed pressed upon her nerves and made the power surge inside her with greater force.

  She was so full of the strange energy that she felt sick to her stomach. The room swam before her. By the time the men sauntered into the room, Ariana's knees were trembling with the effort of standing. All of her energy was focused on not combusting. She would not implode. She would explode, and she would prove to the men that she was not a statuette to be passed around, admired, and fondled. She was brain, body, spirit, and power. So much power! It began to ache in her teeth.

  Her father waved Count Repugnian into the room with a flourish of his arm. The stooped shoulders of the man filled the doorframe. His figure, however, was not as intimidating as Ariana remembered.

  Instead of looming, he seemed hunched. Instead of tall, he was quite average. Indeed, when he moved to greet her, ignoring the place set for him next to her father and taking her not proffered hand to slobber upon with unwanted kisses, she almost met his gaze. She was tall. She was self-possessed, young, and, she realized, strong. He was old and crumpled and frail-looking. Her power surged, and her entire body was wracked by tremors.

  Unlike the times before, when her power overcame her, she did not feel weak or helpless. She felt so powerful that the Count's repulsive leer and his lingering touches on her arm only induced rage.

  Rage fed her power. She knew that to contain it much longer would cause her pain, might be the end of her. She held out, though, not knowing what to do with the energy or the anger in her heart.

  The Count was disgusting, but he’d never harmed her. Years spent denying her own voice told her that she had no right to hurt someone who simply disgusted her, even though she knew she had every right. His reputation, his lingering f
ingers, his dead wives all told her she was right.

  A strange voice filled her head, speaking from the core of her power. "You cannot go with this man, Ari. He would control your power, whisper that you are weak, only human, only female. He would pry with his fingers and eyes and crack you from the inside. Do not allow it. He will try to break you, and you cannot be broken, so you will bend to his will and that is worse. Bending is giving your power. You must never do this.”

  Ariana could almost place the voice, the deep whisper of a woman she knew, but could not bring to mind. It was a taunting, fuzzy memory of a ship, dense fog, and a pale face she could not picture. The images of this memory or dream tugged at her, but her father's voice broke her reverie.

  "Count Repugnian, I had you placed at my side, so we could converse freely."

  Ariana almost felt gratitude for her father’s clumsy attempt to protect her. But he would give her up. She reminded herself that he was putting her in this very situation, with a man he knew had probably murdered or forced his child-wives over the brink, and he would expect her to accept her lot.

  "I would love to sit next to your charming daughter, if you will not be terribly affronted, Lord Grey." Count Repugnian answered, seating himself as he did so, not waiting for her to sit, nor her father to invite him to.

  Her father sat stiffly, not bothering to give the consent he was not expected to give. His status in this farce had been downgraded from host to third wheel. Ariana had no room for anger or pity for him. She sat stiffly, shaking uncontrollably with the force of the power filling her.

  Ruthie brought out the soup course and laid it out in front of the Count first, as was proper. The fierceness for which she lay the bowl in front of the Count sloshed much of the contents over the sides of the bowl. She was only marginally more careful with Ariana's father's soup. Ariana's, on the other hand, was gently placed before her and followed by a discrete pat on the arm. She drew courage from Ruth's quiet but obvious defiance. She put the soup to her mouth and swallowed a spoonful of Ruth's delicious meat and onion concoction.