by Keary Taylor
My chest is full of ice, my limbs numb and stiff. Rose put in an order only days before I had to hide at the House of Martials because of Charles’ threats. I never completed her order.
“I’ll do it,” I say, looking from Rose to the blonde. “I’ll get it over with, and then you’ll take me home.”
“I promise,” Rose says with a nod, her eyes burning with intensity.
It’s ripping my insides to shreds. I just want to get home. I just want to return to my brownstone and figure out how to deal with all of my other problems.
But Rose did rescue us.
I owe her.
“Okay.”
“Don’t touch her.”
A voice hisses off in the distance, tickling the back of my brain, attempting to pull me back to the surface. But I’m so deep down here, so warm and comfortable, I have no interest in ascending again.
I’m heavy and dark and at peace.
“What do you really think I’m going to do to her?” The voice is annoyed. “I need her. So calm your yellow eyes down.”
I’m rising quickly, though I scramble, trying to swim back down as quickly as I can.
But it’s no use. Instantly, my eyes pop open.
I’m staring at a white ceiling. The room is dim and my eyes slide to the side to see a window with the curtains pulled closed. I can’t tell what time of day it is. Morning. Noon. Evening.
With how tired I am, I very well could have slept for four days and not known any different.
“Great, you woke her up,” Michael growls. I look over to see him sitting in a chair beside my bed. His glowing yellow eyes glare death at Rose, who stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.
“Takes two to argue,” she defends, raising an eyebrow.
My brows furrow together and I rub my eyes. “Where am I?” I ask.
“You’re back in Massachusetts,” Rose offers. “Though not back in Boston yet.”
“Is this where you live?” I ask as I push myself up into a sitting position. Which is challenging. I swear I’m gaining inches around my stomach every day.
“For now,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
The question startles me. Rose is intimidating, scary. Cold. She takes joy from unsettling me. So her tone, which sounds genuine, shocks the hell out of me.
“Okay,” I say. “Exhausted. Every part of me is sore from the last however many days. But I think everything is still working.”
“That’s good,” she says with a nod. “Imogen looked you over. The baby seems to be okay.”
My left hand comes to my stomach. My brows furrow.
“It will be obvious to everyone in just a few more weeks,” Rose says as she walks into the room and sits in a chair beside the door. “It already doesn’t look proportional to the rest of you.”
“Better watch what you say,” Michael growls, leaning forward, as if trying to intimidate Rose with his eyes alone.
“I’m just stating facts,” Rose bites. “I have nothing against Elle. I actually think she’s pretty damn special. Becoming the mother to a future Royal just furthers that.”
Guess that reiterates that she knows plenty about the world of vampires. Not that Michael was trying very hard to hide any part of his true nature.
“Did you know where Charles was holding me?” I ask, not quite able to meet Rose’s eye.
I think she shakes her head. “No. I’m not sure why, but we couldn’t tell. Not until three days ago.”
“Why?” I ask, but it’s not the question that is begging to be asked.
What are you?
“The only explanation I can think of is that it’s something to do with the town,” she says quietly.
That doesn’t make any sense.
Nothing about Rose makes any sense.
“What the hell is any of that supposed to mean?” Michael demands. “What’s the deal with this house? What are yo-”
I whip a hand out, grabbing his arm. “Don’t.” I shake my head when he looks at me. Fear and adrenaline burn through my veins and I hope and pray he can read me well enough to not make me have to explain why I don’t want answers to those questions.
“She’s a smart girl,” Rose says. “You should trust her.”
Michael holds my gaze for a moment longer, and I see the acceptance there. He wants answers. But he’ll trust me that now is not the time to get them.
“How long is this going to take?” I ask, slowly loosening my grip on Michael. “To make whatever it is you need me to make?”
Rose leans back, folding her arms over her chest. “We’ve already gathered all the ingredients for you. It’s the process that we are unsure about. It could take you a few tries. I’m hoping no more than two or three days.”
Two or three days. That sounds like an eternity when I know I’m so close to home. So close to getting back to my family.
“I know you’re anxious to return to Boston,” Rose says as she once more leans forward, locking her dark eyes on my face. “I can only imagine what the last few months have been like for you. But I promise, if you help us, we will keep helping you.”
“How is that?” I ask.
Her eyes drift down, locking on my stomach. “You’re carrying a Royal. An heir Charles Allaway desperately needs. He’s not just going to let you carry on with your happy little life after you escaped like that.”
“I know that,” I acknowledge.
“Let’s just say, we’ll help keep Charles at bay until after the baby is born,” Rose says. Just then the two other women come into view, standing out in the hall outside the bedroom. “We’ll give you time to come up with a plan. Time to figure out what it is you want.”
Michael looks over at me, and the expression on his face is full of distrust and alarm. He doesn’t know what to think of these three women, and neither do I.
“Three days,” I say in a deep breath. I’m imagining Lexington and Ian racing around the Vermont countryside for those three days, desperately trying to find me when I’ve already been found. “What do you need me to do?”
I shower. Turn up the water hot, scrub myself from head to the tips of my toes. Our adventure through the woods left me filthy. My muscles scream in pain. I’m still exhausted and could very likely go back to bed.
But the quicker I get this over with, the quicker I can go home.
When I step out of the shower, I find a set of clothes folded on the counter. A pair of stretchy leggings and a flowing white shirt that buttons up the front. I brush my hair, letting it hang to dry straight.
I make my way down the hall, following the voices. I pass several sets of doors; the house is actually pretty large. Finally, I cut out into a big living room. Beautiful wood runs throughout the house, hinting at its age and history. A huge fireplace dominates one wall. Overstuffed furniture is set in front of it. Off to the side is a dining area, and off from there, partially walled off from view, is a huge kitchen.
“Feeling a little more human?” the dark skinned woman asks. She slides her hands into her back pockets and looks me up and down, taking in every bit of me, studying.
“Yes, thank you,” I say around a thick throat.
I know how to handle vampires.
But I don’t even know what these women really are.
Michael stands from where he was seated at the dining table, taking a few steps toward me, which places him between them and me.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get started,” Rose says, looking ever annoyed with Michael. “Take a step in here and we’ll get you up to speed.”
We’re all studying one another, looking up and down, waiting for someone to make a wrong move. But we need each other.
The kitchen counters are lined with boxes of herbs and plants. I see hyssop, wormwood, wolfsbane, willowbark, fennel and peppermint. There are empty bottles waiting. I see beakers and pots and pans, waiting for me to make use of them.
“What is it that you’re having me make?” I ask, peering
into a clear zipped bag. I don’t immediately recognize the plant.
“It’s another oil,” Rose says, walking close by my side, looking at the ingredients with me. “This one is much more…potent than the Van Van Oil I asked for before.”
“Is it going to be used to hurt anyone?” I ask quietly. I run my fingers along the leaves of the peppermint, releasing their strong scent.
“No,” Rose says. “This is only for us.”
I nod. I feel like I can trust Rose. But this life has left me so full of doubt, it’s difficult to believe in anything.
“The instructions were essentially destroyed,” Rose says. She turns and accepts a book from the blonde woman. It’s huge. Fat. Ancient looking. “This is Tove, by the way,” she adds, indicating the woman and then dismissing her without another look. “While the ingredients are still legible, only some of the words are readable. You’ll create the oil, and write down every step of the process. That way we won’t always have to come calling to you.”
I look up at her and it’s there in her eyes: she’s well aware that I don’t love working with her.
Rose sets the book down on the counter. “Don’t turn any pages. Don’t touch the book. It won’t end well for you.”
A cold shiver works its way up my spine and out down my arms, to my very fingertips. Michael swears under his breath, his eyes flashing brilliantly.
“I’ll take it from here,” I say quietly, looking up at Rose. She studies me, and I can tell she doubts my ability to complete the task and create whatever this is.
But she knows she won’t find anyone else with my skills. Anyone else who won’t ask prying questions she refuses to answer.
“We’ll give you some space,” Rose says with a little smile and the nod of her head.
Without another word, she and the two other women step out of the kitchen, and I hear them go their separate ways in the house.
“I will help you in any way possible so we can hurry and get this hoodoo-voodoo shit done and get the hell out of here,” Michael breathes as he comes up to my side.
And he manages to pull a small smile from the corner of my mouth.
I strip the leaves of the wormwood from their stems. I toss them into the large bowl that contains the other nine herbs. Despite the fact that I don’t want to be doing this, don’t want to be here, I’m fascinated. One of the herbs is cardamom, which I’ve never actually worked with before today. It’s the world’s third most expensive spice.
But all the same, it’s joined by the absinthe, anise, and calamus. The smell rising from the bowl is strong, pungent. I gag into the sink.
I crush the herbs all together, only to have their fragrance triple in potency.
More gagging into the sink as Michael holds back my hair, just in case.
The writing in the book Rose brought is loopy and ancient. Some of the words I can make out are not the common terms we would use today. I think it must have suffered water damage, because the ink runs over the page in several places, and the edges of all the pages are wavy and warped.
I lean in closer, hoping it will help me decipher the words that have all blended together.
“It wants me to pour some base alcohol into something,” I say in frustration when Imogen, the African-American woman, checks in on me. “But I’m not sure what.”
Michael leans over my shoulder, looking at the words with us. “That looks like a C,” he says. He points to another letter that’s badly faded. “Maybe a P. And another P.”
“Copper pot,” Imogen says, filling in the gaps. “It’s common. There’s one in the island.”
Michael gives her a distrustful look as he ducks down to dig through the kitchen island. He produces it a moment later, setting it down on the stove.
Again, I have no measurements as to how much of any of the ingredients to use. Whoever wrote this recipe must have been well practiced. I have to guess everything.
I pour in a half a cup of alcohol and per the instructions, dilute it with water. It next instructs to add in the herbs, but the next lines are destroyed as to how long to steep them.
“I’m going to let them sit overnight,” I say. “I generally like to let herbs soak for at least twelve hours. That will give them eighteen hours.” I scan the next instructions, piecing together what might come next. “I’ll continue tomorrow morning.”
“This is why we brought you on,” Rose says as she steps into view.
I put a lid on the pot, knowing it will help trap all the gasses the herbs will put off, making whatever this stuff is all the more potent. I wash my hands and dry them.
I follow the group out into the living room and sink into a chair, already tired.
“You’ll recover,” Imogen says. “Your body has just gone through a traumatic couple of days. You’ll get your energy back.”
I should smile. Tell her thank you for the encouraging words. But I don’t like how she seems to just know what is going on with my body. Like her eyes are too strong and she sees far, far too much.
“You’re very quiet, Elle,” Rose says. “You’ve just been through a lot. Seen and heard some interesting things. I would expect you to be a lot more curious than you seem to be right now.”
I fix my eyes on the wooden floor, on a little scar there. It’s black, dug in. Like an ax and a burn mark at the same time. “I’ve always known more than I wanted to know. Seen more than I should have seen. Heard more than any woman should. I don’t need to open any new doors.”
“Your amount of self control is pretty incredible,” Imogen says. “Most people would be popping off questions left and right. But not you.”
“She’s not most people,” Michael says.
“When will you let Lexington and Ian know that I’m not in Vermont anymore?” I cut him off. I don’t have the energy to rein Michael in right now.
“If things are progressing steadily tomorrow,” Rose says as she twirls her finger around the long necklace she wears. It is shaped like an hourglass, but on one side it looks like it contains dirt, the other water. “I will call them twenty-four hours from tomorrow morning.”
“As soon as possible?” I ask.
The idea of going back to Boston, and being alone, is making my stomach sick. I don’t want to beat them home.
“As soon as possible,” Rose says with a serious nod.
“You’re really in love with him, aren’t you?” Tove asks. I look over at her, meeting her gray eyes. “The one with the blond hair.”
An ache opens up in my chest. I can perfectly imagine the way Lexington smells. The crook of his mouth as he cracks some joke. The temperature of his hand as it rests on my side.
I swallow hard, pushing back the pain, and nod.
The woman sits back in her chair, resting her arm along the back of it. “How do you plan to deal with the mortality issue?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, itching at the deeply personal route this conversation has taken.
“I mean the fact that he is an immortal Born. And you’re a very fragile human. Or is it just that neither of you expect this to last long enough to worry about it?”
“Tove,” Imogen says in horror at her boldness.
“No,” she says, her eyes growing wide, but serious. “I really want to know. I’m not trying to be mean. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”
The three of them turn their eyes back to me, and I see it on each of their faces: they’ve all wondered the same thing.
I swallow once more, pulling the numb comfort around my shoulders. I’ve been too cracked lately, showing too much of my utter human nature. I need to be myself again, the one who survived growing up in a town that pitied and feared me.
“It’s something we haven’t really talked about,” I supply them with an answer. “But it isn’t because this is something neither of us expect to last long.”
Lexington and I were only really together for about four weeks before Charles took me away.
Four weeks.
&nbs
p; And I’ve been gone for nineteen.
What if…
What if…?
“I think I’d like to get some fresh air,” I suddenly say as I stand. I don’t wait for a response or permission to do so. I cross to the door. “I’ll be just outside.”
I open the door, stepping out, and close it tight behind me.
Thick trees surround the historical looking house I just stepped out of. A grassy lawn stretches out before giving way to the road a little ways down. I see a road beyond the fence, and a park across the street from that.
I walk midway down the sidewalk before stopping there. I inhale a deep breath of spring air, letting my eyes slide closed.
What if…
What if things changed while I was gone?
What if Lexington’s feelings for me weakened the longer I was away?
What if he decided this was too much effort?
What if he also realized that even if the love between us was a forever thing, that he would always look the same, while I continued to age, grow into an old woman, and eventually die?
What if when I return home, nothing is what I’m imagining?
Then you’ll continue being Elle Ward, who has survived despite every single thing in your life. You will carry on.
I repeat the words to myself, over and over.
I’m good at mentally controlling myself.
But it isn’t so easy in this instance.
There are so many unknowns waiting for me in two days.
And I don’t know how to deal with any of them.
By morning, I’ve fully numbed myself back up.
Shut it all down. Only focused on the task at hand.
I pull the lid off the pot, stirring the saturated herbs inside. The smell is still strong, but not as bad as yesterday with all of them freshly crushed. I pour some more water into the pot and set the heat to low.
Over the next hour, I ignore the three other women who eventually wake and come to the island or dining table to watch me work. Michael stands at my side, his butt against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, staring right back at the strange trio.