by Sophie Avett
“I didn’t run.” He caught the old woman by the neck. The stinging pain of betrayal inked his veins and his voice turned venomous. “She did.”
The old crone’s hands covered his, her expression riddled with amusement. Thousands of wrinkles folded into a grin. “Rejection—how could I have missed it,” she whispered, it seemed more to herself than to him.
He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she was talking about, but fell silent as a vision of a red dragon unfolded massive fleshy red wings and exploded through his mind. It consumed his thoughts until he lost sight of the crone, the suite—himself.
A haggard shadow of a massive, dire-raven flashed like lightning as the dragon lifted its serpentine snout. Beady black eyes were spun gold behind the vintage oval glasses. Medieval blood-diamond scales gleamed down the dragon’s powerful shoulders, and gold scales ribbed her glittering underbelly.
Smoke curled from her nostrils as the dragon shook the corners of his mind with a bone-racking roar. “THOU SHALT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING!” She swooped through his thoughts, peeling through his mind and leaving a ring of fire in her wake. Heat blistered him. His head was splintering. Shadows, darkness, and demons fleeing the cracks of his psyche and still the dragon came for him. He was roasting. He could smell it. Raw meat. Acrid and terrible. Flames licked at his skin and he fell, grabbing his head. And screamed.
“That’s enough,” Mrs. Potts snapped. “Well, just call this a rewrite, and move on…”
Everything stopped. The burning stopped. The searing pain stopped. His mind was clear. Heavy, but clear. Marshall opened his eyes to find the Palatine Light had vanished. Next to Mrs. Potts, he stood on a jagged cliff on the shore. The ship’s lights winked on the horizon and he gaped at the old woman. “What are you doing now, you godless heathen?”
“Didn’t I just tell you to mind your manners?” She whacked him on the back of the head. “I say, see what becomes of ill-breeding. My goodness, I’ll make a prince out of you yet, Ebe—you know, what? I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Mrs. Potts clutched his chin and forced his face back to the horizon. “See for yourself.”
The nose of a small boat pierced the blanket of fog rolling over the wrinkled ocean. Two figures. A ferryman and another. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Elsa. The creature peering from beneath the cover of a monk’s hood didn’t look anything like Elsa. It was…grotesque. Wider than Elsa, rounder than her. It was a mixture between the old hag he’d seen in fairytales as a child, and something wholly different. It was almost like a bird stretched into a woman. A harpy of some kind, perhaps?
Whatever it was, the miserable little creature was beyond hideous. Even for fairly lenient standards. It was… It was… Those eyes. Those terrible green eyes.
His eyes widened. Elsa.
Shock wasn’t an apt description. Neither was confusion. He opened his mouth to ask the crone just what the hell was going on, but she spoke first. “Behold, boy. Elsa’s true form. The amulet she wore was the source of her glamour. Trolls have no innate glamour. Call it a natural check against their awesome power. Elsa’s amulet was broken.” She frowned. “You can thank your fiancée for that. Or not”—her shoulders bunched and her eye twitched—“but I’ve got something for that little conniving mind. You wait and see, Gwyneth Marie Cage, there’s a real happy ending with your name on it.”
“Sebastian, Brendon, be ready.”
The familiar voice pulled the vampire’s wide eyes from the approaching ship to the shoreline a few yards away. Ingrid stood poised with her submissives at her back. Black corset, eyes hidden behind a dotty black veil, she stood like a Victorian statue, waiting for the ship’s approach.
Marshall’s throat worked and he pocketed his hands, his mind scrambling to catch up with the current events. It wasn’t like he doubted Mrs. Potts’ credibility. All of it made perfect sense. All of it. Right down to Elsa’s social awkwardness, her overprotectiveness of her amulet, the way she’d been able to ruthlessly subdue him with her charms—magical and otherwise.
It just…hurt. And he couldn’t even understand why. He couldn’t name the ache in his heart. “Is that why she left? She didn’t want me to see her?”
Mrs. Potts said nothing else. She was busy watching Elsa’s approach and he followed her sharp eyes.
“Ingrid,” Elsa croaked and it was lost on the wind. Her voice carried and sank beneath his clothing, touching him everywhere. Burning him with the reminder that he’d been branded. Together, he and Mrs. Potts watched as his witch, who never ran and feared the ocean like nothing else, cast herself overboard. She scrambled in the water with desperate strokes.
Shoving her riding crop against Sebastian’s chest, Ingrid took to the waves in a flurry of black taffeta. “I’m right here, silly girl.” Ingrid parted the water with her fury and snatched Elsa’s failing arms. Hauling the other woman out of the water, Ingrid gathered her so close even Marshall felt her embrace. “Hush, I’m right here.” She pressed her cheek to Elsa’s flat, misshapen head. “I’m right here.”
Elsa clung to her and released a hoarse sob. “I can’t, Ingrid. I can’t…”
“Yes, you can,” Ingrid snapped and stroked her balding head, heedless of the stringy white wisps sticking to her palm. “I will carry you, pebble.”
Elsa squeezed her eyes shut, nodding even as another gut wrenching sob was torn from the back of her throat. Sebastian and Brendon were already edging into the water, toward their mistress. Acting as extensions of Ingrid’s will, they wordlessly gathered the women like frail snowflakes and carried them to shore.
When Marshall woke in his room moments later, his cheeks were wet with bloody tears. His heart was raw and aching. His mind was completely fucked. And if he didn’t get away from Gwyneth with some kind of quickness, he’d give in to every homicidal impulse roaring to life and murder her in her sleep. But nothing had changed. The raven—Mrs. Potts hadn’t changed anything. All she’d done was give him more fodder to hate himself. All she’d done was put a name to why he hated Elsa. How she’d ruined him so completely.
He couldn’t even be angry at her. She’d never lied to him. He’d been willing to do anything—he’d risked everything to touch her. He’d bared himself to her and she was something completely different from what he’d thought. He felt betrayed. And he couldn’t even be angry at her for it.
Marshall swung his legs over the side of the bed and hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut against tears he’d never let fall again. I will not miss her. After a while, he forced himself to his feet and buried himself in his drafts for Sinister Stitches. Christmas wasn’t over yet. There was still time for one more miracle before the end of this wretched holiday.
After that night, Mrs. Potts came to him one more time. There was no raven. No room. No jacket. Nothing but a tombstone in the middle of a snowy graveyard with his name etched on the plaque.
He woke up screaming.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A week after the Palatine Light cruise, Elsa found herself standing in an elevator at the Mirage Agency. Everything was bright and glass. Faux panels and fluorescent lighting. She didn’t want to be here. She stared at her reflection as they were carried in the shiny box to the thirteenth floor. The speakers in the roof panels were still peddling Christmas tunes, though it was early New Years.
With the help of her mother, she had repaired her amulet. It had taken days and quite a bit of energy. Being broken had taken a toll on the talisman’s magic. She had less than a decade before it would stop working altogether and she would be forced to recede from society completely. Without a mate to sustain the amulet’s energy force, it would fade and she would retire to the Veil and join the coven. She would never know the true scope of her power, but her mother had assured her that she would always have a place amongst the tribe.
Ingrid looped her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “We’ll stop for lunch on the way home. What do you say? I’ve heard some really good things
about the cake at Hell’s Kettle.”
Lunch? Elsa touched her queasy stomach. She didn’t think she’d ever eat again.
The elevator doors opened. The office was in upheaval. Everything was moving. Four and five phones ringing off the hook. Monsters and men stampeding past her, hollering things about “copies” and “artwork.” Everything was in a panic. Everything but the vampire standing in the midst of it all with a faint smirk. The woman standing next to him was familiar somehow. She was barking at him, obviously in an uproar. “Mother has lost it!”
“Greetings, Master Marshall.” Ingrid bullied Elsa toward them. “And company.”
“Mistress Ingrid, a pleasure.” His expression didn’t betray anything but vague amusement as the young woman next to him was silenced by their arrival. “Ms. Karr.”
It was the first time they’d seen one another since the ball on the Palatine Light. After Ingrid had taken her home, she’d closed the hatch to her apartment and blotted everything out. Everything. Hours turned into days. Bits and Pieces remained closed for the week. If Marshall had not contacted Ingrid and reminded her of the appointment for the formal signing of Bits and Pieces, she would’ve happily continued in her monastic seclusion.
Curse Bits and Pieces. This wasn’t worth it.
It was like pain, but it hurt far worse. It was a terrible and stinging over-awareness of every fiber of his being. His breath. His eyes. She could feel all of it and it was killing her. She was sure of it. She was sure she was dying right where she stood. But Elsa would not cower. Not ever again. It was over. It was time to be a big pebble and do business. She lifted her chin and said, “You called, vampire.”
Marshall nodded slowly. Chemistry—the air between them was charged with the unspoken. So charged, the young brunette next to him looked to Ingrid for an explanation. They made eye contact and Ingrid licked the front of her teeth. “I love your shoes,” she said almost too loudly and snatched the other woman’s hand. “Let’s see them in action, shall we?”
The vampire braced an arm behind his back and motioned for her to lead with the other. “You left.”
“You’re engaged.” Elsa’s jaw clenched as she stomped past a vacant secretary’s desk into the glass office. He’d taken Gwyneth back. She hadn’t missed her reappearance or the return of doors slamming. There wasn’t as much sex. Or maybe there was more. She didn’t know. She’d taken to a sound-proofing spell. “Let’s do business, Mr. Ansley. Our previous engagement has concluded. I didn’t come to discuss it. I came to sign Bits and Pieces, understood?”
Marshall closed the glass door to his office and leaned back against the glass. “Yes, of course, Ms. Karr.”
Elsa lifted her chin and grabbed her amulet. “What?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His scrutiny blazed over her with the searing power of the sun and she flinched, turning her eyes anywhere but at him. A picture. His coat. The briefcase. Aside from that, the room looked staged. As if an actual person didn’t work in the room. Like he didn’t spend more time here than he did at home.
There was a fold-out table arranged next to the L-shaped glass desk. It cluttered the space like it didn’t normally belong there. It was her only saving grace to keep from looking out the bay of windows wrapping around the corner office.
People shouldn’t be so high from the ground. It wasn’t natural.
“Behold,” Marshall tipped his head toward the table, “Mirage Agency’s plans for Bits and Pieces.”
She hurried to the table.
Images. Prints and ads. Some of them drafts. Others seemed like they were ready for the hot press. Ultimately, he’d chosen a shedu for the Bits and Pieces logo. He’d given a black jungle cat black, raptor-like raven wings and a draconic tail. It was majestic, an elegant red silhouette emblazoned on a solid black disk. Her chipped and dirty nails fingered the glossy surface.
“We’ll run these in all the monster mags.” Marshall appeared at her side and pointed to the smattering of Winter Wonderland images. They were similar to the ones he’d passed out on the Palatine Light, but sleeker. Sharper. Her skin had been doctored flawless. The tone of the entire image darkened. Sepia. Aged and elegant. Undeniably sexy with the right classy notes.
He pointed to a small model of her store. “This is what Bits and Pieces will eventually look like. We’re going to reorganize all of that inventory. Of course, you’ll need to thin and sort some of it out.”
She turned her eyes to the small reconstruction design on her store. Nothing was the same but her counter. Shelves had been moved into a seamless open floor plan. “We’re going to take advantage of the high ceilings and build you custom display cases…”
Somewhere in the explanation, she lost herself on his mouth. It was moist. Bow-shaped. Every wrinkle of supple skin humming with the promise of English tea. He was beautiful. Even now. He’d abandoned the jacket of the black three-piece suit. The vest was black, with a white satin back. A matching tie and flashy sapphire cufflinks. His hair was freshly cut and he’d slicked it back, out of his eyes. He almost didn’t look like himself. Her fingers itched to dishevel the chestnut tresses.
He pointed and she followed his direction to another pile of images. Blue prints. She lowered her eyes, scanning the designs, and it was like studying the plans for a life she would never have. Elsa’s throat worked against a knot of pain rising in her throat and she held her breath, waiting for the tears to pass.
Marshall pocketed his hand and straightened. His voice was cool, his expression passive. “Well? Does the campaign meet your satisfaction? If not, we can try to address your concerns together or I could always give creative control of your account to another executive.”
But surely there would never be another Marshall. Elsa fisted her hands and offered flatly, “And risk all the work you've done? Nonsense.”
He nodded curtly and produced a contract and a pen from his desk. “Understand that someone will eventually take over your account. However, I will make sure all of my plans are followed to the letter. Any changes made will, of course, have to be approved by you.”
Elsa snatched up the pen. “What are you talking about?”
Marshall leaned a hip against the table and plucked a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “I’ve turned in my notice. I’ve taken a position in my father’s company.”
She could see him. Even now, she could still see her Fenris—naked and savage, one moment. Gentle and humble, the next. He was still nothing but trouble. She should leave him alone. She should not care. Elsa lowered her eyes to the page and scribbled the harsh and fat letters of her name across the dotted line without so much as a girlish curl. “You seem very happy about that, vampire.”
He pinched the cigarette between his lips and lit the cherry. “Happiness is a relative term, Ms. Karr.”
She flipped the page and signed the next series of dotted lines. “No. It isn’t.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward and exhaled his first drag. “This isn’t going to be like one of your ‘Christmas can change’ things, is it? Because I happen to know Christmas lies just like everyone else.”
Elsa lifted an eyebrow. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she suddenly didn’t care to find out. If he was going to play the unaffected asshole, he could burn in the sun. “Good luck to you, vampire.” She abandoned the pen and pivoted on her heel.
“Ms. Karr,” he snapped.
She ignored him and grabbed the silver handle.
“Elsa.” His palm smacked over the glass as he appeared at her back.
She didn’t know when he’d moved. Hadn’t even felt it coming, but she’d know the lithe dancer’s body pressed against her spine anywhere. She panicked. She pulled at the handle anyway, and he shoved the door shut. “Stop it.”
He leaned closer, pressing his nose into her hair. “Since you brought it up, tell me, what the fuck is happiness? Since you seem to know every goddamn thing, why don’t you riddle me that, Elsa. Tell me what it is to b
e happy.”
“Marshall,” Elsa dropped her forehead against the cool door, “I can’t tell you what happiness is. There was a time when I thought I understood what it was. I thought happiness was being content with your lot in life.” She closed her eyes and immersed herself in the memory of the Winter Wonderland. “It isn’t. It isn’t just being content and it isn’t wanting more. It’s…something…like the harmony of both. Well, no… That makes it sound like happiness is the presence of perfection, but it isn’t. It’s like a dream, sought without being looked for. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“You make it sound like finding happiness should be our great purpose in life.” She could hear his cynical smirk. “Doesn’t that sound a bit frivolous even for you, Ms. Karr?”
“Don’t be dense.” She twisted around in his arms and pressed her back to the glass. His elbows bent as he closed what little distance she managed. “Happiness is the reward. Finding peace is the purpose.”
Hooded snowy blue eyes drifted down her face, touching her like gentle fingertips. “I prefer to think of happiness as much more of a conscious decision. If I’m happy, it’s because I choose to be. What about you, Elsa?” He brushed his mouth against her ear. “Are you happy?”
“No,” she whispered, surprising herself with the truth. His fang teased her ear and she jerked back and rattled the doors. “I have chosen not to give up, though.”
“Admirable, indeed,” he deadpanned and plucked a shiny black business card from his pocket. “Since we’re on the topic of admiration, Madame Mari told me to give this to you. It seems she and her daughters are quite taken with you.”
Really? Elsa sought the card and he hauled it from her reach. “Why did you leave like that?”
“Leave like what? We had already said our goodbyes.”
“Did you leave Liam like that?”