by Vic Tyler
She deserves a clean, pure life like her parents would’ve given her. Especially after everything she’s survived.
Just because she waded in the dregs of society doesn’t mean she has to stay here. She may not know anything else right now, but she can learn. She can adjust. She can live.
But Adriana shakes her head, looking wearier and older than she should.
I don’t like that look on her. It reminds me of my days in the Trials. The haunted faces of the children around me. The one I saw in the mirror. The one I saw on Elena’s face in the days before she died.
A resigned sigh slips out of her mouth. “You don’t understand.”
I’m about to ask when I stop.
I don’t want to understand.
I can’t.
The less intimately I know this girl, the better. There’s no point to this charade when I have to find a way out for her. Or prepare for the possibility she won’t survive. Either way, getting to know her is something I shouldn’t do.
For the rest of the time, we simply sit without saying another word, listening to the birds chirp in chorus around us, the murmur of voices coming from the far side of the mansion, and the soft breeze rustling through the trees.
When she finally wants to go back inside, I take her back to her room. The maid nursing Adriana is already waiting for her. She shuffles away to get Isla, leaving us for another moment alone.
I take one last look at her.
She’s gained more weight, and her cheeks have more color. The baby fat she’s lost won’t come back the same, giving her a more adult look than she should have.
She’s a pretty girl. She’ll be fawned over once she goes back to the outside. People will want to adore her, and hopefully, she’ll forget all about her stay here.
There was a part of me that was afraid that she wouldn’t heal. That she’d always look haunted and ghastly. Like Elena looks in my memories.
I can barely even remember what my sister looked like when she was healthy and happy. In my memory, she’ll never be either of those things again.
But seeing how Adriana Wintrehall is changing little by little, maybe it would’ve been possible. Maybe she can show me how Elena might have lived if her opportunity to wasn’t stolen from her.
For that reason alone, I want — no, I need to protect this little girl.
The words spill from my mouth without warning, “Stay away from West.”
She looks at me questioningly. “Why? He’s only been nice to me.”
My lips pull up into a sardonic smile. This girl and her opinion of ‘nice’ people. “Like I said, don’t be fooled by those who seem generous and kind. Everyone here has an ulterior motive for what they do. Their actions are calculated and measured. A kind mask can be taken off to show cruelty underneath. Don’t be so trusting, Wintrehall. Not while you’re here.”
She stares at me. “Do you have an ulterior motive for being kind to me?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “I want you to escape and live a life that none of us were given the choice of having.”
For me. For Elena. For all the children who chose this path and lost any chance at having a normal life.
“That doesn’t sound like an ulterior motive.”
“It is when I plan on making it happen, no matter what you want.”
She stares squarely at me. “Then I’ll just have to fight harder for what I want.”
Her unwavering resolve brings a smile to my face, and I can’t help chuckling as I turn and leave.
She’s got a spine on her. I’ll have to make sure not to break it when I bend her to my will.
chapter eleven
Opening the door to my room, I peek outside to make sure no one’s around.
No one is, of course. Because there’s nobody else in this side of the mansion. But occasionally there’ll be a surprise visitor or two, so I can never be too careful.
The house is quiet and deserted as I run down the halls to where the main staircase is, and I’ve never been more glad about having full use of my legs. Being confined in a bed or wheelchair for so long was driving me crazy.
Climbing onto the bannister, I secure my dress under me and slide all the way down.
I mean, no one’s around anyway.
The air whips across my face, and by the time I reach the bottom, my heart’s racing and my head spins, dizzy from the rush.
A giggle escapes me, and my chest feels lighter than it has in a long while.
Everyone here is always so serious and grownup that I feel pressured to act that way too. Especially when they all treat me like a kid. Like Damien.
Even though he’s hardly around, Damien never fails to appear when I’m doing something I’m not supposed to, scolding me like he’s my brother or something. It’s like he has a sixth sense for trouble.
He really does make me feel like a kid, but I don’t hate it. After years of losing that opportunity, it feels nice to gain it back, even if it’s only a little bit.
Staring up at the massive, regal staircase, I contemplate running up to slide down one more time.
But he’s probably waiting for me.
Turning on my heels, I run towards the west wing, past the Cardinal’s office and the side hallway everyone else disappears and all the way to the main drawing room at the end of the hall.
I glance around quickly, making sure no one’s around, before slipping inside.
Crossing the expanse room, I pass the immaculate and untouched white leather couches and the dark wooden tables until I reach the stone fireplace.
Sliding my finger under the mantel, I find that little divot that can be mistaken for a simple chip in the surface. And pressing into it, I push on the brick that’s three up and two across from the mantel corner.
The wall panel next to me opens without a sound, and I slip inside, closing it tight behind me.
Cardinal Westlake is already in his armchair by the fireplace, which crackles and glows with warmth and light.
His private den looks similar to his study. It’s still kind of dark with leather and wooden furnishings and a similar gold and crimson Persian rug beneath us.
But it feels more lived–in with well–thumbed books and foreign trinkets lining the walls and shelves.
He turns to look at me as I approach and take the seat on the other side of the table where the gold and gem–inlaid chess set sits.
Without saying a single word, I move my pawn forward.
Immediately, he slides his piece too.
Yeah… That’s right. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been coming to see Cardinal Westlake every night or two.
Even after my body healed, he never came to see me. With each passing day, it was driving me crazy with worry that I was going to be shipped somewhere while I was unconscious or something.
So I sought him out and begged him to let me stay.
His answer was a blank stare. And when we were interrupted by a knock on the door, that was that.
But I started to visit his study in the evenings, and he never turned me away.
At first, our get–togethers were kind of strange. We spent most of the time just watching each other.
And after it became clear I wasn’t going to stop visiting, he told me to come here instead.
We started conversing a little more, and I’m getting comfortable enough to speak freely.
It helps that he occasionally asks questions, mostly about my life before the Stepanovs. But he never answers any of my questions. None of the important ones anyway.
I feel the tiniest bit guilty that it feels like I’m disobeying Damien after that warning he gave me. But I can’t feel the slightest bit of ill intention coming from Cardinal Westlake.
If anything, he’s a blank slate. Even though he smiles warmly or stares coldly, there’s no feeling behind it. Every single movement and emotion he displays is calculated and mechanical.
Maybe that means he’s a real psychopath incapable of feeling, but I thi
nk he’s just really dedicated to his job and exuding a certain image.
Besides, I can’t possibly imagine what kind of ulterior motive he might have for these secret meetings with a ‘civilian’ teenager.
Surprisingly, I really enjoy spending time with Cardinal Westlake. And I’ve learned a lot of random things since I started coming here.
For one, he taught me how to play chess, and it’s kind of fun. We get to communicate through our pieces, poking and prodding at each other’s minds without saying a single word.
He also talks about the books he’s read, and our conversations have gone from sailing to astronomy and detecting forgeries to smuggling. He’s a very worldly and wise man.
He’s also the only person who seems to know all about the strange things in the mansion.
The entire place is tastefully extravagant and classy, the original grand architecture kept intact with some renovations to give it a modern touch in practicality and appearance.
But in terms of decor, there are things you’d never find in a regular mansion.
Like a room where every inch is covered with the pelt of a different animal.
Or sliding balcony doors with crushed precious gems arranged artistically like stained glass.
Or the hallway leading to the master living room where the walls are threaded with bones.
Not like a catacomb — oh, not at all. It’s more like walking through a whale’s rib cage. In fact, I’m almost certain they are whale bones lining the walls and arching overhead, but I’ve been too scared to ask.
And then there’s the painting of The Woman in Gold.
Honestly, it’s the reason why I started coming to see Cardinal Westlake.
I saw the painting in person once, when I went to New York with my family. Papa insisted since Gustav Klimt was one of mama’s favorite artists and that piece was supposedly her favorite, even though mama protested that it wasn’t.
The first time I ever saw it was during mama’s and my ritual of curling up in the swinging egg chair on the back porch. Papa would be at work and my sister at school.
Mama and I flipped through all kinds of books — novels, poetry books, photo collections, visual textbooks.
The Gustav Klimt book mama had was worn at the edges from how much she thumbed through it, but the photos were perfectly intact like they were printed fresh off the press.
We’d trace the details and play I Spy with all the strange and random things we’d spot hidden in the lines and corners of each stroke.
When we stopped on The Woman in Gold, mama told me that she used to sit with the lonely woman. She said her eyes shone with love and dulled with resignation, feeling trapped in her life.
Even though I had no idea what she was talking about, I always remembered her words.
So, of course, I recognized the signature gold leaf painting in Cardinal Westlake’s study.
I was stunned to see it hanging on the wall. It was more beautiful than I remember.
It’s an immaculate reproduction.
I mean, it must be fake because the original is still at the Neue Galerie in New York. I asked Missy to check for me.
But Cardinal Westlake doesn’t seem like the type of person to buy and show off fake artwork. And that’d mean… what exactly?
I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to know.
But when I saw the dark–haired woman gazing out of her frame with forlorn devotion, a certain understanding of mama’s words struck me. Especially when I thought about Cardinal Westlake.
Maybe their loneliness is mirrored in each other and they keep each other company. It’s a sad thought, and I kind of wish he’d replace it with something brighter and happier.
But then again, it’s not like I can imagine Andy Warhol’s Mao Tse Tung decorating his walls instead.
With one final move, it’s checkmate and Cardinal Westlake wins.
Again.
Like every single time we play.
I shouldn’t expect to win against someone who’s probably played for decades as opposed to my own weeks, but losing sucks.
After we replay our game with the Cardinal pointing out each of my mistakes and his strategy, we clear the board, putting the black and white armies back onto their squares.
“Little Wintrehall, if I sent you away right now to a loving couple looking to build a family, would you still attempt to end your life?”
I startle. We hadn’t talked about anything that happened before I started coming down here to visit him.
If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I would. Maybe it was rash or maybe I needed time to heal before thinking about moving on. I still don’t think I’d be able to fit in well with other people in normal society, but I don’t have any motivation to die again.
Nervous, I slowly shake my head. My fingers tug and wring at the fabric of my dress. “But I don’t want to leave. I enjoy living here.”
He chuckles with a knowing smile. “Yes, you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit, little Wintrehall.”
For some reason, I have the faintest inkling that he’s talking about what happened as I came down here today.
It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that there are cameras everywhere, but I haven’t seen any.
Heat creeps into my face. I thought Cardinal Westlake would be the last person to find out I’m using his house like a jungle gym.
But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. I hope. I’ll have to make sure my dress doesn’t fly up next time.
“I said before that your life was to be your payment, and you tried to renege on our deal.” One side of his lips curl into a smirk, and I fidget uncomfortably in my seat. “If you are to stay here, you are not allowed to take what is not yours.”
My body goes stiff, and my spine turns rigid as I immediately let go of my dress and smooth out the wrinkles.
I know what he means. That I must now be responsible for my own life.
It feels like a sentencing, but it doesn’t feel imprisoning.
At the same time, none of this is mine either. My dress, my shoes, my room. I’m a freeboarder here, and I’ve been helping myself to exploring and doing whatever I want.
Cardinal Westlake chuckles. “Don’t concern yourself with the material things. After all, this is not mine.” He waves his hand to the space around us. “I took it from my predecessor, and my successor will take it from me. It belongs to everyone and to no one.”
I look around the luxurious room. “But it’s more yours than anyone else’s. You’re the head of the organization. The boss. You earned your place at the top.”
“Not without a cost.”
But before I can ask what he means, he stands, and my legs automatically move to rise with him.
“You’ve one life, little Wintrehall,” he says as we make our way to the secret entrance. “It’s the one card that everyone is dealt fairly when they are born. The first breath and the first heartbeat. The only way you combat the unfair hands that are passed to you from that point forward is to live.”
His dark eyes peer down at me. “Unlike in chess, once a life is taken, that’s it. There is no potential for the greater or the worse. There is only regret for the living and nothing for the dead.”
When Cardinal Westlake opens the door, I step through, and he smiles. “Play your game, little Wintrehall. There is no victory for those who forfeit.”
chapter twelve
Peeking around the wall, I stare at the daunting double doors at the end of the hallway that leads into the west wing.
The mansion is massive. Way bigger than my old house used to be.
After a whole weekend of exploring, I still haven’t even seen all the rooms in the east wing, but it’s completely deserted. Kind of eerie and boring when it feels like I’ve been dropped into a magazine for model homes where everything’s deserted, new, and untouched.
But I haven’t seen any part of this side of the mansion, and it’s full of people.
The few times
I crept close to the west wing, the maids passing by would usher me away quickly, warning me not to go farther.
Which is why I’m here, hiding precariously in the corner of this hallway where they can’t see me and drag me away.
“What are you doing?”
I whip around to find Damien standing there with his arms crossed.
“I — uh…” I stammer.
Of course. Out of everyone I could’ve run into, it has to be Damien.
“I’m exploring,” I squeak.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“There’s nothing to do on the other side.” My gaze drops to my shoes. They’re spotless except for the tiny scuff from when I turned a corner too fast and crashed into the wall. “I’m bored.”
Having nothing to do and nothing to worry about was nice for the first week. But now, all I do is read and study, and the only people I talk to during the day are Dr. Isla, Missy, and a few of the other maids.
It’s drearily uneventful. I have so much energy now that I can’t even sleep at night.
“Sounds like the life,” he says wryly. “Go find something to do. Read. Watch TV. Play video games. Whatever kids your age do.”
“I don’t know what kids my age do.”
There are a few moments of silence, and then Damien sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. I’ll hang out with you for a bit, and then we’ll find a more productive way for you to spend your time.” He nods his head towards the front entrance. Towards the east wing. “Come on.”
I shake my head, inching back until the corner of the wall digs into my shoulder.
I know I won’t be able to outrun Damien, but I really don’t want to go back. “Everyone stays on this side except for me. I–I —” I’m lonely. “I want to see what’s here.”
His face hardens. “It’s not safe for you.”
“What if you come with me?” I ask anxiously. “You’ll protect me.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, his lips twitching downward in displeasure. He seems really unhappy with what I just said, even if it’s true. Right?
“Yes, he will.” A deep chuckle sounds from behind me.