by Ash Krafton
Thankfully, Aggie never noticed the stiff way Senza pulled up when they encountered the first group of young ladies. Aggie was the recipient of warmer smiles and gentler assessment, as she was genuinely liked. Sweet and charming, loved all the more for her unfortunate position within the shadow of Senza’s brilliance.
By the time they’d reached the milliner’s shop, Aggie looked quite rejuvenated, her cheeks flushed with a happy glow. Senza chewed her lip, listening to her excited chatter.
Her cousin was very fond of Winston, it seemed, and found endless tidbits and anecdotes to share about him. Aggie couldn’t know the thoughts that swarmed in Senza’s head, or know the depth of her sincere regrets.
Had she been unfair toward her cousin, even though she’d never consciously tried to be the center of attention? If her cousin truly did like Winston, she could at least try to repair the slight by encouraging Winston in her direction.
Senza pointed to the bench but Aggie tugged at her hand. “I’m feeling quite refreshed, Senza. Let’s go inside and look at the ribbons.”
The breeze turned, bringing with it the scents of cloves from the bakery nearby, the roses from the park across the street. “You go, Aggie. I’ll just sit awhile.”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes.” Senza sat on the bench. “Please, go in. I’ll just be a moment.”
Aggie nodded, turning to greet a pair of young ladies who had followed them to the shop and called her name. They swept her up along with them and disappeared inside, leaving Senza alone at last.
She was up from the bench and off the porch between one heartbeat and the next, hurrying across the street in a flurry of footsteps and swishing skirts. Her body raced to keep up with her anxiety-driven heart. Without Aggie’s voice to distract, she was once more at the mercy of her thoughts.
Her merciless thoughts, which took to battering her weary soul once more. Even with the idea of an escape, she still had to find a way to pair Winston with Aggie. She lacked her mother’s strategic talents and had no idea how to surmount the impossible obstacle of Mrs. Fyne’s granite-carved intentions.
The row of shops faced a broad, grassy park, its smooth verdant spreads flanking a small but pleasant lake. Walking paths provided a beautiful vantage to admire the resident swans that paddled their lazy circles. Most prominent was the large white gazebo that overlooked the pond. It provided the perfect spot of shade on warm days and was a popular place for couples seeking a picture-perfect romantic interlude.
Senza sought refuge. The gazebo was empty. That was all that mattered.
A light breeze played upon the water, bending the reeds and stirring the pond flowers floating along the edges. Sweet spring fragrances were a balm, a promise of youth eternal. She spent several minutes admiring the view. The swans seemed oblivious to anything but each other, skimming the warm water in slow strokes, pausing to brush their necks against each other from time to time. For a moment, she imagined what peace could be like.
A chill brushed against her. Had the wind turned? She drew her shawl upon her shoulders, turning her eyes as she did so. Her breath caught when she saw Mr. Knell, leaning like a rake against the rail behind her.
He cocked his head and pushed away from the post. “I thought I might run into you today.”
Her heart lightened far more than it should have. Maybe not appropriate, but wonderful all the same. She tugged her skirt straight, fretting over her hair. No use; her outsides were surely as disheveled as her insides. “You did?”
He made an affirming sound deep in his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets and pacing his way slowly toward her. His eyes trained upon hers, he pinned her down like a predator does its prey.
She was already pressed against the rail farthest from him. There was no room to back away from him, unless she wanted a swim. “And why did you think that?”
He closed the last steps between them and captured her hand, drawing it to his lips. “I’ve been following you.”
Her pulse fluttered in the base of her throat. “Why would you follow me?”
“Because.” He searched her face, his voice raw at the edges. “I missed you.”
The way he said it tugged at her heart. The same rawness echoed from inside her and she knew the only way to ease that pain was to speak her own heart, give him comfort in knowing the sentiment was shared. If only she knew how to say it—
Before she could speak, he squeezed her shoulders once before releasing her and stepping away as if he’d been burned. She bit her lips together. The moment was lost.
Standing before her was the only solution to the Thomas problem. If she could somehow just speak the words that wrapped like lace around her heart, he’d know exactly what to do. She was so sure of it. He’d missed her. Surely, he would not want to see her parceled off to Winston Thomas.
But seeing him again brought every fear into full focus. Every nuance of every doubt now seemed compounded by her unnatural attraction to him. If she could love him…then she could lose him. Just like everything else.
If only she could take assurance that some things were forever…
She blinked away sudden tears. He’d said he knew of a way to avoid death. If only that were true…
She’d give anything.
“Would you?” he murmured. “Give anything?”
He’d done it again. He’d plucked the thoughts from her mind as if she’d spoken them aloud. It unnerved her, but then, much of what he said had that effect on her. She was beginning to expect it.
“Yes.” She set her jaw in defiance. “Because if I die, then all my possessions are worthless. They mean nothing.”
“Oh, I am not talking about possessions. I don’t want money or jewels or palaces. My price is much more…personal.” His voice took on an oily feel, insinuating a dark intimacy.
“Your price?” A dread poured down over her, washing her in cold panic. “What do you want?”
“A trifle, only.” He took her hand, rubbing her fingers between his. The touch of his thumb sliding against her palm elicited a gasp but he did not release her. Clasping her captive hand to his chest, he trailed his fingers down the sensitive skin inside her wrist, her bare forearm. “Your life.”
“But—”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips lingering over her skin. “Life is a constant movement, an eternal flow from beginnings to ends. You cannot go on forever…but you can stop.”
“How do you mean?”
“Stop. Freeze this moment and extend it as long as you wish. Stay just as you are, in this very breath, with all your exquisite glances and terrible beauty and devastating darkness. You have it within you, the strength to harness this power.”
“But if I pay with my life—”
“You won’t die.”
“You speak in riddles, Mr. Knell.”
“Look at them.” He drew her into his arms and urged her to the side of the gazebo overlooking the park proper, sweeping his hand to indicate the crowds beyond. The genteel, the workers, the children in their handed-down coats darting between. “They are full of life, no? And isn’t life a kind of magic? What spell enslaves each of them, sparking life and growth and spirit in their flesh until the spell burns off? Isn’t each heartbeat fueled by the touch of magic?”
She shuddered to stand within his embrace, the touch of his cool skin upon hers, but did not try to escape him. “You have more than a simple conceit, sir, if you can succeed where centuries of philosophers have failed. How can you define life so easily?”
“Everything has an explanation. Scientists make new discoveries every day. Why haven’t they bothered to explain what it is that gives rise to their own existence?”
“Magic isn’t a scientific explanation.”
“No, it’s not. It’s magic, bien-aimée, an entity to itself.” He leaned against the rail, facing only her. “And it’s as real as I am, standing here before you.”
Truthfully, he wasn’t standing so much as hove
ring. His legs and cloak ended in an inky haze that didn’t appear to be feet on solid ground. He played the part of a spectre and she wondered if his resemblance to the Reaper was intentional.
She smirked, trying to conceal her racing heartbeat. “How?”
“Can’t tell you. Can only show you.” He moved away from the rail, drifting backwards away from her, out of the gazebo and up the path toward the main walk of the path.
She followed, tugged along in his wake by the unseen ties that bound them. “But what if I change my mind?”
“Death is a doorway that closes behind you. So, my bien-aimée, is this.” He paused in the middle of the path, spreading his hands wide. “I will pause you between breaths and let you keep this perfection forever. Search your shallow heart. Can you truly say no?”
Despite the fear, she knew she could not resist him. He’d bewitched her, first with his teasing word play and then with the deeply dark heat in his eyes. He’d never been like any of her suitors. And, as recalcitrant as she’d been to allowing herself to be married off, she knew he was more than capable of capturing her heart. When she thought of forever, his was the only face she saw. “Will you be with me on the other side?”
He laughed loud enough to turn heads of the passersby. “There is no other side. Just this one.”
“Let me think about it.” She toyed with her lower lip, fluttering her lashes and leveling a round of her coyest charm at him. Surely she could bargain with him. “Another day.”
“No. Today. This moment. If you choose to pass, I will wipe from your mind everything you’ve ever known of me. I will vanish from your heart as suddenly as I had captured it.”
He’d vanish?
She remembered how she felt when he had left her standing on the railroad platform. The sudden bareness, the overwhelming sense of abandonment that had nearly crushed the air from her lungs. The only thing that had preserved her sanity was her determination to find him again.
She knew that were she to dismiss him now, she would feel that again, for the rest of her life, without ever knowing why. There would be no saving measure of reunion. She would be abandoned over and over again every time she opened her eyes, haunted by a spectre she wouldn’t remember.
That idea, the thought of living in torment, was enough to steel her resolve. She hugged herself, chills shuddering through her slender frame. “Will it hurt?”
“A moment only, but you won’t remember it.”
She swallowed, her tongue like thick floss. That was it. There was no alternative.
She took a deep breath and nodded.
When he smiled and reached his long hands for her, and the shadows rose about him like a swarming twilight, she knew with frightening clarity that his last words had been a complete and savage lie.
Part II: Afterlife
“With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the ‘Red Death.’”
Edgar Allan Poe, The Masque of the Red Death
Daylight dimmed around them, reality fading away, reducing itself to thin shades. The people, the park, and the sky sealed themselves off from the pair. They were alone on the grass, and all about them, the world had lost its vibrant hues and stood painted now in muted tones of grey. No color, no heat, no sun. A thin light misted down upon them from an unseen source.
Limbo. That was the only way to describe such a lifeless place.
Slowly, she shifted her gaze toward the one who had brought her to this impossible place. And when at last she beheld him, her heart erupted into a pounding so fierce it boomed in her ears.
Knell was no longer Knell.
Gone was the handsome seducer, the pale perfection of his cheek, the dancing mischief of his eyes. Now, he seemed composed of stone and shadow, gaunt and powerful at the same time. He reached a slender pale hand out for her, long fingers splayed like talons.
No. She would not fear him.
What he had promised would be the end of fear, forever. Biting her lips, refusing to see the darkness he’d become, she opened her arms wide, opening herself up to him, surrendering her will.
And he descended upon her with a smile.
He surrounded her somehow, encircling her and breathing her in. He raised his cupped hands, caressing her cheek, her neck, her shoulders, lower—
He plunged his hands into her chest.
Her trepidation exploded into outright terror. The alien sensation was an obstruction to breathing, to standing. Her brain sent out a steady stream of get it out, get it out, get it out—
She felt him grasp something inside her and he yanked. The pain was indescribable. He tore her, ripped her, and he pulled something, pulled it away—
That thing snapped free of her and she staggered back, the force nearly tripping her.
With a gusty breath, he nodded. “That was tough. You had quite a grip on this.”
He held up a shimmering mass, a glistening veil that twisted between his fingers, clinging like a congealed pudding. Deep within pulsed a spot of red, the size of a rose petal.
“What is that?” Her voice was strained, the pain between her ribs melting away like icicles in sunlight.
“That, my dear…” He smiled, teeth gleaming in the grey mist. “Is your life.”
She clasped both hands, palms splayed, over her breast. “But I breathe!”
He shrugged, turning his wrist to allow the mass to ooze between his fingers, playing with the essence of her life. “It’s a hard habit to break. I suppose you will continue that for quite some time.”
“How can I be alive?”
“I only separated your life from your spirit. Your spirit still animates you. But this…” He stowed the essence of her life in his cloak. “Free of this, you are free of the march of time.”
He bowed before her, a gesture more mocking than reverent. “Welcome, my lady, to time as viewed by the gods.”
Her eyes darted wildly about the confines of the limbo in which they stood. An eternity of this? Is this why she’d traded her life? “But this place is so dismal—”
“We won’t stay here, bien-aimée. I told you, there is no other side. This is merely a secret place. We will return to the world you know. But first, a gift on your Unbirthing day.”
He held up a gold necklace, a delicate chain from which dangled an ornate pendant. A ruby-red stone glinted and pulsed, the only splash of vivid color in this place. “You must wear this always. It contains the essence of the spell I cast. If you take it off, you break the spell. I think you know what that would mean.”
His dark tones left little room for interpretation. He fastened it around her neck, careful to avoid tugging her hair. She reached up and grasped his wrist.
And held it. His flesh was firm, cool but not cold. He twisted gently, testing her grip, but did not escape her hold.
She grinned. “You can’t vanish on me anymore, can you?”
He pursed his lips, his expression hard to read. “An unfortunate condition. You are officially of my world now. Within, or without, we now stand upon the same ground.”
“You mean you won’t float away or melt into thin air?”
Gently, he extricated himself from her grip. A troubled light dimmed his eyes and he swallowed, throat moving painfully. “I won’t have to. But there is something you must learn to do.”
“What is it?”
“You must learn to be a thief.”
“A thief?” She laughed, the sound so out of place. She’d never had to steal anything in her life. “Of what?”
“Life. Your spell must be fed, one heartbeat at a time. You must learn to steal them from the living. One here, one there. A person will not notice a skipped beat, and they mu
st never know it is you who is making them skip.”
He raised a long finger in warning. “And you must do it, or the spell will fade and die. Steal the heartbeats and they will be stored in the locket you now wear. I will seed it with the first.”
He pulled the shimmering mass of her life from his pocket and dug his fingers into it, picking through the gel until he reached the red glow. Plucking the scarlet flutter free, he stowed her life once more into his coat.
Taking the amulet in his other hand, he thumbed a tiny latch. A lid popped open with a tiny snikt, revealing a compartment within.
Gently he settled the red pulse into the locket before snapping it shut again.
“But why do I have to steal them?” She pressed her fingers to the locket, its unfamiliar weight upon her chest.
“Tell me, bien-aimée, does your heart beat beneath your palm?”
She closed her eyes and pressed her hand flat to her chest.
Her heart was still. Her chest felt empty, like a bird’s nest in the fall, hollow after life had flown. All that remained now was the winter to come.
“I feel…” Her thoughts had become liquid pools of confusion the threat of drowning imminent. “Nothing.”
He smiled, wide with ravenous delight.
Seeing that smile made something thump low in her stomach. So twisted. Normal men didn’t smile at things like that. She had just told him she was dead—
But he knew that. He was the one who had ripped the life out of her. No sense in wasting an admonition on someone like that.
He titled his head toward the shades that passed around them. “Out there, your heart will have to beat. Not quite as often as theirs, but magic has a rhythm that must keep on. Steal their heartbeats and store them for those times when there is no one around to steal them from.”
“You will stay with me, won’t you?” That was the purpose of living forever, wasn’t it? To be with him, to add those purloined moments together and spin an endless yarn? “I don’t want to be alone—”