Moonless

by Crystal Collier

  “Excellent.” Sarah applauded. “And I think the only other alteration is tightening at the sleeves.”

  Pins appeared and started piercing every which way.

  Alexia had grown accustomed to venturing into the city with Mother where they sat in a parlor and examined varying styles, making an order to be retrieved and altered weeks later. Sarah must be spending a fortune for this convenience. Alexia shifted uncomfortably.

  “Is it awful?” she asked to distract herself.

  “Is what awful?”

  “The way he died?”

  Sarah’s lips snapped shut. She waited until the servants had finished and dismissed them. “Not in front of the help,” she advised warmly. “I find their ears are too keen.”

  Alexia nodded.

  “But . . . oh, Lexy, do you know what unfathomable injustices I have endured?”

  She settled on the bed next to Sarah.

  “He was leaving.” Her aunt heaved a great sigh and leaned tiredly against her. “He had a girl—probably less than that, waiting for him in Dublin.”

  Alexia’s heart shrank.

  “I fumed and fought, but it did not matter. He was going.” She smiled apologetically and rose to help Alexia out of her gown.

  “Sarah . . .”

  “It was not the first time.” She returned to the memory behind her eyelids. “So I threatened him with divorce. He became incensed. He sped away on his pretentious carriage, and I watched with glee as it overturned at the gate.”

  Alexia’s jaw dropped. A stormy night, wheels rattling, whip lashing, carriage flipping, driver launched upward . . .

  “Wh-what?”

  “He was impaled on the outer gatepost.”

  “Impaled?” A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

  Sarah sighed. “I meant to keep the details from you. They are not precisely agreeable, but you have more a stomach for these things than I.”

  “Impaled?” Alexia asked again, hugging herself. Another dream fulfilled.

  “Some say it is intervention of a just deity,” Sarah’s brows lowered, “but I do not believe it.” Sinister light burned in her eyes.

  “What do you believe?”

  “It was not God.” Her lips pulled back, exposing clamped teeth.

  Alexia shifted, uneasy from the expression on her aunt’s face. “Dearest Sarah—”

  “I cannot explain it.” She picked at her skirt, a wicked grin sneaking up one cheek. “I wanted the thing to crash, and it did. Right when I asked it to. That could not be coincidence.”

  Alexia shivered. “The answer to a prayer?”

  Her aunt’s lips twitched. “It is odd. That’s all.” She straightened, eyes gleaming viciously. “You remember my parents died the same way?”

  Alexia hesitated and nodded.

  “What if we—not all of us, but some of us have . . .”

  “Have what?” Alexia leaned forward.

  Sarah smirked, an eerie smile, then resumed a pleasant grin. “Do not let me ruin your evening. It is nothing I am sure. Coincidence.”

  “Sarah, surely it is not—”

  “I wanted him dead, Lex.” The darkness of her tone drowned out her niece’s protest. A vicious sneer turned her upper lip back. The action bothered Alexia, so uncharacteristic of her beloved sister, so characteristic of someone else. “I wanted him to suffer for dragging me through hell. I hated him . . . and I loved him.”

  Alexia gasped. She knew where she’d seen that expression before.

  Sarah’s eyes turned on her innocently, as though the previous statement had been made by an entirely different being. “You look faint. Perhaps you do need to eat after all.”

  “Please,” Alexia stopped her. She turned away, swallowing the shock. She didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to believe. She couldn’t face Sarah when Bellezza might surface any moment.

  13

  John

  Alexia rounded a corner into the parlor and halted.

  A familiar bear-of-a-man stood in possession of Sarah’s hand, speaking tenderly into her blushing ear. She’d seen him before, but she couldn’t recall where. His short black hair curled neatly, his face a rectangle with a Roman nose, a stylish beard, and a modest earring that glimmered over broad shoulders. He looked thirty, perhaps? And handsome. Rugged, but handsome.

  Alexia blinked. Could Sarah have so serious a suitor this soon after her husband’s death? They hadn’t even commenced the funeral!

  “Sarah?”

  She glanced at her niece, startled. “Oh, Lexy!” Her flush deepened as she pulled free, backing away from him a step. “May I introduce Mister John Radcliffe.”

  Alexia curtsied. He bowed.

  “So this is the infamous Alexia?” His voice boomed deeply—appropriately so for a creature of his magnitude, although he only glanced briefly her direction.

  “Beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “It would please you to know Sarah never stops raving about you.”

  “John!”

  His half grin was an open one. Alexia could see why Sarah was so taken with him. “Never?”

  He cleared his throat and bowed to Sarah. “I have to be on my way, but it is a pleasure, as always, to see you.” His dark gaze turned to meet Alexia’s. “And to meet you.” But it didn’t linger long. Instead he kissed the back of Sarah’s hand and exited the quiet room.

  “John?” Alexia questioned.

  Sarah shrugged. Alexia laughed, and Sarah broke. “All right, I fancy him.”

  Alexia giggled and tucked an arm through her aunt’s.

  “He is a doctor . . .” Sarah’s shoulders lifted. “But he gives far more service than he ever receives pay, and he does it for the love of humanity. He has money.”

  “He is unmarried?”

  “Thankfully so.” Her aunt’s smile widened.

  “Where ever did you meet him?”

  “He relocated to Liverpool last year and attended to Henry when he grew ill. As our new family physician, he stops to inquire on my health every so often.”

  “Only on your health?”

  Sarah turned to leave. “I expect we shall have more guests by this evening, Henry’s family. You may wish to keep your distance from them.”

  Alexia grinned and followed her aunt, shaking her head. Given the appropriate month of mourning, Sarah would have a new beau—perhaps even a husband for the New Year.

  Alexia realized why she knew John’s face that afternoon as she gazed out at the sea. Another dream . . .

  ***

  The dead earl’s family arrived, so many of them and still there was space to spare. They were proud and condescending. Alexia stayed far away.

  The funeral finally commenced. They listened to a sermon by a hellfire-and-damnation preacher followed by the most ridiculous oratory of superfluous praise. The only part Alexia enjoyed in the least was the boys’ choir. When at last the three hours came to a close, they were prodded up the aisle under the full observance of attendees to gaze upon the withered creature and offer their final farewell. He repulsed Alexia—the embodiment of Sarah’s torture for five long years. She wondered how her aunt could feel anything but disdain, yet tears filled Sarah’s eyes.

  After the funeral dinner, they sat on the edge of a bed, Sarah and Alexia, shoes scattered across the floor, room an inordinate mess from their over-priced costumes.

  “How many people know the manner of his death?” Alexia questioned.

  “Mostly the help. They are forbidden to speak on the subject.”

  “Why?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Some stories are best left untold.”

  Alexia shuddered at the remembrance of her own strange tale—Bellezza’s haunting scream, the baron’s lifeless body, those irresistible eyes . . .

  “It must have been awful.” Her aunt’s words drew her out of the past. “Whatever happened to Baron Galedrew.”

  Alexia’s eyes snapped to her aunt. She’d written Sarah and hinted she knew about the baron�
�s disappearance, although she did not elaborate for fear Father would destroy the letter.

  Sarah flopped back onto the bed, hands braced behind her head. “People seem convinced he simply vanished.” Suspicion oozed through her words.

  Alexia swallowed. “No.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Alexia wanted to tell her—wanted it badly, but the words froze in her throat. A man with blue eyes murdered him—one I keep dreaming about who is too fantastic to be real. Sarah grew up in the same household founded on the principles of science, not superstition. Perhaps the same reason kept her from telling Alexia her own dark secrets.

  Alexia hugged herself. “I found him dead with a ladle through his chest.” She let out a shaky breath, recalling those glassy eyes. “Others saw him too, but the next day it was as though it had never happened. Only I recall the incident.”

  Sarah blinked. “That is as strange as a man dying on a gatepost.”

  She nodded.

  They let the discomfort sink into silence.

  ***

  Nighttime. Her empty room waited in Father’s estate, shadows fluttering through the drapes, balcony exit open. No one occupied the space, but it felt like . . . She turned to the mirror.

  The stranger. He gazed into the darkness, a profile of perfection . . .

  14

  Unexpected Guests

  Salty air grazed his nose as Kiren circled the fountain in the garden, listening for the whisper of feet.

  There. Softly, growing louder. He halted and slid into the shadows.

  The lady of the house stepped into a circle of moonlight, head down as she wandered forward, her eyes heavy from the lack of sleep, her mouth weighted by sorrow. A white dressing gown hugged snuggly about her form, setting off her loose raven locks. She sat on the fountain’s lip, gazing into the water. Her fingers skimmed the surface and she leaned in, studying her countenance.

  He stepped up behind her, soundlessly. “Hello, Sarah.”

  Her eyes shot wide in the water’s reflective ripples. She twisted, jaw slack.

  He nodded in greeting. “The funeral was beautiful.”

  She scoffed, shuddered, and wrapped her arms about herself. “Have you come for me? To punish me?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes squeezed closed, head bowing.

  He sat next to her and slipped his hand around hers. “I understand you did what had to be done, and you were well within your rights. But now is a dangerous time for you.”

  She shivered at his touch and lifted her eyes. They glistened beneath her lashes, the shadows of a summer canopy where dangerous things happened. He could become trapped there if not cautious, locked in the memory of another mesmerizing stare.

  One long lost to him.

  A spark of hope shot through her shaded jungle. With a quick intake of breath, her lips parted.

  She wanted him to offer again.

  He groaned inwardly. It was not too late to change her path, but her disappearance would raise so many questions—having been such a prominent member of society.

  Her mouth closed, shame crinkling her brow. She had made her decision. Pulling her hand free, she focused on the still dark water.

  He cupped her cheek. “It would be best if you leave this place. Find happiness where and how you can.” He rose. “And take care of Alexia.”

  She blinked up at him. “She knows nothing of us.”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “But—”

  “It must remain that way,” he stated firmly.

  Sarah frowned.

  He wished he could explain, but the less she knew, the better. “Believe me when I say this is for the best.”

  Sarah finally nodded. “I believe you.”

  15

  Reflections

  Father insisted Sarah return home with them. Travel after that, in the bitter cold of winter, was beyond consideration for gently raised young women, and the muddy roads of spring proved no better. It was times like these Alexia wished she’d been born a man. If not for the dream predicting his appearance, she’d have found a way to Wilhamshire.

  She enjoyed Sarah’s continued but guarded company and initiated several conversations about their uncanny changes. Sarah held her tongue. Alexia fumed over her near-sister’s silence, but could not ignore the warning in Sarah’s eyes. Her aunt was protecting her somehow.

  June arrived: her birthday.

  Terrible eyes, red in the twilight. Empty things . . .

  The grime-covered young woman lay on a dusty night road, fingers latched at her bodice as though she’d been struggling to break its hold—to breathe. Raven locks curled about a tortured pale face, her eyes wide and begging, reflecting the image of a man: angelic, radiant, blue eyed.

  She was beautiful.

  She was also dead.

  Alexia shoved out of her covers, gasping in the darkness. She could no longer deny that these were more than mere dreams. Maybe some were, but the number that had come true . . . And unlike those which started when turned sixteen, this one came every year—every birthday as far back as she could recall.

  She pulled her fingers through ebony curls, trying not to compare the dead girl’s countenance to her own, but the truth would not be silenced. She’d seen herself dead, and he would be the cause.

  Unless she was wrong. Unless the dream lied.

  She washed the moisture from her brow. Today she would endure yet another kind of dread: a birthday party. Would she be too exhausted to fend off Father’s invited “prospectives”—many of whom had already arrived? At least Sarah would help.

  She sighed. The companionship of her sister-aunt made Mother’s increased distance bearable. If not for Sarah, she might have felt completely alone.

  Alexia slipped through the balcony exit to overlook the western woods, Father’s hunting grounds. Praying her hellish delusion would never become more, she turned to the stars. They twinkled indifferently. She wished for the long-lost anonymity of her ghastly seclusion, to fade into the background that had always been her habitation, to no longer be the girl everyone watched.

  Her eyes returned to the forest floor.

  Movement.

  Her throat constricted. She leapt into the room and fastened the balcony catch, peering through.

  Why should she be alarmed by deer? How silly! Truly she was beside herself with wonder. But another dread welled up from within, one she could not silence, one involving hungry crimson pupils.

  She pulled the shade.

  16

  Preservation

  Kiren released the under-timbers of her balcony and dropped ten feet to the ground. Jogging away from the building, he glanced back as her curtains closed.

  Good.

  Freeing the pendant around his neck, he stepped into the trees and whistled. The youth stepped out of the shadows, his skin deathly white.

  Kiren frowned. “Stay close.”

  17

  Admirers

  Hours ticked away before Alexia finally drifted off again, but come noon, Father expected her outside for a private meal at his tea-table.

  She sat miserably.

  “Why is it every year . . . ?” He studied her face. “Do you do that intentionally?”

  “Do what?”

  “Not sleep?”

  “Father . . .” She rubbed her eyes.

  So he’d noticed. The only reason he commented, however, was because he anticipated presenting her this evening at her best.

  “Well.” He cleared his throat. “I expect you will make up for it.”

  She bit her lip. What if she didn’t want to make up for it? She had embraced this bewildering exterior during the holidays and welcomed Father’s suggested suitors. None of them favored her. Most had preferred she keep her mouth shut and talked over her or simply stood there in awkward silence, staring.

  “You know I worry about you, Alexia.”

  Yes, she knew it. He feared he’d raised a child too intelligent to s
ettle on some dim-witted and wealthy noble.

  “When Sarah was your age—”

  “You had her promised to a fifty-one year old man.” She crossed her arms, scowling.

  “That is right.” He blinked back at her and cleared this throat.

  She didn’t do him the justice of disbanding her anger. This was the one day she might actually get away with being willful.

  He shifted in his seat. “Someone approached me near your last birthday with a proposal of marriage.”

  Alexia blinked. “For me? Was he mistaken?”

  “He is a wealthy countryman from the North, older, intellectual, a good match.”

  “How much older?” Smoothing the folds of her napkin, she held her breath.

  He shrugged. “Enough. I was sorely tempted to accept his offer, and I would have if . . .”

  She shuddered. If she hadn’t changed.

  His head shook. “You have your pick of suitors, but I do expect you to make a choice before your next birthday.”

  Her jaw tumbled.

  He grinned, bumping her chin up with a knuckle. “Some young man will be very lucky to acquire you.”

  She moaned.

  “Do not start,” he purred. “You shall be happy—or I’ll not let you go.” His boyish dimple had surfaced. He meant it.

  “I know.” She smiled back.

  “One year, or I will accept that generous proposal on your behalf.”

  “But—”

  “One year.”

  The meal ended.

  She wandered into the gardens, anxious to be anywhere but the estate—where confrontation and disquiet waited at every turn. Tonight she would confront the barrage of hopefuls. For now, she wanted to explore the tree line, quell her fantastic imagination, and leave last night behind.

  Her heart picked up a beat.

  Willows crowded together, thin on the outskirts and opening into an ominous darkness. Foliage from last season crunched under her soles, alarming a nearby bird who took flight. The creature’s twittering escape should have filled her with a sense of normality, but it only deepened her foreboding.