When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy)

by Forbes, Amber Skye

  I only know Theosodore as Mother Aurelia’s companion. I’ve heard rumors about his flirting with the sisters of Cathedral Reims though. Beyond that, he is an enigmatic man. I pull the Colette doll to me and start fixing her hair. “He is here for something more, Colette. Maybe he wants to con Father into donating a good fortune to him to fund this burning. Maybe this is why Pope Gilford only wants well-off families because they’re the only ones who could afford to foist off large amounts of money.” I pull the Colette doll away, staring deeply into her glassy blue eyes. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Maybe I should head down to the parlor to make certain Father won’t fall for anything. He wants to start his own accounting business, and I don’t want him giving away any of his start-up money.”

  Tucking the Colette doll against me, I get up to leave, only to be stopped by the presence of Theosodore himself. “I appear to have gotten myself quite lost trying to find the wash closet. Would you like to re-direct me?” His foolish grin overtakes his whiskery face.

  He walks calmly toward me. Even though he is calm, my muscles become petrified wood. Something hostile in his stride pushes me back until I’m against the wall paneling, clutching the doll to me like she is my shield. Now hovering over me, he is no longer a man who merely came here to deliver a forced invitation. He is a man who sends poison shooting through me. I shrink against the wall, willing for the wood to give way behind me so I can fall through and get away from him. The thick scent of cigar pushes through my nostrils, making my knees buckle. What does he want with me?

  His jagged smile widens. He snakes out a finger and tilts my chin up at him. My throat goes dry, my eyes widen, and my nerves scream to run, though something keeps my body pinned against the wall. “I take it you’re not going to show me to the wash closet, then. That’s all right. I’d much rather be here…with you.”

  I push myself off the wall and stare him in the eye. “What on earth do you want with me?” My own brazenness surprises me. This is almost too coincidental for me to remain silent. “Isn’t my father expecting you back shortly? He might go looking for you, and if he sees us like this, there is no telling what he’ll do.”

  Theosodore lets out a slight laugh that sends me back against the wall. “Even if he does come, he won’t be able to do anything. I can make certain of that.”

  His stare hardens, making me tremble. “Please tell me what you want with me. Please.”

  “I didn’t have this planned today, believe me, but seeing you out of that drab dress and clothed the way you are…I can’t help it. But I don’t want to do this, I can promise you that much. I just might as well with someone I find physically appealing, and you are.” He pushes his face close to mine. “Very much.”

  I stand up straight and mentally match my height with his. “You mean to hurt me then.”

  “Trying to make yourself seem bigger than you feel, aren’t you? That doesn’t work.”

  “I’m not afraid.” I’m frightened beyond belief, but if I don’t show him that I’m threatened, then maybe he’ll leave me alone. Those who want to hurt people only want to hurt to see others suffer. “But if you truly don’t want to hurt me, then why are you in here, cornering me like this, flirting with me in such a threatening manner?”

  He laughs again. “If I told you, you’d never believe me, and why should you? No one else would. No one believes people like me. People fear others like me.”

  “People like you?” Right when I ask the question, I realize what he means. There is only one type of person all people are afraid of, and I’m not even afraid to ask the truth aloud. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He never showed any signs of being a witch, but this world is rife with people who fear witches. “But what does that have to do with your intensions of keeping me in here like this?”

  Theosodore doesn’t seem fazed by my knowing the truth. He simply looks at me with indifference, like it’s something people would have eventually found out. It’s no surprise, I suppose. Anyone at Cathedral Reims could be a witch now. I think I’ve grown cynical. The Seven Deadly Sins are a plague among humanity. I can safely say I wouldn’t be surprised if Mother Aurelia were one. His indifference makes me suspicious though. How does he know I’m not going to kick him where it hurts, run, and tell the priest of Norbury that he’s a witch? Knowing this makes me stand taller, straighter, and solidifies me to the ground so that if a hurricane swept through Norbury, I’d still be standing in the same place.

  I don’t even let him answer my previous question. “I could tell, you know. They’ll burn you, right along with your hypocrisy. You’re a witch going about Warbele telling people they have no choice but to attend a witch burning.”

  Without warning, he plants his meaty hands on either side of me, trapping me against him. The space around me tightens, leaving only a few inches between him and I. His cigar scent gags me, and I no longer feel brave. I’m a newborn bird trying to hatch from a steel egg.

  “You won’t tell though, and I’ll tell you why. I can manipulate you to believe anything that comes out of my mouth.” He digs his fingers in the wall paneling. “And I can do that, but I won’t. I have to get what I need to continue surviving. You’re partly right about what I am, but that was in another life.”

  The last six words he spoke bounce around in my mind. The room seems to shrink in around me, pressing in on my lungs, until the only air I’m breathing is the breath from Theosodore’s lungs, all cigar-laden and filled with cruelty. He is a Shadowman, like Asch, Sash, Gisbelle, all of them. And he must have taken the blood of a human, for he does not bear the black eyes and white skin of one. That means he knows I’m a witch. Will he tell if I don’t give him what he wants? There seems to be that unspoken threat between us. Even though I can accuse him of being a witch, his accusation would hold far more weight simply because he is in a position of authority within the Professed Order.

  I needn’t concentrate on what could be. I need to concentrate on what will be. Whether or not Theosodore chooses to divulge my being a witch doesn’t matter, as I need to escape this present situation before worrying about that.

  Swallowing, I speak up. “W-what do you want with me? What do you want to do to me?”

  He takes a hand and bunches my dress, slowly lifting it up over my shins, my knees, then my thighs. “I need your purity. Since I have to do this, I promise this will be quick. Or, if you want, I can make this enjoyable for you. This doesn’t have to hurt, Amelia. I don’t have to make this cruel.”

  Tears build in my eyes. I know what he wants to do to me. I then blink the tears away. I need to fight and not cry or scream. He wouldn’t kill me, I don’t think he would. If I fight back, the worst he could do is break my bones, but I’ll still have my life, I hope. He may even get what he wants in the end, but at least I can live knowing I tried to fight, that I’m not completely weak and helpless.

  I grab his wrist, stopping his progress. I press my nails into his hand and strain my neck to really look up at him. “You will not do this to me. I’ll scream that you’re a witch. Someone will hear. Crying witch will be enough to send someone running to the priest.”

  And I know what’s going to happen next before he even does it, but I’m prepared and a little proud of myself for at least being courageous. I let the Colette doll fall softly on a stack of books. Theosodore digs his thick fingers into my waist, pulls me up, and throws me on the ground. I yelp as my elbow hits the floor, pain radiating through my arm that could make the bone shatter if I were any weaker. I try to roll away from him; he throws his weight on me.

  I flail beneath him, kicking out my legs, beating my fists on his muscular back. I even bite into his shoulder, drawing a scream from him.

  He pulls away, keeping my shoulders pinned to the ground. “I don’t want to have to harm you, Amelia, but I will if you don’t cooperate. I promise I won’t make this painful for you. I will listen to you.”

  “Then listen to me when I say I don’t want you to do this to me.”<
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  Something like worry passes through his eyes, but vanishes instantly. “You don’t understand. There is a life after this, a beautiful one, and we all must meet certain demands to find ourselves in that new world.”

  I raise my shoulders and scream in his face, “Why do you have to do this to me?”

  “I have to. Do you think I wanted to be saddled with this fate? I would have preferred something milder, but such is the way of Deus.”

  I want to scream at him to not blame Deus for his own choices, but he slams a knee into my stomach, squeezing every precious bit of air out of me, and lifts up my dress. His fingers claw at my bloomers, fumbling around with them, until he finds the top and drags them down. Air assaults me down there, shivers snaking over my body that have nothing to do with being cold and everything to do with the discomfort of this feeling that should only belong to Oliver.

  Theosodore fumbles with his belt, his knee still pressed into me. No matter how much I beat my fists on him, or kick him, or even scream, I cannot push him off me. I can’t weaken those powerful muscles rippling beneath his waistcoat with each tug on his belt he makes. I am causing such a riot that I’m surprised Father has not come. Then again, the library is tucked deep into the recesses of this mansion. Exhaustion weakens my muscles, and all I can do is heavily breathe beneath him, squeeze my eyes shut, and prepare.

  Then I think about fire, the fire I need, the fire that could hurt him and allow me to get away. I think Nathaniel has cast fire only once, but that was an accident. I need this to be deliberate.

  I don’t know how to do that though!

  The clink of metal opens my eyes. Theosodore pulls the belt out of his loops and throws it aside. Then he reaches into his pressed slacks and draws out his erection, and the size brings a primal scream that must have been building somewhere in me.

  Adrenaline fills every cavity in my body, and I can’t think of fire anymore. I knee Theosodore in the thigh, pushing his weight forward. His eyes bulge as he falls. I move my head to the left to avoid his. As he struggles to get up, I struggle to get out from beneath him. I manage to pull out everything from underneath, save for my left leg, before Theosodore pulls himself up and lunges at me.

  His lunge frees my leg, and adrenaline compels me to my feet. I rush to the door and grab the handle, but I turn too hard, and it breaks. In the process of breaking, the lock must have gotten jammed; I cannot open the door. So I beat against the wood and scream for someone to free me.

  Heat flushes through me. Each beat of my fists against the door heightens the temperature, and either I’m getting a fever or more is pumping through me, but I know this is not natural.

  Theosodore digs his thick nails into my shoulder and whirls me around. Red veins swell out of the whites of his eyes. “You have left me no choice. I gave you a chance. I gave you a chance!”

  He pulls his fist back, and I turn my head away, locking my eyes on a stack of books, ready for the impact, the ensuing blackness. At least I won’t feel what he’s going to do to me. At least I may forget how I even ended up here. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  The heat increases and shoots down to my fingers. A searing pain explodes through the pads of my fingertips, and I scream as the heat ebbs from me. Theosodore screams as well.

  My eyes fly open, and the stack of books is on fire. He looks at me with wide eyes and backs away, falling on the floor. His shock gives me enough time to turn around, fumble with the door jamb, and free myself.

  The fire, carried by dust, spreads from the stack of books, to another stack, to the curtains on the window, to more books, and eats up everything flammable. I turn away from the scene and bolt without looking back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My doll barely survived the fire. Her hands are melted nubs, and her head is almost bald, patches of golden hair sticking out that make her head look like it’s been through a grinder. The irony of her appearance is almost too sickening. Just when I thought I’d be able to re-claim Colette’s pure image, Theosodore comes along and ruins her. But I can’t throw her away. I can only hold on to her because at least this version of Colette is in no danger of spouting off scary things or convulsing or turning into a Shadowman and running off. I will store her in my armoire…for good.

  Father suspects the fire in the library was an accident: a fallen taper, static electricity mixed with old, dry books. The reasons don’t matter. He will never suspect it was me. As for Theosodore, he left to Deus knows where. I have no worries about his wanting to accuse me of being a witch. The only satisfaction he’ll get is my potential execution, but he isn’t that vindictive, I don’t believe. Even if he is, the energy to care has been lost on me. He didn’t hurt me, after all. I am still alive and pure. I’ve suffered worse than almost being ravished

  Right now, all that matters is Oliver. He consumes my thoughts: his wintry smell, those gray eyes that make me think of a sky flushed with lightning, his droopy bangs that make me think of a raven’s feathers. I think to tell him about Theosodore and what he tried to do to me and ask Oliver what his motives are, but I think better of it. He seems to have his own troubles. I shouldn’t confound them by giving him another Shadowman to worry about.

  In my room, I brush my hair and put it in a tight braid. I scrub my face free of sweat and soot, and I dab my skin with rose water. I dress in my best nightgown and twirl in the mirror of my vanity. The girl looking back at me is no porcelain doll, but she will have to do. Oliver must see something in me, so I don’t feel like I’ll need to try too hard to look appealing to his eyes.

  I go over to my window, and find Oliver looking up with a tired smile on his face. I gesture him to the back, then rush downstairs to fetch him. When I throw open the door, I leap into his arms for a much-needed embrace. Then before he can even react, I shove him against the wall and press my lips to his, inhaling the sweet winter of his being. I pull away, delicious heat flooding my body that pushes out any bit of stress that might have been coiling in me.

  Oliver lets out a slight laugh. “Aren’t you going to take me to your room first? Do you really want to kiss me in a foyer, and a dark one at that?” He stifles a sneeze. “And dusty. Not terribly romantic, Amelia.”

  I close my eyes, sighing. “It’s been a long day, Olly. Come, come.” I lace my fingers through his and take him upstairs.

  As I bring him upstairs, my insecurities start assaulting my mind. Is my room clean enough for him? Will my bed be comfortable? Why did I not decide to speak with him in the parlor instead? What was I thinking when I chose my bedroom? A lady being alone with a man, especially in her bedroom, is beyond scandalous. Suggesting my bedroom so flippantly is not who I’m supposed to be. Then again, I have changed. I kiss Oliver without shame. I think about that dream without shame. I can share my bedroom with him without shame. I can even let him sleep in my bed with me without shame, and I want him to. I desperately want him to.

  “Welcome to my cozy little cocoon,” I say, opening my door.

  Oliver steps in and runs a finger down the champagne-colored wallpaper with white fleur-de-lis. “I quite like the antique charm of this room. In fact, I like this room period. Far better than the tiny cells the Professed Order provides its members with. You never mentioned, but will I be staying the night?” He goes over to my bed and lays his lean body across it. He presses himself against the mattress, sighs, and closes his eyes with a smile. His body looks so inviting that I want to go over and drape myself across him. “It would be quite welcoming, if you don’t mind. I’m tired of hotel rooms.”

  I approach my bed and lay down on my side, facing him. “If it’s not too brazen of me, I’d love for you to stay the night.”

  Oliver pushes his face close to mine. “You can never be too brazen with me.” He touches the bottom of my chin with two fingers, tilts it, and gives me a light kiss.

  He goes to pull away, but I bring his lips back to mine, spreading my fingers against his shoulder blades. I then drape my leg over him and entwi
ne my body with his. Oliver feels fragile and cold in my arms. Most girls would find this unattractive; however, his fragility makes me want to cradle him since I feel like I can use my body heat to protect him. For once I feel strong, and I want to be strong with him. I don’t want to be something made of glass that needs constant coddling.

  He sighs, his lips against my forehead. “You’re so warm.” He runs his hand down the side of my face, grabs my braid, and slowly undoes it with his fingers. “I miss being this warm. You have no idea how much I miss being human. Even after so long being a Shadowman, I cannot get used to this cold feeling.”

  My voice comes out breathy. “How long have you been one?”

  His voice comes out as a light whisper that sends an electrical shiver down my spine. “Too long.”

  A slight gasp escapes my lips. I can feel his hardness pressing against me. Part of me wants to explore that side of him, while another part of me chides myself for wanting to take his little visit so far already. I sit up, pulling in deep breaths to cool myself down.

  He circles my thigh and looks at me with eyes full of want. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, Olly, but you know I have questions for you about the Shadowmen. I hate having to ruin this moment, but if we don’t talk about this, we never will.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Disappointment shades his voice, making me feel guilty. “Well, what do you want to know?”

  The questions are already at the cusp of my mind. I have mulled over them since leaving the park. “I want to know about Purgatory, I want to know more about those Shadowmen, and I want to know what they want with witches.”

  Oliver sits up, pulling his long legs to his chest. “There’s not much to say about Purgatory. I haven’t even seen the man myself. I suspect you already know he is the leader of the Shadowmen Alliance. But I frankly don’t know much beyond that, or why he would have an interest in you.” A suggestive smile overtakes his face. “Unless he finds you as beautiful as I do and wants you just as badly as I want you right now.”