Dominick charged down the stairs and skidded to a stop. “What in the bloody blazes is going on?”
Hatchet panted and rested his hands on his knees. “Can’t unlock the bloody thing. Can’t even chop it open. Damned strange.”
Victor stared at the coffin, his mind a blank slate. He’d never seen wood that didn’t splinter under an axe. His gaze turned to Mercy. “Any ideas? This isn’t normal.”
She rubbed her temples and paced, talking to herself too fast and low for him to make out a word of it. Her head snapped up, and the fear in her eyes caused his stomach to drop.
“An enchantment spell on the coffin?” she offered. “That would protect it from harm and account for why it’s indestructible.”
Victor shook his head. “We opened the coffin once. Why wouldn’t the enchantment have prevented us last time?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the charm is linked to our intent,” Mercy said, swallowing. “We were only seeking the stone last time. Or maybe it was invoked when we took the stone.”
Hatchet snorted. “Or maybe you cast the enchantment spell when we entered the chapel.”
Mercy’s mouth fell open. “That’s absurd!”
“Is it?” Hatchet asked, stalking toward her. “What’s absurd is that you’re asking me to believe that Elizabeth Thorne cast an enchantment spell over four hundred years ago that can sense people’s moods and intent. You’re the only one here capable of casting an enchantment spell.” She backed away, around Elizabeth’s coffin, and Hatchet stalked after her. “You’ve hated Victor since day one, and you’ve made it painfully clear you have no intention of breaking the Blackburn curse. Justice will be served when Victor dies! Those were your words, not mine. I was there when you vowed never to trust him again, and it’s been weeks since Victor begged you to forgive him. But you haven’t. Is this some ploy of yours? Act like you’re supporting him, but in reality, you’re biding your time, putting up roadblocks. Victor dies of the curse, you get your revenge, and then you save your son.”
The blood drained from Mercy’s face. “No, please, no. You must believe me. That’s not what’s happening here. Victor, please, trust me.”
Tension built in Victor’s shoulders as his gaze vacillated between Hatchet and Mercy. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the accusations. But when Hatchet framed his argument in that way . . .
Was she capable of such deception? He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and stared at Mercy. Trust me. She wanted him to trust her, as he’d begged her to trust him. Trust was a two-way street.
His gaze fell on the coffin, then moved to the axe before finding Dominick’s bewildered face. He’d thought she was on the verge of forgiving him. Was it all an act?
Victor met her gaze. “Mercy, is this true?”
“No,” she sobbed. “You have to trust me.”
Those words again. Hollow words. There wasn’t a single ounce of trust to be had between the two of them.
“The way you trust me?” He turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs, desperate to get away from everyone and everything. His life was a sinking ship on a stormy sea, and he wanted off the wild ride. He was so damned tired of being tossed about, battered and waterlogged.
“Victor, is everything all right?” Eveline asked, still kneeling in the first pew.
He ignored her and stomped down the aisle.
“Stop and listen to me,” Mercy said, latching on to his sleeve. “I didn’t enchant the coffin. Please, Victor. I didn’t do this. What can I say to make you believe me?”
His heart cracked as he stared into her eyes. She was only a dream he clung to against all odds. What had he been thinking? That after he killed her mother and kidnapped her, she would fall into his arms and love him all the days of their lives? That was the stuff of fairy tales, and his life was a proven tragedy.
“Nothing,” he said, steeling his heart. “There’s nothing you can say.”
He turned and stomped away.
“I’ll break the curse,” she said, racing to stand in front of him. “The full moon is a few days away. Close enough. You have all four stones. Let’s get the spell book and be done with it.”
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. “You have to cast the spell with love in your heart. Can you do that?”
She rubbed her stomach and nodded. “I can, and I will.”
Of course, for the babe she carried.
“For you as well,” she said, as though reading his mind. “You once said we can be happy together, if I let us. I want us to be happy. You, me, and our child. I forgive you, Victor.”
His throat constricted; he pulled her into his arms, unable to utter a single word. She squeezed him tight, burying her face in his chest. He wanted to believe her. And he would soon know if she spoke the truth.
“For us,” he said, wrapping her hand around his arm. “Where is the spell book?”
She set off in the direction of the main estate, tugging him along. “On my bedside table. Remember? I read about the spell to ward off negative energy before we entered the crypt.”
A growl of frustration rumbled in his chest. “That didn’t work very well.”
“No, I suppose not.” Scrunching her nose, she smiled. “Witchcraft is an imperfect science.”
“More like a circus,” Hatchet grumbled from behind.
Dominick snorted, and Eveline sighed. “Really, that isn’t helpful,” she admonished. “In difficult times, we must all pull together. If you can’t say something productive, best you say nothing at all.”
Victor chuckled, unable to ignore the set-down. Eveline was the only person among them capable of scolding Hatchet without him losing his temper.
The remainder of the brisk walk to Mercy’s bedroom was conducted in silence. Victor struggled to contain the nervous energy bubbling inside him as he contemplated what they were about to do. Everything he had done in the past decade had been leading to this moment.
He paused in front of the Golden Room and opened the door, allowing Mercy to pass through first. She lifted her skirt and darted to her bedside table.
“Where is it?” she said, scratching her head. “I’m sure I left it on the table.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your closet, Mercy. And beneath your bed. Organization is not your strength. Are you sure?”
She skewered him with narrowed eyes. “Yes, I’m . . . Well, perhaps I sat by the fire for a minute.”
Eveline turned out the cushions of the chairs and shook her head. They all spread out and searched every inch of her quarters. But the book was nowhere to be found.
Hatchet folded his arms over his chest and glared at Mercy. “That’s mighty—”
“Hatchet!” Eveline said, her tone carrying a clear warning.
He clamped his mouth shut and turned on his heel, stalking away. But Victor heard his friend mutter “convenient” as he leaned against the wall to stare out the window. A coffin that suddenly refused to open, a missing spell book . . . Perhaps his friend had the right of it.
Eveline blew out a breath. “I’ll go speak with Mary. Perhaps she moved the book while you were out.”
Dominick caught hold of her hand. “Wait, I’ll accompany you. I don’t like this. The housekeeper dies in a freak accident. Someone is tampering with Vivian’s coffin. Mercy’s book of spells disappears. We can’t explain any of it. This does not bode well.”
Victor rubbed his chin. “If Mary didn’t move the book, then someone took it. We’ll need to make discreet inquiries.”
“Or conduct an impromptu search,” Dominick said, his mouth turning down. “I’d prefer to maintain the element of surprise. Might I suggest we begin with the servants’ quarters? The tome would fetch a fortune on the black market.”
Mercy inhaled sharply. “Who would do such a thing?”
Victor shook his head and sat on the edge of a chair. “Most of the servants have been with our family for generations. I cannot believe one of them would steal from us.�
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“They’re not stealing from the family,” Eveline remarked. “The book belongs to Mercy. And I know of at least one staff member who isn’t fond of her and was recently hired on so she holds no loyalty to the family.”
“You bumped into Mrs. Hart the other day outside of my bedroom door,” Mercy said, glancing at Victor. “Was she in my room? She would’ve seen the book.”
His brow lifted in surprise. “Yes, but that doesn’t prove anything. She’s the housekeeper and must inspect the maid’s work. I want to find the book as much as anyone, but let’s not make hasty accusations or leap to conclusions. That will not serve our purpose.”
Eveline chewed on a fingernail. “I suppose you’re right. Still, I would suggest you search her room first. As the housekeeper, she enjoys the privacy of her own room.”
“As does Milton,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Shall I search his quarters as well?”
Dominick nodded. “This isn’t a joke. I’m sure it isn’t pleasant, suspecting your servants of thievery, but the book didn’t get up and walk away by itself. Let’s divide and conquer. We’ll search Milton’s room while you two search Mrs. Hart’s room. And Hatchet can keep them occupied.”
“Fine,” Hatchet said, striding to the door. “Give me ten minutes. It’s almost tea time. Milton never misses an opportunity to eat sweets, and Mrs. Hart is fond of listening to my stories while sipping her mint tea.”
Mercy stared at him, her mouth agape.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, straightening his jacket. “I grew accustomed to spending time in the kitchen while I was the butler at Devil’s Cove Manor. I’m also a pirate and grew up in New Orleans. Others find me quite fascinating, if not entertaining.”
With that, Hatchet, Dominick, and Eveline exited, leaving Mercy and Victor alone in her bedroom. He lounged on one of the chairs beside the hearth, his head propped against the back. Oh, how he’d missed being in her room each night.
She licked her lips. “What shall we do for the next ten minutes?”
He could think of any number of things. She had forgiven him, and he had missed her dreadfully. But more than anything, he wanted to hold her and simply talk.
“Come here, Mercy,” he said, crooking his finger.
She rubbed the base of her neck and strolled to the chair opposite him, eyeing him warily. Before she sat, he lunged forward and pulled her onto his lap.
“Victor,” she squealed. “Let me go. I said I forgive you, not that I love you.”
“You always smell lovely,” he said, ignoring her protests and nuzzling her neck. “Sweet orange is my favorite, but I like the cinnamon and vanilla, too.”
She shoved his shoulder. “Daft man, I never wear cinnamon and vanilla.”
“Not true,” Victor said, sniffing the air. “I can smell it all around us.”
Mercy sat up and inhaled through her nose. “Where is that coming from? I’m serious, Victor. I don’t wear anything with cinnamon or vanilla. Except when I brew love potion. They’re essential ingredients, and the scent lingers on my clothing.”
She stood and meandered around the room, sniffing occasionally. “I think it’s coming from the closet.”
He jumped off the bed and followed her inside. The scent was definitely more pronounced in the closet. “Perhaps Mary has hung a bag of herbs in here to make your clothes smell sweet.”
“Perhaps,” Mercy said with a shrug. “All this talk of cinnamon and vanilla has distracted us, and now our ten minutes are over.”
He turned her around to exit the closet. Time to search for the spell book in Mrs. Hart’s room and break the goddamned curse.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Shouldn’t we wear masks?” Mercy whispered as they crept down the corridor. She felt unbearably exposed—and naughty. But she ought not to have worried, because her accomplice was a master of deception. He had gained entrance into her second-floor apartment and abducted her. Still, she peeked over her shoulder every few steps.
Victor pushed open the door to Mrs. Hart’s bedroom. “We’re not thieves, silly woman. She stole from us. Not the other way around.”
She slipped into the room after him and closed the door quietly behind her. “So now you believe she stole my book? You defended her less than half an hour ago.”
He sighed and started rummaging through the dresser drawers. “I wasn’t defending her, per se, but rather the principle of the matter. A servant’s best interests aren’t served by stealing from her employer.”
“Unless what she is stealing is worth more than her annual wages,” Mercy said tartly.
She surveyed the room, shocked to find the furnishings quite lacking. Other than the dresser and a chest stored at the end of the bed, there was little to search. Victor might look underneath the bed as well, but they would be done in a matter of minutes. Best to get on with it.
Kneeling before the chest, she grabbed the lid, but it wouldn’t budge. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Why else would the housekeeper keep the chest locked if not to hide stolen treasures? Perhaps she was on the precipice of a great discovery.
“Do you see a key on the dresser?” she asked, feeling her coiffure for a hairpin, which might do in a pinch. “This is locked.”
Victor pulled a ring of skeleton keys from his pocket and tossed it to her before closing the bottom drawer. “Nothing here but an incredibly drab wardrobe,” he said. “I expected to find at least one pouch of hidden love letters. Isn’t that what women hide in their drawers?”
Who would write love letters to Mrs. Hart? Except perhaps Milton. Although the housekeeper was rather dull, never leaving the grounds of the estate, the butler seemed rather taken with the lady. Mercy giggled at the notion of the two as a couple.
But enough of that diversion. She bent to her task, and to her delight, the chest opened on her second try.
“Anything of interest?” Victor asked, kneeling beside her. He peered inside and pulled out a box, shaking it. The contents rattled. “What do we have here?”
“Open it,” she said. “We haven’t got all day.”
Setting it on the floor, he lifted the lid to reveal a series of bottles. With a furrowed brow, he read the labels aloud: henna, coconut oil, indigo, and vinegar among them.
“What do you make of it?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It appears that your housekeeper dyes her hair.”
“Although interesting,” he said, returning his attention to the chest, “it doesn’t further our cause.”
Mercy slapped his hands aside. “We have to put everything back the way we found it.”
He ignored her and pulled out another box, handing it to her. This one was much too thin and square to contain her spell book. Sitting back on his haunches, he surveyed the room.
“There is nothing else besides the two boxes. What do you suppose the lady does with her free time? Where are her books or embroidery or sketchpads?” he asked.
“I haven’t a clue.”
Nor did she care when her attention was drawn to the unopened container in her hands. It looked curiously like a jewelry box, and very old. They really ought to check under the bed and be on their way. But she wanted—no, she needed—to peek inside. What precious gem lay hidden within? Perhaps the housekeeper had a valid reason for locking the chest, after all.
She lifted the lid and heaved in a breath. The box wobbled in her hands, but Victor caught it before it overturned. Mercy fell back on her bum and scrambled away, her heart racing in her chest.
He set the jewel aside and crawled to her, rubbing her cheek. “Are you all right? Truly, you look ill.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed, finding her center.
“Talk to me, lass. What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you recognize the necklace?” she whispered, her eyes searching his. He must’ve noticed the similarities. “From the cover of the Tome of the Accursed.”
His eyebrows knitted, and he reached
for the jewelry box again, opening it. He set it down between them, and they stared at it together. A delicate collar of spun gold formed the base of the necklace. Mercy traced her finger over the diamond-shaped links interwoven within the collar. The links lent the collar strength to support three tiers of scalloped gold chains which, when worn by a fair lady, would narrow perfectly into the vee of her bosom. Encased in the center scallop was a magnificent diamond.
“The Brisingamen necklace,” she said, stroking the gem. “I cannot believe it. All this time, it truly existed. How did Mrs. Hart come to own it?”
He shook his head and consulted his watch. “We’ll have to think on that later,” he said, shoving the box back into the chest and locking it. He looked under the bed and between the cushions of the chair then slipped his hand underneath the pillows. “Our time is almost up. Let’s get out of here before tea time is over. And Mercy,” he said, his gaze intense, “perhaps it’s best we keep our little secret about the necklace between us. Until we have time to think on it.”
She nodded.
A few minutes later, they entered the parlor, and she took her first normal breath since they’d exited the servants’ corridor. Eveline and Dominick arrived on their heels, and the four of them huddled near the fireplace.
“Any luck in Milton’s room?” Mercy whispered.
Eveline shook her head. “Nothing, and Mary confirms she didn’t touch the spell book, though she recalled seeing it on the bedside table while she cleaned.”
Victor leaned against the fireplace. “The book wasn’t in Mrs. Hart’s room, either. I say we sweep the rest of the rooms while the servants are at supper. What say you, Dominick?”
“I agree. If we don’t find anything, we’ll need to speak with your family. They might have some insight. Especially your father.” Dominick rubbed his neck. “No disrespect, but he doesn’t trust Mercy. He might have decided to confiscate the book to copy the counter spell. Or hold it in safekeeping until the full moon.”
Victor nodded reluctantly.
She didn’t want to interrogate his family either, but what options were left? The full moon was upon them. Finding the book of spells was their top priority.
Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2) Page 22