Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3)

by Heather McVea

  Bryce’s brow arched in surprise. “He doesn’t mind?”

  The corner of Abitha’s mouth turned up as she looked toward the hall. “We each have our own interests.”

  Bryce wasn’t sure what the woman meant, but was relieved to not have had a repeat of what transpired at the Atherson house when she and Hope had been found out. “Are - are you fine with it, too?” She didn’t love Abitha, but she was certainly attracted to her and the idea of not having to sneak around only added to the woman’s appeal.

  Sitting up, Abitha leaned forward, running her finger lightly along Bryce’s jaw and then down her neck. “You are beautiful.”

  Bryce’s neck flushed a crimson red and, not able to stop herself, she kissed Abitha. Cupping the back of Abitha’s neck, Bryce pulled her closer. The warmth of the other woman’s mouth caused Bryce’s body to tremble. She had struggled with her feelings for Hope, and the woman’s secrecy had only added to Bryce’s shame.

  Abitha’s openness about her wants and desires stirred something in Bryce. For the first time in her life she felt empowered by what made her different, not frightened by it.

  ***

  It was April 19, 1775, and Bryce was running late for her work at the Green Dragon. With a light shawl draped over her shoulders, she hurried down the uneven and muddied streets of Boston just before sunset.

  Rounding the corner of Union Street, she began to hear raised voices coming from outside the pub. The street was crowded with nearly fifty men and some women and people were being jostled about in the congestion.

  “What’s happening?” Bryce asked an older woman who stood cautiously on the outskirts of the crowd.

  “The war has happened.” The woman took Bryce’s hand in hers. “The bloody backs are being pushed from Lexington.” Shuttering, the stranger released Bryce’s hand. “They’ll be in Boston soon - by the hundreds!”

  Bryce took a step back. Her family was in Lexington, and she had no way of finding out if they were safe. Tears filled her eyes as she feared for their lives.

  “Miss Whelan, what are you doing out on a night like this?” Duncan Alcock was standing directly beside Bryce. She started, wondering how he had gotten so close to her without her noticing. It had been a week since the incident in the alley, and she hadn’t seen the man. Now she felt compelled to thank him for his assistance.

  “Mr. Alcock, I was coming in for work. But first, I want to thank you for -”

  The man held his hand up, a genuine smile on his face. “There’s no need. I did what any gentleman would.” He reached for Bryce’s hand. “Ladies in distress are my specialty.”

  Bryce felt a surge of heat flood her neck and face and for a split second, a light flashed across Duncan’s eyes. Bryce took a half step back, her bare hand still resting in Duncan’s gloved one.

  The man smirked. “Go home, Miss Whelan. All hell is about to break loose. Lock your doors and windows. The British will withdrawal into the city in an attempt to hold it and our boys will give chase.” He looked around the crowd. “The streets won’t be safe.” He reached into the inner pocket of his navy blue, knee-length coat and pulled a small paper card out. “This is my address should you need to call on me.”

  Bryce’s brow furrowed as she took the paper from the man’s hand. Their fingers touched, and the coldness of Duncan’s skin sent a shiver up Bryce’s back. Looking at the paper, she shook her head. “I - I can’t read this, sir.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied Bryce closely. “It’s the white and gray two story near the corner of Milk and Bishops. Can you find that?”

  Nodding, Bryce shoved the paper into her pocket. “Yes, sir, but I shouldn’t think to bother you -”

  Duncan frowned. “How is it a bother when I’ve asked?”

  Unable to counter the man’s argument, Bryce nodded again. “Thank you, but I live with several other women - so, I’m certain we’ll be fine.”

  A faint smile passed across the handsome man’s face. “It’s an open invitation - should the need arise.”

  “Why are you so worried, sir?” Bryce’s curiosity got the better of her and she couldn’t help but speak her mind.

  The corner of the man’s mouth twitched slightly as he looked intently at Bryce. “War is a dangerous business, Miss. Whelan. I would hate to see you caught up in it.”

  The answer was cryptic and in spite of Duncan’s reassuring tone, Bryce still felt uneasy about the man’s sudden interest in her well-being.

  “I’ll be careful. Thank you.” She stepped back and, turning quickly, walked away from the pub and towards the boarding house.

  By the time Bryce reached her home, she had nearly broken into a full on run. Cannon shots echoed in the distance and the threats Duncan had spoken of were quickly becoming a reality. Her hand shook as she slid the key into the front door. Lifting the latch, she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

  Leaning against the wall, Bryce took several calming breaths. The house was quiet except for what sounded like footsteps coming from the second floor. She was rarely in the house during the early evening, but was surprised no one was downstairs eating or even preparing supper.

  Dropping her bag near the front door, Bryce walked up the stairs. She needed to find Abitha and ensure she knew the seriousness of what was happening. There was a very real possibility British soldiers would take up residence in the city and a boarding house was an ideal location.

  The door to Abitha’s room was cracked. Bryce meant to knock, but stopped when she heard a series of low, throaty moans coming from the bedroom. Peering through the narrow opening, Bryce felt a wave of nausea and heat surge through her body as she stumbled backward.

  Covering her mouth, she stifled a cry, and quickly descended the stairs, grabbed her bag, and rushed out into the street. Her arms and legs were shaking as she tried to force the image of Abitha, Catherine, and Margaret naked, sweaty, and writhing together in Abitha’s bed out of her mind.

  Stopping at the corner, Bryce didn’t register the unusually dense foot traffic as people pushed past her, clearly trying to flee the city. Her body was both overheated and numb with shock. An image of the scene shot through her head and without warning, she bent over and heaved.

  She wasn’t hypocritical enough to care that Abitha was cavorting with other women, or prudish enough to judge the multiple partners. What had turned her stomach was seeing a naked Aaron, prone between his mother and the other two women.

  The foursome had been lying in Abitha’s bed, countless candles burning in every corner of the room, their bodies covered in what Bryce thought might be blood. The scene had been unsightly and wicked.

  The faint light from the west was fading and Bryce was faced with being on the street because she refused to return to Abitha’s house. The cannon fire from earlier was louder and she feared what might come of her once the city was overrun with British soldiers.

  With few options, and most of her money still in her room back at the boarding house, Bryce began the half mile walk toward Milk Street and Bishops. She would put Mr. Alcock’s offer to the test and see if he was the concerned gentleman he said he was or just one more disappointment for Bryce.

  ***

  Duncan Alcock’s house was a large, gray clapboard-sided Colonial Georgian-style home that was recessed off Bishops Street by a wide swath of green lawn lined with a white picket fence. The wood trim around the many small windows was painted white and a single red bricked chimney jutted out of the roof on the east end of the house.

  Bryce had walked past houses like this during her time in Boston, but she never imagined she would be going into one as anything more than a servant, much less an invited guest. Bryce’s stomach felt like a knot as she knocked on the large oak door of Duncan’s house.

  After nearly a minute, a woman dressed in a thick black skirt and white blouse opened the door. Her brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the base of her neck and her skin was so pale and smooth, it reminded Br
yce of a doll she had once seen in a shop window.

  “Yes?” The woman’s voice was throaty and sent a shiver through Bryce. Her eyes were an intense blue that seemed to glow in the dim light.

  “I know Mr. Alcock and he said if I needed anything I could come see him.” Bryce handed the woman Duncan’s calling card.

  Taking the card, the woman didn’t bother to look at it. She slipped it into the front pocket of her skirt. “What’s your name?”

  “Bryce Whelan.”

  Stepping back, the woman gestured for Bryce to enter. The house was more opulent than Bryce could have imagined. The floors were dark maple, but not the scuffed and worn ones she was used to seeing. The wood shone and Bryce thought if she looked closely enough she would see her reflection in it.

  The walls of the main hallway were covered in deep red wallpaper and the ceilings were decorative, white tiles embossed with a design that reminded Bryce of tree canopies.

  “Wait here.” The woman walked down the hall toward the back of the house.

  Looking into the adjacent parlor, Bryce was amazed at the amount of furniture in the house. She was used to a sparse scattering of worn out and broken odds and ends, but Duncan’s house was furnished with the finest wood tables and fabric covered chairs.

  In spite of the fact the sun had already set, the house was fully illuminated. Bryce had noticed the elaborate brass lamp that hung next to the front door when she arrived and the additional lamps lining the hall. Floral scents filled the air and Bryce thought the house was the most beautiful she had ever seen.

  “Miss Whelan, I’m so glad to see you.” Duncan appeared from the back of the house, the beautiful brunette following close behind. “You’ve met my housekeeper Nan?”

  Bryce smiled at the woman. “Nice to meet you.” The woman nodded.

  “What brings you here, Miss Whelan?’ Duncan placed his cold hand on the small of Bryce’s back and directed her into the parlor.

  Sitting in a large easy chair that was covered with a thick, blue cotton fabric, the redhead marveled at how comfortable it was. The chair was softer and more inviting than her bed at the boarding house. “I thought about what you said, and it didn’t seem safe staying at the house.” She was a terrible liar and struggled to maintain eye contact with her host. “So - I - I thought it would be better if I came here.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he sat in a chair across from Bryce. He looked closely at the woman without saying a word. Raising his right hand, he waved Nan over. The woman bent down and Duncan whispered something to the woman that Bryce couldn’t hear, then the brunette left the room.

  “I appreciate you thinking of me, Miss Whelan - ah, may I call you Bryce?” Duncan smiled and in the light of the parlor, Bryce was reminded how unusually white and perfectly straight his teeth were.

  “Ye - yes.” Her emotions swirled and coursed inside her. She was still shaken from what she had witnessed at Abitha’s, but excited by the newness and opulence of where she was now. Her mind cautioned her to tread carefully as she hardly knew the man sitting across from her. Or his motives.

  Leaning back in the chair, Duncan crossed his legs, his eyes never leaving Bryce. “You can’t read?”

  Bryce frowned. The question was not one she had expected. “I - no, sir.”

  “A shame, but not uncommon given the patriarchal structure this society thrives on.” The man absently picked at the long, tapered nail jutting from his left pinky.

  “I don’t know what that means.” She felt shame and resentment at her ignorance, but didn’t see the point in pretending she was something she wasn’t.

  Smiling, Duncan leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You’re honest, Bryce. That’s an all too rare commodity.” His eyes wandered over her face and down to where her hands rested in her lap. “How old are you?”

  The man’s scrutiny was adding to Bryce’s nervousness. She feared she had made a mistake in coming to the house. “I’m thirty-one, sir.” A noise from the hall caught her attention, and Nan returned with a large silver tray.

  His eyes still on Bryce, Duncan addressed the woman. “Perfect timing, Nan. Please set that on the table and leave us.”

  The brunette placed the tray on a small, round wooden table to Duncan’s right. Bryce’s stomach growled as she admired the assortment of biscuits and sweets neatly placed on a white porcelain plate.

  “How do you take your tea, Bryce?” Duncan reached for the silver carafe.

  “Black, sir.” In truth, Bryce didn’t know how she preferred her tea. Drinking the bitter liquid black was born more of necessity, and the absence of readily available milk and sugar, than taste. The poor weren’t afforded preferences.

  The corner of Duncan’s mouth turned up as he poured the tea into a white porcelain cup that matched the plate. “I like mine with some sugar and a splash of milk. Won’t you try it that way?”

  Bryce felt flattered that a gentleman of Mr. Alcock’s stature would take any interest in her, much less share a cup of tea with her in his home. “That would be nice.” She smiled and felt the stresses of the day wearing off. The man handed Bryce the cup of tea. The warmth of the cup felt nice against her hands and triggered a wave of contentment through her.

  “Nan has asked to leave my company.” Duncan sipped at his own cup of tea. “I’ll be lost without her, but I’ve never been able to deny her anything in all the years we’ve been together.”

  Bryce chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek. She felt foolish for thinking Mr. Alcock would be interested in her for anything more than a maid. “I see.”

  Duncan put his tea down on the silver tray and picked up the plate of sweets. “Do you?” He held the plate in front of Bryce.

  Hesitantly, Bryce reached for what looked like a small biscuit with shaved almonds on top of it. “You’re asking if I would be interested in being your new housekeeper.”

  Putting the plate down, the man leaned back in his chair. “That’s not all.” He looked at Bryce closely. She felt his gaze so intensely she thought he might be reading every thought she ever had.

  “I am available, sir.” Bryce nervously sipped at her tea and took a small bite of the biscuit. It was soft, buttery, and possibly the best thing she had ever eaten.

  “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Bryce.” Duncan picked his tea up and took a drink. “You’re friendly without being too familiar and honest without offending.” Putting the tea cup down, the man moved to the edge of his chair. The light from the fireplace danced across his smooth skin and his blue eyes seemed to shine.

  “Thank you, sir.” Bryce was at a loss. She felt uncomfortable knowing the man had been paying her attention without her being aware. His manner didn’t seem threatening, but Bryce felt certain he wanted something more than her employment.

  “I’ve heard your people are dead and that you arrived in Boston alone. Is that correct?” Duncan stood and faced the fireplace.

  It occurred to Bryce she would make a perfect victim given her relative obscurity in the city, and this both saddened and frightened her. “I have a brother who visits me from time to time.”

  Duncan tilted his head to the side. “A brother maybe, but not one that visits.”

  Bryce stood up. “I should be going. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

  The man turned and a moment later held Bryce against his cool body. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I’m going to give you a gift.”

  The man’s grip was solid and though Bryce was pushing against him with all her strength, she was unable to move an inch. “I don’t want anything from you!” Panic threatened to choke her as she struggled to free herself.

  Duncan’s fingers dug into Bryce’s upper arms as he held her away from him. Looking into the man’s eyes, Bryce gasped as the vivid blue was now glowing with an iridescent light. The man’s perfectly straight, white teeth jutted out passed his upper lip as a faint smile spread across his lips.

  “Be calm, girl. You can
’t imagine the wonders that await you.” Duncan covered Bryce’s mouth with his cold hand, her cries stifled as a hot searing pain shot down her neck and along her back.

  Her heart pounded and the sound reverberated through her entire body. The heat moved down her legs and Bryce suddenly felt limp and lifeless. A burning began to tickle her hands and feet as if a thousand ants were biting her at once. Gasping for air, her lungs failed and she choked.

  A series of sobs, followed by her body spasming, tore through Bryce. Her mind felt slow as if it were moving through a thick fog. As all other thoughts and feelings were forced from her, Bryce realized her life was ending. The all too brief, nearly irrelevant time she had spent living suddenly halted, and she died.

  ***

  Bryce’s ears were ringing and her eyes burned as she struggled to focus them. She was lying flat on her back in what looked like a root cellar. Though the ground beneath her was cold and hard, she wasn’t uncomfortable, except for the fact she couldn’t sit up.

  “It’s best to stay still.” Duncan’s voice came from behind her and Bryce craned her neck in an effort to see him.

  “What -” The redhead’s throat tightened. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt thick.

  “Shh. It’s best if you don’t speak for a few hours.” A hand began to gently stoke Bryce’s forehead. “You’ve been through a shock and the body needs some time.”

  A faint burning was beginning to grow in the back of Bryce’s throat. Her stomach felt sour and hot. “I’m - I’m thirsty.”

  A moment later, a warm, wet cloth was being pressed to her lips. The scent of metal, earth, and something sweet that Bryce couldn’t identify, filled her senses as she took a breath in through her nose. Without regard for what she was being offered, the woman began to eagerly suck and lap at the wet cloth. Immediately, the burning in her throat and stomach stopped and the ringing in her ears subsided.

  Opening her eyes wider, Bryce realized she was indeed in a root cellar and though the absence of candles told her the room was cloaked in darkness, her eyes easily made out the subtle details of the dirt floor and the rough texture of the stone walls.