by Cate Corvin
And dreamed of a mountain lion, the lithe bulk of its muscles sliding by me, eyes flashing indigo. It wore a collar of tiny bells, tinkling as its paws thundered on the ground, but roses burst from the bells, strangling the beast as the thorns dug into its fur.
My disembodied hands reached out, tearing away the roses, but blood had smeared over my fingers. The taste of night-blooming flowers filled my mouth as the mountain lion’s agile form shivered, becoming human, the cream fur turning a pale golden blond...
I knew two things when I opened my eyes. One, it was past dawn. Two, Eric hadn’t started touching me until I’d confessed my new feelings towards Joss.
He finally had real competition, and he didn’t like it. A slow grin spread across my lips.
Eric hadn’t knocked on my door yet. I stumbled to the bathroom like a zombie and ran hot water into the claw-footed bathtub, digging through my rucksack to find a small bag of toiletries, including a cheap bottle of strawberry shampoo that would have to serve as soap as well.
Eric could probably hear the running water. I half-expected him to knock, prepared for another cleansing with salt and tealight candles, but the door remained silent.
It was probably just as well, I thought, as I slipped under the hot water with a sigh of relief.
My emotions had taken enough of a battering over the last couple of days. I needed time to restore my defenses, tucking away the hurt where it wouldn’t be seen or felt.
I reached for the shampoo and found a waxy bar under my fingers instead. I turned the smooth cake of lemon soap over in my hands, the yellow flecks of citrus smelling of sunshine and sugar and orchards… the orchards behind the manor itself, to be precise.
I decided instantly that I would at least attempt to restore another part of Bellhallow, as a thank-you for its thoughtfulness.
I felt better as I wrung out my hair. Bellhallow had provided me with fluffy white towels that had appeared while my eyes were closed. I dressed myself in black jeans and a tank top, and my filthy combat boots had been mysteriously shined overnight where I’d left them by the dresser. Eric finally knocked as I finished lacing them.
I opened the door to a bowl of steaming oatmeal, laced with brown sugar and dried cherries. A swirl of honey glistened like liquid gold on top. My stomach immediately growled, and I let him in. “Bellhallow’s pulling out all the stops,” he said, holding his own bowl of breakfast.
While covensteads couldn’t create food from nothing, they could manage to make meals if they wanted to badly enough. Bellhallow must have used the dried goods we’d brought and used the honey from its own apiary. I collapsed on the bed and began eating ravenously, unable to think clearly on an empty stomach.
“Did it take care of you too?” I asked. Though he wasn’t a normal human, it must have been a shock to the system to walk back into such a magic-imbued house. I was sure Bellhallow had gone above and beyond for Eric, who had lived here for most of his life.
“Of course,” he said, placing a hand on the wall as the wards buzzed with contentment. “I think it might even have missed me.”
His hair was still wet and the sea salt cleanness of his scent was almost overpowering in such close quarters. I focused on inhaling the creamy oatmeal instead, chewing the dried cherries with great determination.
“I’ll restore the library this morning,” I said. The bed trembled beneath me, a vibration of pure excitement. How lonely had Bellhallow been, locked up and alone, without any tenants to warm its rooms?
I felt terrible as I admitted to myself that I hadn’t considered how the manor, a nearly four-hundred-year old massive magical construct, might feel about being abandoned without ceremony, lying forgotten and housing the memories of horrors in its halls. “We’ll need to bring a lot of food with us. I don’t even care if it’s cold chicken soup.”
Eric sat on a chair, his hands clasped in front of him. He had already finished his breakfast. “Just take your time,” he said, leaning towards me. “We’re here, which is what counts. You don’t have to rush unless you want me transferring life-force to you.”
Well… in a way, I did.
I resisted the urge to lick the dregs of the nearly-empty bowl. “I won’t,” I said quietly. “I think… I think I want to have a look around first. Before we go to the library. Who knows how long we’ll be here?”
“As long as you want, Mor.”
Even though time was short and I hadn’t committed to staying, I couldn’t help myself. Guilt and regret battled within me, winning a victory over anger and sadness. I hadn’t realized what I was missing. All of my memories were here, the human world drab in comparison.
I was torn between the need to remain here and the urge to continue what I’d started. There was no way I could run Bell, Book & Candle from here. It was so far from Ashville, which was the closest large center of humans.
If I stayed, I would end up filling my father’s shoes, serving the human communities of the mountains and living on coven coffers, and leaving my business behind in the dust. It was the same thing, but I had created Bell, Book, & Candle myself. I’d earned the respect I’d gained, instead of having it handed to me by default.
Warden Stone was wrong. I didn’t need to ride on my parent’s fame to be a damn good exorcist.
“I was afraid of this happening.” I left the empty bowl next to the fireplace. The manor’s magic would take care of it. “It was so hard to come back, and now that we’re here, I can’t imagine leaving again.”
“It does feel good to be home,” Eric said. He had done nothing with the house he’d bought in Ashville- it was like a model home for a mannequin to live in. He’d left everything behind too, just to follow me. The last thing I needed was more guilt over everything. “I won’t push you to reform the coven, but if you wanted to stay, I wouldn’t argue.”
“Could you handle living here again?” I asked. “Where everything happened?”
His dark eyes met mine. “Yes. If you were here, I could.” He left my room quietly, leaving me to ponder his words.
Everything was here, both good and bad… my first memories of mirrorwalking, the safety of Eric’s arms… those same arms pushing me away and the walls of Bellhallow screaming as the covenheads died in agony.
I reminded myself that I didn’t need to think about it now.
First things first. I needed to figure out what the spirit haunting Cecily was, and how she had managed to return from a full exorcism to attack me.
And then I could decide if I could bear to leave home for a second time.
While Eric was in his room, presumably preparing to go find the library, I slipped down the hall alone. My tourmaline necklace was warm, signaling that no souls besides my own and Eric’s were wandering the halls. Bellhallow had remained safe from spiritual incursion in my absence.
I stepped from the polished floors of the guest wing into the dilapidated gray foyer. Ignoring the sweep of the stairs, I crept under them, past several more dust-choked hallways. The French doors leading to the conservatory were askew on their hinges.
They creaked as I pushed one open and stepped inside. The sun used to beam through the glass walls and ceiling, illuminating the crimson- and turquoise-tiled floor and enormous glazed pots.
The vibrant tiles were obscured under a thick layer of dirt. The pots held nothing but withered black stems, the dirt within dry and cracked. Several of the windows had shattered, the shards gleaming brightly up at me. The entire room felt like an accusation.
It was tempting to restore this room as well, to send my memories into the foundation. I had curled in here on many rainy days, hiding in the dense foliage and reading through books I had sneaked from the library. An enormous palm had provided me shade in the summer.
I couldn’t spare to expend any energy here now when I still needed to manage the vast library. I passed through the conservatory in silence, swallowing back the lump in my throat. A litany ran through my head as I pushed the glass doors open, s
tepping out onto the back lawn.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
The grass had grown to knee height, the stepping-stones cracked and worn. Every tree had dropped more leaves than was healthy, not quite dead, but sickly and drooping.
I had once stood here brimming with pride and hope for the future, the silk of my dress clinging to me as the star-jasmine bloomed… and then it had all gone to shit, starting that very night.
Tears rolled down my cheeks unbidden. What was I doing here? I started as a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.
“Morena…” Eric wiped the warm tears from my face, his dark brows drawn. “You don’t have to torture yourself over this.”
I sniffled, wiping my cheeks with my hands. I didn’t want him to touch me with those memories so close, hovering over me like dark clouds, but he drew me to him anyways and my tears soaked into his shirt.
“But I do. This is my fault, and I need to look it in the eye and take responsibility for it.”
His chest was hard as stone under my cheek. One of his large, gentle hands ran from the crown of my head and down my back, the other wrapped around my waist. I slid my hands over his shoulders and rested against him.
“This isn’t your fault. Bellhallow isn’t going to blame you for protecting yourself. We did what we needed to do. And if leaving was the best thing for you, then I don’t regret any of the choices we made.”
I swiped a fresh tear away, taking a deep breath as I gently pushed away from him. He was far too close, his full lips only a breath away from mine as I looked up at him.
“I’m glad you’re still with me, Eric. I don’t know if I could’ve come back without you.” I touched his cheek for a moment before I pulled away, unwilling to suffer a repeat rejection.
He seemed reluctant to let me go, but maybe the memories were too much for him as well, and his hands slipped away.
I turned my back on the ruined garden and we entered the dark halls once more.
The library was in the east wing, beginning on the first floor and spiraling all the way up to the third. I stared at the carved oak doors, wondering how terrible the inside would look.
At least it wasn’t the study that needed to be repaired. I didn’t think I could handle that yet. Maybe not ever.
I let out a shuddering breath and shoved the doors open. It was like walking into the maw of some great beast, the cathedral-worthy ceiling soaring over us. The frescoes had faded to nothing. Every table was covered with dust and the shelves… oh, the shelves…
The library of Bellhallow housed thousands upon thousands of books, scrolls, grimoires… there were too many to count. We’d never even tried to take inventory; the magic of Bellhallow usually provided us with whatever we were looking for. The shelves were carved into the walls themselves, swooping and turning in a cavernous bubble of nothing but knowledge.
It looked like a giant hand had swept through the space, ripping books from the shelves in a frenzy of rage, like an overgrown toddler had stampeded through. Pages had drifted into piles of crumpled parchment.
Balconies on the second and third floors overlooked the center. A delicate spiral staircase wound up the far wall, looking far more rickety than it ever had before.
“Mor… this is a lot to fix,” Eric said, looking up at the chaos of the shelves and a crumbling section of balcony.
“Yeah. It’s probably gonna hurt a bit.” Or a lot. Even as I spoke, an iron candle sconce groaned and tore away from the wall, the thud of its landing echoing through the library. “But it needs to be done.”
His hand was suddenly on my shoulder, squeezing me tightly as I looked up at him. “Take what you need from me,” he said, eyes darkening. “That’s what I’m here for.”
My heart picked up speed as I considered what he offered. How many times had I dreamed of how Eric’s lip would taste… and now he was finally offering that to me?
He leaned in, his hand tilting my face up to meet his lips, and in the second before his mouth brushed mine, I pulled away.
After years of craving a kiss from him, I couldn’t stand knowing the first one would be a transaction of life-force, not because he wanted to actually kiss me in return.
“I can handle it on my own.” My voice was flat. He frowned down at me, lips set, but he couldn’t force me to consume his energy, and there was no way I was going to take it from him with a kiss. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
Didn’t he understand how much he tore me apart?
“It’s not trouble for me. I’m your servitor- the point of me being here is to keep the coven and Bellhallow together.” Eric’s hand was still wrapped around my wrist, my skin humming where he touched me. “To keep you alive. I want this as much as you do.”
A small laugh escaped me, rolling back through the corridor into a ghostly whisper. “You know why I can’t,” I said softly, looking deep into his eyes. “So, unless you want that as much as I do, you can give me your life-force with blood instead. A kiss would be more than a kiss for me, Eric.”
He stared down at me for a long moment, eyes as hard as obsidian, his fingers frozen around my arm. For a second hope fluttered in my chest.
Eric finally released me with a growl, his scowl like a thunderstorm as he turned away. “That’s what I thought,” I whispered. It still hurt, even with my heart locked behind iron and stone.
I sat on the floor and braced myself against the oak doors. I dug my hands into the dust and felt the wooden floor beneath the grit, warming under my hands.
It took much longer than the guest wing. Every happy memory I had, every bright smile and burst of joy flowed through me into the library. Bellhallow creaked and stretched as I fed it, purring like a happy old cat, giving me memory for memory.
When I was six, my mother had spent all day reading fairy tales to me, holding me curled on her lap, the scent of her rose perfume sweet and thick as she ran her fingers through my hair.
At nine I had spent an entire day laughing over the bestiaries with Joss and making dirty jokes about the old illustrations. We’d eventually collapsed in giggles and got caught by my father, who shook his head with a sigh.
At fifteen I leaned over the balcony, smiling down at Eric as he pored over some ancient tome, the sun caught in his sable hair… and he looked up at me, his dark eyes shining with gold in the buttery light as my breath caught. I hadn’t realized then that he didn’t see me in the same way at all...
I finally opened my eyes and took a rattling breath, my entire body soaked in cold sweat and warm blood bursting out of my nose, coating my lips. My hands trembled as though palsied. I held them out, my skin almost gray with the stress and the nail beds pale.
The grit beneath my fingers was gone. The floors gleamed, the comforting scent of wood polish and beeswax hanging in the air. The rainbow of a hundred thousand book spines wrapped every wall, the iron spiral-stair strong once more. Lion-faced sconces flickered with lit candles, illuminating the library with a soft glow, as well as the chandelier hanging from the bright fresco painted around the ceiling.
I looked up at the image of the Wild Hunt swirling around the chandelier in a beautiful, savage parade. Gwynn ap Nud held the bronze chandelier in his outstretched hand at the center, a bouquet of hands holding the torches that illuminated the path to knowledge.
It was beautiful again.
“Morena, stay with me!” Eric’s voice was distant, his hands rough on my shoulders, holding me upright as I slumped over. My eyes rolled back in my skull and flickered shut as I fell into darkness.
12
Morena. Wake up.
I shivered and snuggled further into the warmth that surrounded me. Everything ached. I longed for that darkness again…
She’s coming.
I jerked forward, my eyes snapping open as a blanket fell around me. The light was warm and bright, the familiar scent of beeswax and parchment filling the air.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
Joss gri
nned at me, his blue eyes gleaming as he handed me a plate with a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich.
“Wow. Did I die and wake up in heaven?” I asked, taking the plate with shaking hands and biting into the sandwich without ceremony. My body felt like it’d been hit by a train, every joint tender and bruised.
Either he or Eric had tucked me into a comfortable alcove, wrapped in blankets on a velvet settee. “If this was heaven, we’d be on a beach and I’d be giving you piña coladas, not peanut butter sandwiches.” Joss was sitting on the edge of the sofa. He leaned towards me and ran his fingers over my knee in a very distracting way.
“Peanut butter is pretty close to heaven as far as I’m concerned,” I said, my mouth full. I swung my legs over the side, forcing myself to sit up and stretch a little. “When did you get here?”
“About an hour ago,” he said, pushing my hair back. “Thanks for opening the waystone, doll.”
I washed down the sandwich with a bottle of water left for me. If I could steal a drop of blood from Eric, I’d be right as rain in no time. “Sorry you have to see Bellhallow like this. Or me like this, I’m not usually this fragile, I swear.”
“I’m more concerned with what you haven’t told me about why you’re here.” Joss’s tone grew deceptively silky.
Clearly, I had been out long enough for Eric to fill Joss in on why I had come home at all. “Well… what have you heard so far?”
“Eric tells me this spirit is a little beyond the usual- possibly necromantic. That’s way worse than a named spirit alone.” He draped a muscular arm around me and pulled me in, his delicious leather-and-woodsmoke scent filling my nose. My heart immediately jittered like he’d sent an electric shock through me. “You could’ve just asked me for help, Mor. I’m supposed to be impressing you with valiant deeds.”
So, my servitor hadn’t told him my suspicions about Rosalind’s involvement yet, but he’d hinted as much. I wasn’t surprised by how close-lipped he was. “I didn’t know you had a thing for damsels in distress.”