by Shona Husk
Even if he walked out those gates, he couldn’t take Mylla with him. The magic bound her to the house and Thomas. If she left, she’d die. If he killed Thomas, she would certainly die. Yet to break the curse he had to kill Thomas. How did he kill a powerful witch who fed on the lives of others?
He’d spent so many hours searching, looking for ways to unravel it, but there was no weakness he could find. Magic could usually be unraveled. But this, this was something else. He leaned against the car and looked up at the house. Shadows, web, tumorous growth. Whatever he called it, and no matter how he tried to visualize it, it couldn’t be undone without taking out Thomas. All spells unraveled when the caster was dead.
That was his next problem. If he killed Thomas, what would the magical whiplash be?
All that power wouldn’t just evaporate. Energy didn’t vanish, it had to go somewhere. Spontaneous combustion was often the result. And he’d be caught in the fireball. Assuming he found a way to save Mylla and kill Thomas, he still had to be able to channel all that icky death magic into something else. He didn’t want to touch the stuff, much less use it, but it had to be converted to something harmless. No one wanted the area to be leveled.
He’d never handled that much power. In fact, he was pretty sure that the coven as a whole had never handled that much power.
Mylla walked around from the back of the house. She stood at the corner for a moment as if checking to make sure they were alone, then beckoned him over. That last two days they had been very careful. She had slipped him a note promising to show him something when Thomas was out, but she hadn’t stopped to chat. At first he’d been worried, but when he’d checked on the cocoon around her it hadn’t tightened again, nor had it eased, but it was different somehow. She was brighter, there was more of her for it to contain. If she wasn’t careful, Thomas would notice and suck the life out of her again. She was his candy. The treat to get him through between big feeds. Oskar realized he must be looking like a steak dinner with desert.
He shivered as a cloud passed over the sun and he followed Mylla inside, wondering what it was she wanted to show him and if Thomas had left any traps for a nosy gardener.
Mylla waited for Oskar to catch up. With Mr. Quigley gone she was lighter, as though she didn’t have to hide who she was in case he took it away. Her stomach was tight, she’d almost ignored Oskar for two days when all she wanted to do was kiss him again and see if something else changed. And there’d definitely been a change. She was remembering more and forgetting less. The necklace still confused her, though, and if Mr. Quigley stared at her she found herself floundering and sinking, as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to swim. But she didn’t drown the way she once had.
She wanted to show Oskar some of the house, especially the rooms she wasn’t allowed to clean. And, her heart beat a little faster, most importantly, her room. She needed to make him realize the danger that he was in and beg for him to take her with him when he left.
Beg without words. She’d written the note already, but could only give it to him once he’d seen the marks and her book. She’d never shown anyone her book. It was the only one she was allowed to read, and sometimes Mr. Quigley would ask if she was enjoying it. Because she couldn’t remember reading it before she’d just say yes. These days she no longer read it for the plays and poems. She was reading her own notes. If he ever asked for it back, she’d be in more trouble than she could imagine. No, she knew exactly how much trouble she’d be in. The statues watched the house from the grove of trees; sometimes in the moonlight, when the breeze was blowing, it looked like they were alive.
“Where are we going?” Oskar asked as they went up the stairs.
He knew she couldn’t answer and yet spoke anyway. It annoyed her and made her happy all in the same breath, simply because he wasn’t ignoring her or giving her orders. He made her feel like she was normal.
She glanced at him and pulled a face.
“You’re getting better control.”
That she could answer with a simple nod. He needed to remember that. Yes or no questions only, unless she had paper. Already she missed their discussions in the shed, but Mr. Quigley had asked if Oskar was harassing her. She’d said no but he’d warned her not to linger. So she couldn’t linger—although her definition of linger and his was different. She was working on it anyway, stretching out her time as much as she could.
On the first floor she led him along a short corridor then pointed to a room. It was the study where Mr. Quigley spent most of his time. She couldn’t remember ever having been in there, and yet the idea of going in made her knees weak, as if she knew bad things happened in there. She was sure there were some memories she didn’t want to uncover, and yet they were hers and a part of her wanted to know how she had ended up here like this.
Oskar looked at the door really hard, then at her, but he didn’t try to touch the handle. “This is Mr. Quigley’s study.”
She nodded and pulled out a slip of paper she’d prepared. I’m not allowed in there. But things happen in there. Bad things.
It wasn’t a long note, but none of her notes were. She didn’t have enough paper to write what she really wanted. After today, Oskar would either help her or never speak to her again. She bit her lip as she handed it over and prayed he would believe her.
“I’m not going in there. He would know.”
That made her frown. She lifted her hands and mouthed how, hoping he’d understand. He watched her lips carefully, was he thinking of the kiss or trying to make out the word?
When she looked at him, it was hard not to think of the kiss or what was beneath his shirt. She wanted to touch his stomach and see if his muscles felt as good as they looked. Spending a few moments watching him working in the garden always brought a curve to her lips and fanned the ember that she now held in her heart. The one that was helping hold back the fog and letting her thoughts push through.
Lusting after the gardener wasn’t the way a good maid behaved.
The little voice suggested she was bad and that was why Mr. Quigley controlled her. But it was his voice, his suggestion, and it was wrong. He shouldn’t be controlling even her thoughts. She did her job. That should be enough.
Oskar didn’t answer straight away. “He has locks.”
She reached out her hand to test the handle; she’d never seen him lock it. And Oskar hadn’t even tried the door. She forgot what she was doing even before Oskar grabbed her hand. She stood there puzzled for a heartbeat, before remembering they were talking about the study.
“It happened again, didn’t it? You forgot what you were doing.”
He’d noticed. What else had he noticed? She gave a slow nod and eyed him warily. How many times had he seen her do that and never said anything? Oskar was keeping secrets too. She was sure of that.
He looked back at the door and reached out his free hand, his other hand gripping hers. He waved his hand over the handle and the door but seemed unaffected.
“It’s you.” He looked at her again. His gaze dropping from her eyes to her lips and then lower again. “It’s the necklace.”
She reached her hand up and then forgot why she’d lifted her hand. Heat crept over her cheeks as she realized Oskar was staring and still holding her hand.
He lifted his hand. His fingers traced her cheek, then slid down her neck and along her collarbone. “I can touch it. I can see it. And yet you can’t. Not without forgetting.”
Why? She wanted to shout the word. But all she could do was hope Oskar could read her lips and her desperation.
“I don’t know why or how or even how to stop it.”
She tore her hand out of his grip. That’s not what she wanted. She wanted him to tear it off her and set her free. She ran her hand over her hair. What was she going to do?
“I know it’s there, and I’ll think of something. But we have to be careful. I want to help you.” His hand was on her arm as if he couldn’t resist touching her. “You said your mind was cl
earer around me?”
She nodded, not sure where he was going with the thought.
“And when you kissed me, did that have an effect?”
She nodded again, with more certainty. The glow had been instant and stronger than anything else she’d felt since…since ever. She’d lost so much of her life, but it must be in there somewhere locked away.
“If you felt the effect, there is a chance that Mr. Quigley will notice, too.”
She hadn’t thought of that, well, not fully. She knew she had to be careful and act like nothing had changed, but she hadn’t thought he would be able to tell the difference just by looking at her. Is that what he was doing when he stared at her with his cold, flat eyes? She drew in a breath. She wanted to kiss Oskar again, for longer, to see what happened, but now she wasn’t sure and he hadn’t tried to kiss her.
She kind of hoped he would when she took him tea. Maybe he didn’t feel that way about her. The hope she’d been feeling slunk away and hid in the depths of her mind. It didn’t get let out very often and it always ended too soon. If nothing else, she’d have liked to live for just a little while and pretend she was normal and that she wasn’t a prisoner to a strange man who did strange things.
With a sigh, she took Oskar’s hand and led him up the last flight of stairs. She’d show him her room and then let him make up his mind. They reached the door. This time he didn’t ask. It was as if he knew. She pulled out a second note and hesitated. There were things that shouldn’t be told. Mr. Quigley liked his privacy and she was about to show a stranger that something was wrong. She shouldn’t do it. Oskar shouldn’t be up here. Mr. Quigley would punish them both. She almost scrunched up the paper and shoved it back into her pocket.
Oskar carefully took it from her and read it.
My room. I have tried to keep a record, but it’s not complete. If you leave here, please take me. Don’t leave me.
She needn’t have written that last part. He’d already said he wanted to help. What if she left and still couldn’t remove the necklace? Could she go through life never making herself understood? Yes, it would still be better than being here.
He glanced up from the note and looked at her. “Thank you for sharing what you know with me.”
He may not be thanking her after he’d seen the book and the wall. Her stomach tightened as she turned the handle. The fear of what Mr. Quigley would do if he knew almost paralyzed her, but the idea of being free—of remembering that there was such a thing as freedom in the first place—was enough. Being lost in her own mind had been easier, she hadn’t known any better and she hadn’t experienced the dizzying rush of emotions either. Now she could remember she had to do something, even though part of her just wanted to crawl away and hide in the ever-present fog. It was safe in there and she never hurt. She caught the lie. She did get hurt, but she didn’t remember. There was a difference.
She opened the door. Her room was simple: a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair. From the bottom drawer she pulled out the book, the shiny black crow feather was now her bookmark. She loved the feel of it against her skin. It was reassuring and proof that she could do what she wanted…sometimes.
Her heart was beating too hard and too loudly as she handed her book over to Oskar. Please don’t think I’m crazy. But he must know something was wrong as he hadn’t reacted the way she’d expected him to about the necklace. He’d just accepted that was what it was. The same way he knew she could talk, and that if Mr. Quigley realized she was freer he’d bind her up just as fast.
He knew Mr. Quigley wasn’t a good person.
She watched as he leafed through the pages, a frown forming. What was he thinking? Too late to worry now, and she had to show him the rest. The really bad part and the bit she couldn’t explain. She put her back against the side of the drawers and then braced her feet against the wall and pushed. The neat little fences drawn on the wall were revealed.
He came over to look at them. “Is that all?” But he was already pulling the drawers away from the wall as if they weighed next to nothing. He sucked in a breath as he counted them up. There were years of marks. Too many, when in her mind she could barely think of more than fifteen individual days, and most of them involved Oskar. He was like a beacon. A marker point in the fog that was stable and that she could navigate by. She pointed to the one she’d marked with an ‘O’, then pointed to him.
His brown eyes lit with understanding as he realized that marker was him and she’d been crossing off the days. Eleven had passed since his arrival. He pushed the drawers back into place.
“If he ever found that…” His lips pressed into a thin line she wasn’t used to seeing. And he was still frowning. He looked at her, his gaze skimming over her clothing. “You’ve been here longer than that, haven’t you?”
She nodded. While she couldn’t prove it, she was sure she had, but she couldn’t even remember her birthday or the year she’d been born.
“You don’t look much more than twenty. But you have twenty years’ worth of marks.”
Again she nodded. This was the bit where he tossed the book back at her, called her a liar, and asked what was going on. It’s what she wanted to know more than anything. But she was too scared to ask him, and asking Mr. Quigley was out of the question.
What if this was normal? Maids were made to be mute, and she really was bad for even wanting a change. But it felt wrong. She felt wrong. So this had to be wrong. It had to be. She had to believe there was more out there, because she couldn’t keep living like this. What if she went back to being empty and numb? She wouldn’t even know about it. It would just happen. Her stomach twisted and her blood ran cold, raising gooseflesh on her arms. Life on the outside had to be better.
Oskar was still thinking too hard, as if he didn’t know what to say. As long as he didn’t tell Mr. Quigley, it didn’t matter. She’d tried. And she’d keep trying even if he didn’t help her. Maybe she’d just pack up her things and walk out of the house. Her mind stumbled and the thought was gone. What had she been thinking about? What had Oskar just said? He was holding her book and frowning. She liked it better when he was outside in the sun, smiling, his shirt stuck to his skin as he worked.
He handed the book back to her. “I think there’s some seriously messed up stuff going on here.”
She grabbed the book and opened it to the page where she’d mentioned witchcraft, jabbing her finger at the note in the margin.
He read it, and didn’t even look surprised. He knew far more than he was telling her. But instead of being afraid, she jumped on the chance to learn more and to try and understand what was happening to her. Anything that might help.
Mylla picked up her pencil and wrote in the margin. You know he is a witch.
Again he was too slow to respond. He didn’t laugh or tell her she was mad the way she’d expected. “I believe you think he is a witch. I don’t know what is going on.”
That was so much worse. It was as if he thought she was delicate and needed protecting from the truth. She stamped her foot and crossed her arms. How could he say that? She pointed to the door way, wanting him out of her bedroom.
He didn’t move. “Damn it, Mylla. I want to help, but I don’t know what to do. I do know that if we don’t help each other, we’ll both die.”
That was as close to admitting he was a witch as he was going to come. Oskar didn’t want to put Mylla in the position of being forced to reveal anything by Thomas. And yet he wanted her to know that he was working on the problem, slowly. It was far more complex than he’d ever imagined. No wonder the last coven to go after Thomas had been killed.
Her expression didn’t soften, and her blue eyes were fierce with determination. She was so different to the woman who’d greeted him that first day. This was a woman ready to fight for her freedom. And she’d need to. How did he convince her that he wasn’t going to walk away and forget?
It was a bad idea, and it always took more than a kiss to break the spell—f
airytales lied—but he did it anyway. He stepped forward and lowered his lips to hers. It had been nine very long months and he’d never been so hungry. Where their first kiss had been chaste, barely a kiss, this was consuming. His tongue swept over her lower lip, and when she gasped he took advantage, almost expecting to be pushed back. Instead, her tongue met his in a sensual dance that made him want to forget that he’d promised himself no sex until the curse was broken.
Heat flooded his veins, feeding the lust that he’d been trying to deny. Her fingers slid over his stomach and up his chest, exploring, as if she’d never had a man. He tried to remember why this was a bad idea.
He could list the reasons. Everything from his own death curse, to Thomas, to Mylla not being herself. Yet he wanted to ignore them all and revel in the moment. He wanted to believe that there would be no consequence, and for half a second he could lie to himself and pretend that everything would be fine. He gave her a final kiss and drew back. Unquenched desire became jagged in his blood. He wanted her so much he ached all over.
She grinned, her eyes so bright he could feel her light shining through. The black cocoon swelled to contain her new found energy, but didn’t break.
“You have to contain it; you have to hide what you feel better.” And he wasn’t just talking to her. He needed to get a grip on his own lust before it got him into trouble. He needed more than a cold shower, but his hand would have to do.
She stepped toward him, her lips tilted up as if asking for more. He placed one finger on her lips and shook his head. He couldn’t let her distract him, no matter how badly he wanted to be distracted.
“It won’t free you. I don’t know why it helps you fight, but I’m glad it does.” Her frown was back. He had to make her understand without revealing what he was. “He will know something is going on if you don’t bundle up all that happiness you feel, even I can see it in your eyes.”
She was finding herself. She’d told him as much and that was why she wanted him. That was all. She was hoping he’d set her free. The trouble was nothing would break the spell she was bound in and Thomas would come home and find her full of life and wonder what the hell had gone on, take one look at the hard-on in Oskar’s pants that he was sure wouldn’t leave, and make entirely the wrong conclusion.