by Shona Husk
As usual, she stood to the side and pretended to disappear into the wallpaper, ready to pour more wine or fetch anything he needed. But this time she watched as he ate and willed him to hurry up so she could get onto doing what she wanted in her few hours of relative freedom.
“What do you think of the gardener?” Mr. Quigley didn’t turn to look at her, he just expected her to answer, and she could feel the pressure of his question.
“He works hard.” Which was the truth. He didn’t laze around but threw himself into the jobs like a man possessed.
“Does he still bother you at morning tea?”
“No.” Oskar was never a bother.
“Does he speak to you?”
She almost frowned. Mr. Quigley turned and gazed at her, his eyes cold, as if he was looking for a lie, but she kept her mask on. “He talks, but doesn’t expect an answer.”
Satisfied, he turned back to his meal. After a few minutes he finished and indicated for her to pack up the tray. “And what does he talk about?”
Did he see the slight jerk of her hand as if he’d surprised her by talking to her? There were many nights were he barely said two words, but tonight he wanted to chat? A shiver of warning rolled down her back, but she didn’t let it show. She couldn’t, but she felt the tension in the room and thickening of the air around her.
“Coffee. He calls it instant, says that there are machines that make proper coffee.”
“What else?” He sipped his wine and watched her like a hungry cat.
In that heartbeat she knew why Oskar was keeping things from her. Mr. Quigley could force things from her that she didn’t want to say. “The garden, says it needs a regular gardener, not one every few years. He doesn’t like the roses.” All things he had said, but none of them important and nothing that would arouse Mr. Quigley’s suspicions.
With the tray packed she waited to be let go. Mr. Quigley beckoned her closer. “And do you enjoy listening to him?”
Whatever she said it was a trap. She nodded, it was easier to keep to the truth and pick her way through it than create a lie.
“Why?”
“Because he talks to me.” She wasn’t going to tell that around Oskar she felt alive, he made her feel real when Mr. Quigley wanted her as some kind of animated doll.
“Do you answer?”
Her heart gave a thud. “I can’t speak to others.”
“That’s not what I asked. I’m not stupid, Mylla. I saw you watching him. You are becoming a bad servant. I have done what I can to help you, to make you faithful to me, and still you find ways to spoil what we have. Do you answer him?”
“Yes.” The word was taken from her even though she didn’t want to say anything.
He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out the little silver knife. “I will have to make sure you behave.”
She flinched, and she couldn’t hold it back. He saw and his gaze narrowed. She tried to squash as much of the life and memories she held into a small corner so he wouldn’t see just how much she’d regained since the last time he’d cut her.
Then he smiled, a cruel curve of his lips. “Take off your dress. I want some entertainment tonight.”
Her limbs moved even though she wanted to refuse. This couldn’t be happening. She’d made plans. Oskar had an idea he wanted to discuss with her. Mr. Quigley was going to ruin it all. She’d have to start fighting and finding herself all over again. In her chemise and bloomers, she stood before him, her breathing tight and fear making her skin clammy; she wanted to run but her feet remained still. She was trapped in her body, waiting to obey his every word. Let me out!
His gaze skimmed over her. “Shall I bind you first or after?”
Oh God, what would be worse? Being aware of everything and unable to stop it, or knowing what would happen and being unable to remember anything? If she answered, would he do what she wanted, or the opposite? There was no winning in this game.
“Well?”
If she was aware, she’d be able to tell Oskar what it was Mr. Quigley did. If he was using her to get information on Oskar, then she could do the same and give Oskar information about him. “After.”
“Very well, and I’ll make sure you remember me and forget him.”
She wouldn’t forget Oskar. Mr. Quigley could never smother the memory of Oskar’s kiss or his touch. She lifted her chin and looked Mr. Quigley in the eye.
His lips turned in a selfish grin as he cast a lingering look over her. “Strip.”
He was expecting her to fight or struggle. So she didn’t; her arms moved without her thinking, as if it was someone else undressing her. His mouth flattened into a thin line.
“Why don’t you resist?”
“What is the point?”
His hand tightened around his glass as her bloomers fell to the floor. “Yet you disobey me by spending time with the gardener.”
“He talks, I listen. It makes me feel…” She almost said alive but changed her mind. “Human. Like I am not alone.” Most of the time she was alone. Mr. Quigley kept to himself, and she was just there to cook and clean and exist in the fogged island of her mind, so all days blended into one, as if even time had stopped. Could he stop time?
No, he just played with her mind. If he thought letting her remember this degradation was some kind of punishment, he was wrong. She was stronger than he knew and she would make him pay for everything. Everything she remembered would help her break free. Maybe Oskar was right and Mr. Quigley should die. This time she was aware as the thought melted away and left her momentarily stunned and not sure what she was doing.
“You are never alone, you have me.” He reached out and touched her hand. His fingers were cool and dry. She wanted to yank her hand back but couldn’t. If he was going to touch her now, touch her the way she’d thought Oskar might, she was going to…going to…she wanted to throw up, but probably wouldn’t be able to.
“Now be a good girl and entertain me.” He leaned back to watch as she found herself laying on the floor, her body going through some kind of pre-arranged dance.
She’d done this before, the exact same thing, the same moves. Her hands glided over her body at his command, but instead of being numb her skin tingled at her own touch. Had she never done this by herself? She wanted to close her eyes and forget he was watching as her legs eased apart, but she couldn’t. She had to think of something else, someone else. Her body might be under his control but her mind wasn’t.
It was easy to pull up the memory of Oskar as he worked, while she hung out the laundry. It had been a simple perfect moment that would have been better if he’d walked over and kissed her, tangling her in the sheets as they laughed and became closer. They both could’ve been happy instead of frustrated and worried. Was he still waiting for her in the kitchen?
She tried to pretend it was his touch, but couldn’t. Her mind and body were at odds with one free and the other under control. The tension was there, the edge of something, and Mr. Quigley watched and expected her to keep her eyes open, as if she enjoyed this perverse display.
If she could close her eyes and pretend, maybe then she could finish and this would be over. But she couldn’t find a way to make the release come. She could feel his stare, the way he made her fingers move more roughly as if to prove that while her mind might be free she wasn’t. She was his to do as he pleased with. Tears that would never fall burned her eyes. This had to end.
How could she end it? It wasn’t as though she could force herself. No, but she could sink into the fog and forget for just a moment instead of fighting against it. He was enjoying this too much and she could steal that from him. It didn’t take much at all to sink, thoughts blurred.
She gasped and her body shook, but the release was empty when she knew there should be more. Kisses had raised more heat in her blood than that had. She pushed away from the fog until her mind was as clear as it could be, and in that moment she knew she’d had sex before. And it hadn’t been with Mr. Quigl
ey.
The memory spun through her mind. The house had once been full of staff, she was a maid, and Mr. Quigley had watched her, and made offers that she’d dodged because he smelled funny and there was something scary in his eyes. Mad genius, the cook called him. Besides, she’d fancied Charlie, who’d worked in the garden. They’d gotten together, he’d bought her a ring and they were talking marriage when he’d saved up a bit more money. They hadn’t told anyone. Then they were caught one evening and all hell had broken loose.
Literally.
Shadows had come alive. People had died, there’d been screaming and things she couldn’t describe. Then nothing. That nothing was what she’d become. Mr. Quigley had taken her memories and kept her here because of what she’d done—sneaking off with the gardener when she could’ve been Mr. Quigley’s mistress. Now she was his forever. Her stomach rolled, she wanted to crawl away from the man who’d let obsession and something darker rule his life, but she was helpless while she wore his necklace.
“Very nice, once I would’ve joined you. But I had to make sacrifices. Power isn’t free.” He looked at her a little longer, and for a moment something flickered in his eyes but she didn’t know what it was. “Come here so I can fix you.”
Mylla found herself getting up off the floor and walking over. This time she tried to fight, but it didn’t work. Her muscles still moved at his command. She didn’t want Mr. Quigley to bind her up in his magic again. That was how he was doing it. He’d killed those people but not with his hands. And he was planning on killing Oskar. As she struggled, her movements became jerky. She had to get free.
He watched as if fascinated with her fight. “You fight now, I see. Why is that?”
“I want to be me.”
“You are you. A better you. One who is faithful to me.”
Because she’d rejected him all those years ago, he was going to keep her here forever. Trapped and never able to leave. Her arm lifted and he traced the blade over her skin. She felt the sting as he brushed the blade of his silver knife against her skin, but couldn’t move away as the trickle of blood ran over her scarred flesh and into his wine glass. Was he going to drink her blood like a vampire?
The trickle slowed as she watched.
He brought the glass to his lips and took a sip, then he offered it to her. “Drink. And know that you are mine to control.”
She pressed her lips together, trying to fight. If she drank the wine and blood she’d forget again.
He laughed. “I’ve always loved your fight, to see it rising after so long gives me hope that we will have many more years together.” He pressed the glass to her lips. “Drain the glass.”
She had no choice but to obey the direct order. The red wine and blood filled her mouth and she obediently swallowed, even though she wanted to gag.
“You are bound to me, and obey my will. You live because I let you. All my commands stand, plus a new one.” He took the glass from her lips and ran his finger around the inside, dampening the tip, then he ran it around the necklace. “You will not communicate with Oskar. When he talks to you, you will forget why you want to listen. You will forget him.”
The order tightened around her, closing over her. She was slipping below the water…no, she was being sucked beneath. She needed to swim, to keep afloat. Oskar. She had to think of him and hold onto the light, but it seemed so far away.
“You cannot resist me. You are mine and will always be mine.” He cupped her cheek so she had to look into his eyes. The light was fading. “What did you think would happen? That he would take you away when he left.” He leaned in close. “He will never leave and neither will you.” He drew back and slipped his knife away. “Dress, clean up, and get ready for bed.”
With wooden limbs, she pulled on her clothes. The light was there, just out of reach, but she remembered what Mr. Quigley had done. All of it.
Oskar waited in the kitchen. While there were no clocks, he was aware of the sky darkening. Too long had passed. He cleaned his plate, hoping that he’d be proven wrong and nothing was amiss. He even dried it and put it away, but there was still no sign of Mylla.
He could go up and find out.
But then that would be giving away that he knew something was up. Thomas must have already realized that Mylla was less controlled and be fixing her. Storming up there unprepared and with no plan—beyond the Morrigu’s plan of using life to conquer death—wasn’t going to help either of them.
He’d finally gotten the courage to tell Mylla and explain the risks and possible outcomes and to see if she was agreeable, and now this. While Mylla marked down her wasted days behind her drawers, he was counting his last days. He didn’t want to be leaving everything to the last day.
While he may not have been much of a warrior or a witch in his life, he planned on going down like one, and that meant facing his curse head on, and well before the deadline. He was tired of living with the looming threat and wanted it over one way or another, but Thomas was up there rigging the game, stealing a queen and tangling her up to work against him. His fingers curled and opened.
He should have told her straight away.
They could’ve acted already. They could have been free. Or dead.
Either way, Mylla wouldn’t be up there getting cut and wrapped up in magic by Thomas. He looked at the kitchen knives. The blades were far too tempting.
He turned on his heel and went outside into the cool night air. The days might be warm but the nights were still cold and he wasn’t dressed for being out. The breeze cut through his shirt. But he tuned it out. He’d done no training, and no real magic since being here—slipping into a trance and talking to the Morrigu was beginner stuff.
Ignoring the cold, he started going through kata. One by one, he tried to think only of the moves, focusing on his body and perfecting each technique and nothing else. He didn’t want to think about curses and magic. He’d been over thinking this whole thing. He was here to break the curse. Nothing more. He’d been given everything he needed, including a way to channel the unleashed magic into something positive and prevent a firestorm from leveling the area.
His muscles ached from the unaccustomed strain of gardening and carpentry. He acknowledged the stiffness, but didn’t let it stop him. He kept moving, targeting each strike and making every block count as if he were truly being attacked.
And Mylla’s freewill? Would he let that stop him?
Kata wasn’t working. What he would give to step into the dojo and have Mason or Noah kick his butt. He wanted a fight, an honest, clean fight, unmuddied by magic and consequences. One that ended in bruises and nothing more serious than dented pride and the promise of another round.
He could almost hear Peyton running through various scenarios and options. And then the consequences. Oskar squatted down, his breathing hard from the exercise, and pushed his fingers through his hair. If he ignored Mylla’s freewill, he was as bad as Thomas.
That was the trap. He saw it clearly, saw the whole game and the way the board was set up against him. Even his Goddess didn’t trust him entirely.
There was more to magic than intent and outcome. How it was achieved counted, and corrupting another to the purpose without their knowledgeable consent was a permanent black mark. Things like that stained the soul, forever.
“This is fucked up,” he said under his breath. The stink of death and decay now just part of the background smell. From across the lawn, the statues watched. Alive and wishing they were dead. Was he any different, waiting for his thirtieth so he could kiss it all goodbye? Or thinking he could charge in and kill Thomas where others had failed? He’d come here expecting to die. Now that he had an option to fight and live, he was still too scared to take it.
He rocked back on heels and sat on the grass, feeling sick and tense and powerless. He was supposed to be a Raven, but he was a coward hiding in the garden while Mylla suffered. He rolled over onto his hands and knees, then onto his toes. Push-ups. How many did he deserve
for being out here instead of with her?
Living to fight another day just didn’t justify it. Nothing would.
Chapter 10
Mylla dipped the plates into the water; she watched as the bubbles moved across the surface, giving hints of what was at the bottom of the sink. The fog was in her mind again, but it was different, it wasn’t as heavy or cloying. But like the bubbles, it shifted as her thoughts moved. She ran her hand over the surface and pushed the bubbles to one side.
Could she push the fog to one side and pretend it wasn’t there?
She heard footsteps and looked over her shoulder. Oskar…wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. This morning’s viewing from a distance really hadn’t done him justice. Her gaze travelled over his body and then to his face.
He was looking at her as if he didn’t know what to say. The fog shifted and she felt something click like a lock inside of her. She dropped the plate into the sink and almost ran the few steps to him, then placed her hand over his mouth and shook her head. If he spoke to her, she would forget him.
His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t be sure if this was a trick of some kind. Water ran down her arm and dripped onto his chest, but she didn’t move. She shook her head again. She had to explain why before the fog moved and she forgot. While she didn’t seem to have lost anything, it was fractured and missing pieces. She could chase them through the fog forever. She had to find a way of getting rid of the fog again. Or push it into a corner like the bubbles.
She frowned and slowly removed her hand. One thing at a time. She placed her finger to her lips to remind him to be silent. He lifted his hands in a silent question and his towel slipped a little. Muscle curved from his hips and drew her gaze lower, dark blond hair traced up to his navel. She blinked and took a step back. Paper, she needed paper.