Page 40 of Rainshadow

She laughed. He laughed too. Then, she felt a coldness creep over her skin.

He was joking, she knew he was joking.

But if she was so certain, why were the hairs on her arms standing up and her mouth going dry?

“Come sit with me.”

She went to him, let him pull her into his lap, kissed him. The house felt dark all around them, but between them there was light, warmth. She could see in him an entire future, everything she’d wanted, if only…

She rested her head on his chest. She sought a heartbeat, but instead there was only a stillness. Maybe he was a vampire. Sylvia had said as much. So had Blythe. They were both just jealous of her and this perfect man. He put an arm around her, and she closed her eyes.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“I’m not worried,” he said. “Everything is going to work out exactly right.”

She smiled and let him hold her, let herself melt utterly into him, forgetting herself.

19

Nothing changed at Rainshadow for a few long strange days. Darkness seemed to linger well into the morning, never really retreating, and the afternoon gave way to night again, a gray mouse swallowed by a black cobra without struggle. Flora worked the horses, cared for the barn, and even took care of Sylvia, who seemed some days to improve, and other days to breath in such slow increments that Flora had to stand, watching her, her own breath held, to make sure she was alive at all. She helped herself to Sylvia’s closet now, and her drawers. There was an enticing little safe, no larger than a mini fridge, that Flora wondered about. What treasures would a woman like Sylvia have? Jewelry? Cash? Maybe something more interesting, more valuable, that a girl like Flora could not even imagine.

It was early in the afternoon when the truck came trundling up the driveway with a horse trailer attached. Flora was working Mars in the arena when she saw it, stopped the horse to watch the truck rumble up and stop just before the barn.

She dismounted and met the driver, who held out a clipboard for her to sign.

“I don’t know the details,” he explained. “I’m just an animal transport service.”

“Where did this… animal… come from?” Flora asked, peeking through the slats in the trailer to see a pale face with huge black eyes gazing back at her.

“This horse is from… uh… Austria…? Long way to send a horse. Must be pretty special!”

The man looked around at the farm, then at Flora, his eyes darting up and down, as though appraising her. Was she, he must be wondering, worthy of such an expense?

He smirked at her. “Your father must love you very much,” he said.

Flora blushed, furious, but didn’t bother to correct him.

She helped unload the horse, white as a cloud, muscular, as graceful as a swan and as strong as a heavyweight boxer. She ran her hands along its beautiful flank and helped it into Bane’s former stall. It was a male horse, exhausted from travel most likely, and she filled its water tank from the hose and hurried to get him a bucket of oats.

She watched him eat, feeling a sense of protective ownership that surprised her. Ethan had bought her a horse, a horse from Austria, a horse with impeccable breeding that had probably already begun training with masters of dressage and horsemanship. She petted the beautiful horse, smiling and talking to him like he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. He probably was. She decided she would call him Astor.

When she saw Ethan that evening, strolling down the slate-stone path to visit her at the end of her working day, she ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her lips pressed to his ear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He looked at her, utterly surprised. “What are we thanking me for?” he asked, smiling his most charming, rakish smile.

“For the horse,” she said, indicating the barn. “He came today. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Horse?” He looked up at the barn, still confused.

“He’s not for you,” came Sylvia’s voice behind them.

Flora startled. She looked behind Ethan, and saw the horrible, limping form of Sylvia coming up the walk. “Sylvia,” she whispered, as a horrible feeling grew in her belly, a feeling of pure hatred.

“It’s not your horse, Flora. I sent for him. He’s mine.”

“Oh,” Ethan said, as though that settled everything. “It sounds like Sylvia sent off for a new horse!”

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