Page 2 of This Haunted Heart

He nodded. “That’s right. Unless he wants to show her off.”

My teeth came together in a grimace. This mister thought he could buy her, but he couldn’t. Her heart would never belong to anyone else. Not after we’d been forged together in the same hellfire.

“Who is he?” I asked gruffly.

The barkeep went tightlipped, tugging at the notes. Finally, I released them. He balled them up and stuffed them into the pocket of his waistcoat, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the other patrons. “He’s new money. A blowhard who goes by Utrecht. He’s in the coal business, and that’s all I know.”

“Is he nice to her, this Utrecht?”

The question seemed to surprise him. He regarded me with new eyes. Working his throat, he chose his words more carefully. “Utrecht isn’t nice to anybody.”

I should have known. The worst devils were drawn to her—myself included—like wandering spirits were to wrath.

“Which room belongs to her?” I asked quickly before he could sidle away from me.

“Second door on the left,” he whispered.

I dropped a coin onto the bar to pay for my neglected beer, placed my hat back on my head, then abandoned my stool. I moved through the busy establishment like I belonged amongst them, and no one stopped me. The hall upstairs filled with movement, a patron reluctantly leaving the bedroom of a miss. I made for the nearest nook and pretended to be preparing to smoke, fishing out my lighter and striking the flint.

I waited until the reluctant patron made his final plea for more attention before I shook out the flame. When the hallhad gone still, I crept from my corner and headed for the second door on the left. The floorboards creaked under my weight.

My palms were slick with sweat as I gripped the knob. I gave it a twist, not surprised it was locked.

Checking over my shoulder, I pulled out my knife and unfolded the blade, pressing the sharp metal into the crack in the door carefully so as not to scratch up the wood. I used it as a lever to force back the bolt that barred my entrance. The click of it sounded loud in my ears. I checked again behind me, listening for movement. When none came, I let myself in.

It was after midnight, and the hinges needed oil. I closed the creaking door carefully, then took in the suite before me: a plush sofa, floral wallpaper, the back wall lined by a small fortune in books. The elegant sitting room came to a head at an ornate archway. I wished I had the patience to browse, to take in the sights and smells, to learn more of what she’d been up to all these years, but the knowledge of her nearness compelled me forward.

Leaning into her boudoir, I found her at long last. She was asleep on the bed, angelic and peaceful.

Anger turned my vision red-tinged. Nothing about my time these past years had been peaceful. She’d made sure of that, tricking and stealing from me, abandoning me to the wrath of a monster, and she would soon pay the price. Drawn in by my emotions, the prickle of a passing spirit cascaded down the back of my neck.

“Rynn,” I breathed her name, and an agony burned in my chest. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of revelry from downstairs.

She’d changed in some ways. Rynn was shapelier than in ouryouth. Even more beautiful. The cream-colored lace of her shift tangled between her thighs and hugged her ripe hips. A woman capable of so much harm shouldn’t have such a lovely form. One glance at her had me questioning the goodness of God.

Light fawn skin contrasted her jet-colored hair. Supple and soft, each strand was full of curls. They sprang across her pillows in tight coils. Her face was turned away from me, but I didn’t need to see it to recall the exact shade and shape of her big brown doe eyes.

Even the memory of her mischievous smile was contagious.

She was up to no good. Always plotting and playing games, eager for excitement whatever the consequences. I was the boy just trying to stay out of trouble, stay hidden, go ignored. She was the girl that made me live.

Furies spare me, how I missed her! The pain of it about opened my chest right there.

She slept with a lantern on. The bronze glow of it called me to her bedroom window. Moving like a burglar, I swiped a smudge off the warm glass with a pad of my thumb because it had been made byherfinger.

“I still can’t sleep in the dark either, Rynn,” I whispered to her slumbering form. We’d walked the same hell, endured the same abyss. I kept candles and lanterns burning all night, too.

It was then I noticed the sling draped around her bedpost. It fluttered disjointedly in a breeze from her cracked window, flapping like the broken wing of a satin bird.

Was she injured?

A new fury erupted within me, tightening my stomach. Absolutely no one should be harming this indefensible woman but me. Her left arm lay over her belly, cradled against herbody.

The urge to inspect her was overwhelming, but if I moved closer, I would have trouble keeping my hands to myself. I didn’t want to wake her.

Not yet.

Another breeze blew in, cooling my clammy skin, carrying the scent of jasmine from the trellis outside. I removed the cigarette from my ear with fingers that shook. I turned it in my hand, considering it. Then I placed it beside the lantern like an offering, allowing the sweet scent of the tobacco to ride the wind. I wanted to give her a piece of the land she’d left behind.

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