Page 91 of Blackwicket
“Neither aspect of me can exist without the other.” He drew closer. “It’s for this reason I should be destroyed, Eleanora, and William Nightglass must fall with me.”
“That’s absurd, Victor,” I said, and his name sounded right. Thomas was someone he’d once been, lost forever, the moment etched into this house and our joined histories. “William deserves whatever’s coming to him, and I understand wanting to be the harbinger of that justice, but it doesn’t require sacrificing yourself. I’ll help you. We’ll figure out a better way of freeing Jack and other children like him from the Brom.”
I recalled the way he’d cared for Jack, how he’d offered protection and security, enough to allow the boy’s magic to believe in its chances. He’d known exactly what to say, how to hold on to hope for the child that couldn’t.
“They need people like you on their side,” I said.
His touch was light on my cheek.
“Idealism doesn’t suit you, Curse Eater.”
When the Drudge lifted my chin, lowering its face to mine, I didn’t recoil. Its broad mouth was rough, electric against my lips, but it was meant to be. As he’d done in the moments before the tide of desire had swept us from our senses, he drew magic from me, but this time, there was simply the pleasing warmth of mutual connection.
In the catastrophic storm we’d unexpectedly found ourselves navigating together, we’d become each other’s mooring. I accepted my role gladly, closing my eyes to savor it.
His mouth softened, skin and cartilage rippling beneath my hand, as his form slowly yielded to its human side, bringing Victor’s scarred body back to me. The discomfort of the transformation remained clear in the tension of his muscles, the way his breath hitched. I touched his face, running the pads of my fingers along the scar on his cheek, brushing the hair from his forehead as he’d once done for me, seeing him anew.
For the first time since I’d known him as Victor, his expression was unguarded, revealing a tenderness that might have been the death of me on its own.
“William’s High Tide is tonight. We should make a plan,” he said, taking my hand to place a kiss on my palm. “But I’d rather be dressed for that discussion.”
Relieved, I managed a breathy laugh, and we descended from the tower together, Victor assisting me down the broken stairs. There would never be a reason to return. My sister’s crimes had been uncovered, but she was dead, the garden she’d grown to deliver her justice drained of life. The Narthex to Dark Hall was closed and was better off staying that way. A renewed sense of purpose had unfurled, and I was prepared to work with Victor on a plan to rescue Jack. He placed a hand, painfully gentle, at the back of my neck and pulled me close to press a kiss on my forehead.
“Stay here, Ellie,” he said, and there was something strange in his voice, a thickness as his throat constricted with sorrow. Pinpricks of warning traveled across my skin, but my reaction was too slow. He seized me, lifting me from my feet and taking three swift steps to the door of the suite I’d shared with my family. I resisted his manhandling, but I was in no position, physically or magically, to counter his will. He tossed me into the anteroom with enough force that I stumbled nearly into the bathroom. I couldn’t make it to the door in time to stop him from closing it.
“Let me out!” I shouted, clutching the handle, rattling it. Enraged and helpless, I watched as the door melded to its frame, soldered shut by magic.
I pounded frantically, calling his name, cursing him. But there was no answer.
I lost track of the time I spent channeling my magic into fused wood, fracturing it bit by bit, never enough to breach it. Even when I summoned all my strength for a fierce strike, the door only cracked in the middle without giving way. Unlike with Victor, my magic didn’t replenish itself easily, and I wasn’taccustomed to this level of psychic exertion. Fatigue was setting in.
My last option was the dormered window. At three stories, it was an unlikely escape, but I marched to it, flinging open the shutters to gaze at a darksome landscape, illuminated by the waning moon. From the third floor, the mansard roof slanted below the window, with its decorative cornice edge running along the incline, encircling the entire house.
I tore off my tattered blouse and wrestled out of my skirt, charging to Fiona’s wrecked room to rummage through her clothes again. I was determined to get to High Tide, to stop Victor from enacting whatever self-destructive plan he’d engineered, even if I had to jump out of the damn window to make it there. Hurriedly, I put on the remaining formal dress in the wardrobe, its A-line shape softened by the gold chiffon pooling around the skirt, pleated sleeves draping loose over my shoulders, then spared an impatient moment to arrange my hair. I swept it into a severe chignon and swiped my lips with a violent red lipstick I found on the vanity. I could see why Thea wore this color so often. It was like wearing armor.
I tossed the gold tube onto the vanity counter, where it clattered and dropped to the floor, then stared at my reflection in the mirror. Anger suited me.
Soon, I was leaning precariously into the night, enduring the biting cold with no coat. I climbed over the windowsill and sat, adrenaline rocketing through my veins. If I fell, magic would cushion my landing, but it wouldn’t prevent broken bones.
As I was about to slide to the ledge, the roar of a car engine approached. I waited, watching as the headlights climbed the hill. Ramsey, come to retrieve me. Taking a chance, I stood on the ledge, gripping the window frame, leaning further so he could spot me. The sedan disappeared, parking in front of the house where I would remain hidden. I shouted.
“Ramsey!” My cry was high and loud, but the crash of the waves swallowed it. “Ramsey!”
With luck, the driver heard me and appeared around the corner, but he had company. Thea was next to him, wrapped in fur.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled.
“I’m trapped,” I called. “Third floor. You’ll know which door.”
I had no concerns about the house refusing them entry; it had been eerily silent as of late. I searched for curses, but encountered emptiness.
Minutes later, Ramsey’s voice called through the door.
“Ms. Blackwicket!”
“Please get the door open!”
A bone-jarring crack echoed, shaking the door. Ramsey was striking it with something. With one final crash, the casing splintered and the door gave way, allowing Ramsey to open it with a harsh shove of his shoulder.
