Page 87 of Wicked Beasts
Seventy-Six
Imust be under some kind of enchantment. Had I really walked all this way? My feet throb with sudden pain, and my legs shake, barely able to hold me up. I collapse against the cold iron gate, my body exhausted and weak, as the first rays of the morning sun begin to creep over the distant horizon. Pale light spills across the sky, casting a soft orange glow. My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, the weight of my sudden exhaustion heavy.
“No,” I mutter in weak protest, as if saying it aloud might change something, might stop the inevitable. The gate groans in response, its rusty hinges creaking as it slowly begins to swing open, the movement unsteady and reluctant. The sound reverberates in the quietness of the dawn, and I wonder, for a fleeting moment, if it's the gate or my heart that’s trembling.
Invisible strings tug at me, guide my every step as I’m pulled through the entrance and down the winding path right back to the Black Manor. I try to resist, Manu’s warning echoing in my mind, but my body betrays me. I’m unable to break free from whatever spell I must be under, unable to regain control of myself, as though following someone else’s command. My legsmove sluggishly, stumbling over the uneven ground, each step a battle, yet I am helpless to stop.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, my body swaying as I struggle to stay upright, dragging myself forward. “Let mego.”
It is then Cordelia appears at my side, her arms wrapping around one of mine as she holds me like a possession—like a doll—pulling me toward the manor. Her touch feels like a golden chain, binding me to her will. Instead of guiding me to the stairs to the front door, she veers off to a cellar I never noticed. The doors are obscured by a thick blanket of damp leaves hiding the entrance from view. She stops before the doors and brushes her thin, icy fingers through my hair as she rakes the dark brown strands from my face.
“I understand why he is taken with you,” she whispers, her voice like a gentle howl in the wind before she drags her finger along my cheek, connecting my freckles. “Such abeautyyou are.” Her gaze then directs to the angled cellar doors.
They’re heavy and rusted, set into the ground like a hidden secret waiting to be discovered. Made of weathered metal, their surfaces are slick with moisture, the edges frayed by years of exposure to the elements. The hinges creak as they strain beneath the weight of time, and damp leaves cling to them. Cordelia quickly lifts her hand and flicks her wrist. The cellar doors suddenly burst open, as though a gust of wind has come hurtling through. The smell of dirt and mildew rushes up, filling the air with the musty scent of forgotten space, just a tinge of iron to it. I peer down into the darkness from the steep, angled steps that descend into a suffocating void.
Cordelia drags me down the steps, and my body moves at her command. My mind screams in protest, but no sound escapes my lips. As the allure of her control wears off, my awareness of the pain in my body grows. My feet are raw and bleeding,torn from the journey I’ve made—from my father’s home to the Black estate—and with each step I’m forced to take, another jolt of agony rips through me. The coldness of the stone stairs sinks into my open wounds, and I can’t help but wince, the pain sharp and relentless.
She waves her hand once more, and flames ignite with a fierce crackle in the long-forgotten fireplace, quickly illuminating the dark cellar. The fire quickly consumes the lingering cobwebs, the shrill screech of dying vermin piercing my ears as they burn, consumed by the blaze. There’s a table and chairs set up, the glint of a broken mirror resting upon it.
That's when it hits me: I recognize the room. It's the same one from my dream—my vision? It’s where Mr. Black sat at this table with Cordelia, and where, somehow, I had magically taken her place. I could still feel his hand was tangled in my hair, the bite of the lime when the juice splashed into my mouth.
Just as I turn to face her, she pierces me just above the collarbone with a thin, jagged shard—a sharp piece of the ornate mirror.
I gasp at the new pain.
My hand immediately clamps onto my neck as I stumble back, the scarlet blood seeping from between my fingers and drenching my white nightgown. My lips part as the crimson liquid spills from my mouth, and the floor begins to sway beneath me.
Distant shouting echoes somewhere, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the fireplace, now burning into an inferno. The flames crackle and snap like fireworks, their heat reaching out, as if beckoning me toward its fiery embrace. A chill spreads through my fingertips as my body collapses.
Perhaps the fire will consume me too, I consider.
At least then, I wouldn’t feel any more pain.
A sharp pain grazes my neck, a piercing scream tears through the air, and a shadow looms over me just as everything plunges into blackness.
Seventy-Seven
Istand in the dark cellar alone. The silence is suffocating as my fingertips gently graze the edge of the table, the ornate mirror laying upon it. Even without light, I know every item in the cellar—I know them as if I’ve spent years in this dark room. The ornate mirror, with broken pieces so carefully arranged to fit perfectly back into place, almost to be made whole again, save for the jagged lines of the cracked glass. The fireplace, each chair, every scratch on the table.
My gaze shifts to the stairway as the cellar doors suddenly burst open and a cool draft sweeps in from the outside. From where I stand near the table, I watch, frozen, as another version of me is pulled down the stairs by an unseen force. The image scratches at a closed door of my memory.This isn’t right.Where is Cordelia?
I watch myself struggle and wince at every step. Without warning, a brilliant fire surges to life in the grate behind me, quickly brightening the cellar. The flames spill over the hearth, melting cobwebs and catching unsuspecting rodents in its fury.
I watch as my other self scans the room, and her expression falters at the realization that I’ve been here before. Slowly, she approaches the table, her fingers—my fingers—inching towardthe shattered mirror, almost as if drawn to deliberately select the sharpest piece. I flinch as I watch my own hand quickly drive the jagged shard into my neck, just above the collarbone, before pulling it out and letting it fall to the ground with a gentle clatter. There’s fear in my glistening eyes as I stumble backward, my hand clamping down on the wound as blood pours from my mouth.
I want to rush forward, but my feet are rooted to the floor—as if it’s my particular curse to witness my own death.
My body crumples, and that is when I see Tristan standing at the foot of the stairs, his hazel eyes wide with a chaotic mix of rage and panic spread across his perfect face. Seeing him tugs at my chest, and I’m suddenly awash in a mixture of anguish, love, and hope.How I missed his face. His touch. His scent.But his sudden movements shake me from my daze. Without hesitation, he grabs the bloodied shard, along with the shattered mirror, and hurls them into the flames. The fire crackles violently, as if stirred by some malevolent force, flaring wildly in response and growing even fiercer with the added fuel.
He rushes to my side, dropping to his knees beside my lifeless body. The rose necklace tightens around my neck like a noose, constricting with each breath I can no longer take. In a desperate motion, he rips it free and casts it into the raging inferno. The flames hiss in response, and an eerie, piercing scream rips through the air, echoing in my ears far longer than any natural sound ought to.
I stare at my lifeless body—limp, bloodied, and broken—as Tristan lifts me, cradling me carefully, carrying me from the cellar. Then, I’m alone again in the dark, cold room as the fire seems to die out on its own. The silence presses in on me, sluicing down against my chest as I try to make sense of what I’ve just seen.
I did that tomyself.
Am I dead?
A sudden, searing pain pulses through my skull as a mirage of me dancing down the dark street appears. In my nightgown, my movements are light and fluid, my hands loosely gripping the fabric as I twirl and skip along the pavement. I can hear myself humming the same haunting melody I heard the trees sing when I first arrived. My body moves of its own accord; I see myself dance all the way to the Black manor, alone under the starless sky like some delirious madwoman.
