Page 36 of The Beginning
Hopefully.
Seeing nothing that might help me, I eased the car onto the highway, ignoring my phone as it buzzed with text messages and voicemails from Mother.I needed to think.I needed to get my bearings.I needed to go home.Not to the crazy that was the Blaine Mansion, but to my apartment.
The painkillers kicked in, and I floated down the highway in a haze, grateful for the lack of traffic.I glanced at the wooden box on the seat next to me, a niggling thought tickling the back of my mind.I moved the car along the highway, the scenery blowing by in a blur as I passed, and the moonless sky like a palette of black with pinhole stars twinkling through.I let my thoughts turn to Aunt Beatrice.
My aunt's round face filled my mind.She had red hair that she wore long and often teased up into a big ole 'do, as she called it.She smiled at me in my mind, and suddenly I was ten years old again, sitting in her solarium, drinking tea and eating scones.
“Did you know, Marigold, you were named for my great-great-great-grandmother?”she'd said, pouring tea into our teacups.
My eyes had gone wide as I licked the clotted cream from my fingers, thinking only about shoving more of the delicious warm scones into my mouth.I shook my head, unable to speak with my mouth so full.But I questioned her with my eyes, begging her to continue this story I had never heard before.It was nice, this tea time with just me and her.I didn't know where Calyx was–with Mother, maybe?
“Yes, indeed.”Her southern drawl reminded me of milk, and comfort, and warm embraces.“Grandmother Goldie, Lord she was a pistol.She used to race around town, causing all kinds of scandal.”Aunt Beatrice leaned in and put her hand against her mouth as though she was going to whisper a secret to me.“Your mother would have a heart attack if she had been around to see that back then.”Aunt Beatrice winked at me, and smiled, clearly enjoying herself.
I swallowed some more tea.“You can't stop there,” I said.“Tell me more, Aunt Beatrice.Did you know her?”
Aunt Beatrice laughed at my question.“Well, I may be old, darling, but I am notthatold.”She crinkled her eyes as she smiled even more.“But I do have something in common with Grandmother Goldie.”
“What is it?”I asked, already enthralled.
“Well, Grandmother Goldie was a Vessel Witch.Do you know what that means?”
Driving down the road, my skin tingled at the memory.I'd forgotten all about this conversation we'd had so many years ago.Mention of the Vessel Witch awakened something in my chest.It was as though a flame had been lit behind my heart.It filled me with a sense of peace and understanding.Acceptance.
My ten-year-old self continued talking through my memory.“A Vessel Witch?”I'd asked.
At that moment, Mother arrived, wearing her coat and clutching her purse.“Marigold, it's time to go.”She barely glanced at Aunt Beatrice as she ordered me through getting my shoes on and gathering my things.
Aunt Beatrice's eyes looked sad for a moment.I rushed over and gave her a gigantic hug, squeezing her tight and nuzzling her neck.
“Go on now.We'll finish our talk another time, lovey.”She patted my arm and smiled again, this time without any sadness at all.
Sadly, I'd never gotten to finish that talk with her.Strange that I hadn't thought about it until now.
Chapter Sixteen
Eamonn
The Fae Realm
* * *
The next morning, I had breakfast with the other Watchers, all of us quiet as we started the day.The dining hall had a subdued atmosphere—not uncomfortable, just the natural rhythm of men settling into their daily routine.The porridge was thick and filling, accompanied by bread that I’d been told since arriving here that was quite good for an outpost.I'd learned to appreciate these small comforts over the past two months.
Those on duty met in the guardroom for assignments for the day.The room buzzed with quiet conversation as men discussed patrol routes and checked equipment.Those not on duty were free to do as they pleased.Some even went to the Human Realm, some went to other places in the Fae Realm.The freedom was something I was still getting used to.We kept a book in the guardroom that allowed each man to track his whereabouts, which was a good thing.Each entry was brief but telling—names, destinations, expected return times.
It also seemed a bit loose to me, but we didn't do things in as formal a fashion as had been the standard at the castle.Daily life for me at the castle had been structured, with rigid schedules and precise formations.Here, there was trust.Trust that each man would do his duty without constant oversight.I would've said that it was far too loose of a style for me, but after two months, I could see why this was a better style for this command.Men worked harder when they felt respected rather than monitored every moment.
I also noted that in the book, there were no notations for me giving me a day off.My name appeared in the duty roster every single day since I'd arrived.How, when I did most of the paperwork, I didn’t know.My officers must have me as on duty at all times.That didn't bother me as much as perhaps it ought to have.The truth was, I wasn't sure what I'd do with a day off anyway.Where would I go?What was waiting for me back at court?Nothing pleasant, that was certain.At this point, I wasn’t even sure if Wenda would wait.Or if I would blame her if she didn’t.
The morning was spent going through the reams of necessary paperwork, ordering supplies, and making sure that all was in order at my command.There were requisition forms for everything from lamp oil to boot laces.Inventory lists that needed checking and double-checking.Reports on the condition of the gates, the walls, the living quarters.It was tedious work, but I found a strange satisfaction in the orderliness of it all.Prior to luncheon, one of the Watchers came in and deposited a bundle of letters on my desk.
"Mail's here," he said.The postal service between realms was irregular at best, so a delivery was always noteworthy.With nothing more but a nod, he was gone.
I reached over and thumbed through the stack of parchment.The paper crinkled under my fingers, some pieces bearing official seals I recognized.Mostly official letters, but there was one from my mother.Her familiar script made my chest tighten with guilt.I'd need to answer her today.Her last letter had been full of worried questions I couldn't properly answer, gentle reproaches about my lack of correspondence, and news from home that felt like it belonged to someone else's life.
The last letter was in slightly finer parchment than the rest, and I recognized the handwriting immediately.My heart did something complicated—a skip and a sink all at once.
Wenda had finally written.
