Page 71 of Wicked Salvation
Then I do it again.
After the fifth time, he breaks.
Cries into marble.
“None of us can control him,” he whimpers.
I lean close. “That’s too bad, isn’t it?” I bang his head against the basin. “I’m not here to offer you penance.”
I leave Alistair collapsed beside the basin, face soaked, pants soiled, lungs rugged.
I walk outinto the cold night.
My hands stink of blood and candle wax, of ash and sweat and roses. My jacket is torn, my heart a bit heavier—but my list is shorter. I crossed off three of the four people on it today. With each step I take towards my cottage, it’s as if the entire school is trembling, holding its breath. But if this school is as holy as they say, then it knows what’s coming.
Silas is next.
And after him?
The altar.
The truth.
The girl whose name is written into the fabric of my soul—Eden Lockhart.
XVI
EDEN
The house smells like roses.
Too manyroses. It’s never been like this before.
Fresh bouquets in every hallway, every vase—overstuffed arrangements that choke the air with sweetness, as if someone were trying to cover up something rotting beneath the floorboards, to overpower the scent of decay seeping from the walls.
When I stepped out of the Range Rover and the majordomo met me at the door, I almost didn’t recognize the house. In the time I had been away, the whole place had seemingly been renovated. As terrible as my mother is, homemaking seems to be her only skill. It still has its old world charm, just polished for the twenty-first century.
The granite facades have been cleaned and repaired, and though the balustrades, cornices and wainscoting have clearly been changed—it looks just like the original, just newer. Furniture has been upholstered with velvet and silks, the chandeliers new andbigger.
None of it surprises me really.
My mother gets like this when she’s bored.
And for a moment, I figured she occupied this because she missed me.
“We’re pleased to have you back home, Young Miss Eden,” Miss Durell says, guiding me through the house as if I don’t know my way around. “Viscountess Lockhart is over the moon with your impending nuptials, working tirelessly to ensure that everything is perfect.
Even though the footmen trail behind us carrying my luggage, her words make me feel like the weight of all those suitcases are on my shoulders—impending nuptials.
“The Viscountess has arranged a room for you in the east wing.”
My steps falter. “Why would I need another room? I can just use mine.” Of course, the east wing is where everyone else in the house lives—mother, father and my brothers. I was always relegated to the west wing. Over time, being alone there gave me a sense of solace.
“The Viscountess had your room renovated.” Miss Durell doesn’t even spare me a glance.
I give her a questioning look. “What do you mean?”
“It is now an additional storage closet for her growing collection of shoes,” she says, chipper as ever, as if she doesn’t just admit that my mother turned my room into a shoe closet the moment I left. Miss Durell clasps her hands together. “Now, let’s not waste anymore time. We have many preparations to make for your engagement party tonight.”
