through the sturdy oak door, “I am sorry, Amelia, but I cannot lose you again.”
“You know I am not her!”
“I know that you have spun a clever tale, but I am not some mooncalf, beguiled by fairy voices. Soon, you will weary of this game and I will have my beloved Amelia back. Until then, make yourself comfortable. I will return after the night’s festivities. Now, you really must excuse me. I must see to my guests.”
I delayed until I heard his footfalls receding, then spun and lunged across the room toward the draperies. Thrusting them aside, I froze in shock. Masonry replaced windows that had once graced the wall. I sank to my knees. The burden of my mission was enough to break me without this additional frustration. I wanted nothing so much as a good cry, but knew I could not afford to waste regret on my stupidity. I forced my heart to slow its hammering pace, reaching for calm and reason within myself. Drawing a deep, slow breath into my lungs, I sought something Dupree might have overlooked.
Overlooked? I laughed at my previous panic. The obvious answer had been with me all along. All I needed was a shadow to knock on. I would use my own. With the lamp at my back, I went to a wall and rapped upon it. “Azrael, my friend, I need you!”
“And I am here.” The whispery voice appeared behind me. “Was that so hard?”
Recognizing veiled laughter in his tone, I turned. “Would you be so kind as to take me out of here again?” I smiled sweetly, saving my displeasure with his attitude for some future occasion.
“I could do that, but do you not want to claim your legacy first?”
My eyes narrowed. “Do not play with me, I beg of you! I am not in the mood. The only legacy here is one of madness.”
“Look closer at what you have learned. Your grandmother spent time here as a prisoner, but she escaped, which the Count had not expected. Any secret of hers—remaining for you to discover—will be carefully concealed within these walls.”
“Is there such a secret left to find? Are you guessing, or do you know?”
“There is indeed something here meant for you that will be important to your quest.”
“Can you perhaps be a little more specific?”
“Now, where is the fun in that?”
I decided then and there to throttle this ambulating smudge, as soon as he fetched me out of here.
I recalled my son had treasures he often hid ingeniously. Once, I discovered his journal by sheerest accident, chasing down an intruding pigeon atop his wardrobe… Phillippe, taking a lesson from the cat, had learned that the best hiding places are above eye level, where gazes seldom stray.
My gaze swung to the armoire, ascending to its crown. I would need something to stand on. The chair by the vanity volunteered itself. Dragging it over, I climbed, and smiled. A linen bundle lay back from the decorative lip. I pulled the unwieldy bundle into my arms and climbed down, sneezing from the dust I had stirred.
“It distresses me how easily you found that,” the dark angel remarked.
I ignored him, taking the dusty bundle to the bed. Inside the sheet, I found a diary. Inside, accounts were written in a delicate artful script. I also found a white, hand-tooled leather belt, soft calf-length leather boots, matching leather pants, and a laced bodice that left arms and shoulders bare. Everything was clean and fragrant, having been packed away with dried lavender.
A small compass lay buried in a pocket, fashioned by a great artisan. It resided inside silver rose petals on a chain, allowing it to be worn as a necklace. The needle swung in a constant circle … curious. Underneath everything else, I discovered a braided, white-leather whip—coiled, inset with small thorns that looked wickedly sharp.
To think that my grandmother might have owned —and used—such a thing disturbed me. It in no way fit into the image I’d created of
“You know I am not her!”
“I know that you have spun a clever tale, but I am not some mooncalf, beguiled by fairy voices. Soon, you will weary of this game and I will have my beloved Amelia back. Until then, make yourself comfortable. I will return after the night’s festivities. Now, you really must excuse me. I must see to my guests.”
I delayed until I heard his footfalls receding, then spun and lunged across the room toward the draperies. Thrusting them aside, I froze in shock. Masonry replaced windows that had once graced the wall. I sank to my knees. The burden of my mission was enough to break me without this additional frustration. I wanted nothing so much as a good cry, but knew I could not afford to waste regret on my stupidity. I forced my heart to slow its hammering pace, reaching for calm and reason within myself. Drawing a deep, slow breath into my lungs, I sought something Dupree might have overlooked.
Overlooked? I laughed at my previous panic. The obvious answer had been with me all along. All I needed was a shadow to knock on. I would use my own. With the lamp at my back, I went to a wall and rapped upon it. “Azrael, my friend, I need you!”
“And I am here.” The whispery voice appeared behind me. “Was that so hard?”
Recognizing veiled laughter in his tone, I turned. “Would you be so kind as to take me out of here again?” I smiled sweetly, saving my displeasure with his attitude for some future occasion.
“I could do that, but do you not want to claim your legacy first?”
My eyes narrowed. “Do not play with me, I beg of you! I am not in the mood. The only legacy here is one of madness.”
“Look closer at what you have learned. Your grandmother spent time here as a prisoner, but she escaped, which the Count had not expected. Any secret of hers—remaining for you to discover—will be carefully concealed within these walls.”
“Is there such a secret left to find? Are you guessing, or do you know?”
“There is indeed something here meant for you that will be important to your quest.”
“Can you perhaps be a little more specific?”
“Now, where is the fun in that?”
I decided then and there to throttle this ambulating smudge, as soon as he fetched me out of here.
I recalled my son had treasures he often hid ingeniously. Once, I discovered his journal by sheerest accident, chasing down an intruding pigeon atop his wardrobe… Phillippe, taking a lesson from the cat, had learned that the best hiding places are above eye level, where gazes seldom stray.
My gaze swung to the armoire, ascending to its crown. I would need something to stand on. The chair by the vanity volunteered itself. Dragging it over, I climbed, and smiled. A linen bundle lay back from the decorative lip. I pulled the unwieldy bundle into my arms and climbed down, sneezing from the dust I had stirred.
“It distresses me how easily you found that,” the dark angel remarked.
I ignored him, taking the dusty bundle to the bed. Inside the sheet, I found a diary. Inside, accounts were written in a delicate artful script. I also found a white, hand-tooled leather belt, soft calf-length leather boots, matching leather pants, and a laced bodice that left arms and shoulders bare. Everything was clean and fragrant, having been packed away with dried lavender.
A small compass lay buried in a pocket, fashioned by a great artisan. It resided inside silver rose petals on a chain, allowing it to be worn as a necklace. The needle swung in a constant circle … curious. Underneath everything else, I discovered a braided, white-leather whip—coiled, inset with small thorns that looked wickedly sharp.
To think that my grandmother might have owned —and used—such a thing disturbed me. It in no way fit into the image I’d created of
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