Part 8: A Stoned Heiress Gathers No Moss

The address on the card led to a residential district, the sort of neighborhood Malcolm had been prohibited from entering as a child because even their errand boys weren’t allowed smudged faces and ripped clothes. If grubby little beggars had to exist, they could do it at a distance.

It was an unusual place in which to find a brothel, but if the clientele was quiet, restricted to invitation only, and didn’t fornicate on the lawn, the neighbors might be blissfully unaware. The stone wall surrounding the property afforded no privacy, as the land rose behind it like a pedestal on which the mansion stood, but the wide gardens on all sides and stone walls of the home itself lent a measure of discretion.

The screams wouldn’t carry far enough to be heard by outsiders.

Ivanovich tired of standing silent in the shadows and assumed command. “We will take the guards by surprise and force the gate.”

The guards in question were similar in stature to Vernon and Not-Vernon. Had they been human, the huge mercenary might have been able to eliminate them alone, no doubt a task with which he had a great deal of experience.

They weren’t human, though, and they weren’t alone on duty. “It’s too late for surprise. They know we’re here.”

“I have seen no sign they are aware of us.”

Malcolm wouldn’t have bothered trying stealth against these vampires even if he were alone, but encumbered with a seven-foot Russian and a Scot with such a heavy tread his boots had to be soled with iron, the idea was laughable.

The stableboy, Luke, moved like a bloody wraith but was too small and stringy to be of any use other than spying—no use at all, since they knew already where Reese was being held.

“Have you seen the one on the wall behind us with the pistol?” He gave them a moment to spot the fellow, who had to wave his hand to give away his position. “He’s the reason you three go no further than this point.”

Luke gave him a mutinous glare. “Why can’t we go?”

Any boy that age would be eager to see the inside of a whorehouse—and Malcolm wasn’t such a hypocrite he would deny him the realization of that dream—but this was neither the right time nor the right establishment. He’d go in to lose his virginity and leave without it but wrapped in a shroud. “Because you weren’t invited.”

He’d given Madame Leliana St.-Hilaire ample time to prepare whatever sort of welcome she meant to extend to him. Nothing remained but to go face it. “If I don’t return before dawn, it didn’t go well. Leave and forget you ever learned about this place.”

“I won’t leave Reese!”

The brat would learn the hard way that loyalty most often rewarded the loyal with death, but he wouldn’t learn it here. Malcolm pinned MacDougall with a glance. “At dawn, beat him unconscious and drag him away if necessary. There is nothing he can do here.”

He left the boy screaming profanity behind the muffling hand of the Scot and strolled to the gate as if he had nothing to fear. The guard on the left confiscated the calling card, and the one on the right opened the gate, all without a word being uttered.

He took his time going up the hill, making a show of admiring the landscape and architecture while counting the pairs of eyes watching him. In addition to the guards at the gate, there were four on the wall and two patrolling inside it. The slate mansard roof supported no clingers, but the curved cornices on either side of an empty bell tower each terminated in a vampire crouched like gargoyle. Two stories beneath them, another pair stood sentry at the arched entrance.

In a word, discouraging.

The doormen allowed him to pass, and the doors swung inward at his approach. A dour butler awaited him in the foyer. “Captain Marrs. The mistress asks that you wait in the parlor.”

Malcolm assumed, based on the man’s proceeding across the foyer without awaiting an answer, that asks was not an entirely accurate representation of the mistress’s instructions. Since arguing semantics conflicted with the agreeable image he strove to project, he kept his mouth shut and followed where led.

The only other occupant in evidence took the form of an eye, a bit of forehead, and a riot of blonde curls peeking around the corner at the top of the stairs and vanished from his line of sight an instant after she appeared.

He expected something tawdry and obvious—blood-red velvet, the pelts of dead things, paintings depicting lewd acts on the walls—so the parlor was something of a disappointment with its cream-and-gold wallpaper, green draperies, and unassuming watercolors of the countryside. He could easily envision the lady of the house partaking of tea with elderly relatives here.

The lady in question sailed into the room as if borne on a personal zephyr. Tea was not her beverage of choice, of course, and any elderly relatives turned to dust centuries ago.

“Captain Marrs, what a delight to see you again.” She had swapped her gown for one of green silk, a richer shade than that in the parlor, making him wonder if the wardrobe change was solely to coordinate with the decor. “Forgive my tardiness. I didn’t expect you to accept my invitation this very night.”

They both knew it had been more of a summons than an invitation. “In my experience, some invitations are best accepted before the sentiment with which they were extended cools.”

“I’ve heard of some of your more colorful… experiences.” She trailed her fingers over the carved back of a chair in passing. “Pity about your brother.”

If she anticipated unbalancing him with her knowledge, she would have to do better than that. “If you must feign pity, do it for someone who deserves it.”

She glanced at the ceiling. “Whomever could you mean?”

“The poor slobs you’ve no intention of allowing to molest the recent acquisition to whom you imagine I refer.”

A trill of laughter spilled from her lips. “Oh, you really are a delight. Will you spare me silly games and innuendo, then?”

“I thought we might spare each other and commence with your demands.” And whether he would meet them or leave an unsightly stain on the rug. She already circled him like a shark, suggesting minimal confidence in his cooperation.

“Don’t be afraid, Malcolm. One as young and tender as you is beneath my notice, much less my wrath.”

He was no threat to her authority, but she needed no excuse other than boredom to do away with him. “In that case, why am I here, Miss St.-Hilaire?”

“Call me Leliana.” Another unmistakable command, not a request. “You’re here because of your interest in my recent acquisition, of course.”

“I imagine few men would not share that interest.”

“Few of them share my interest.” She stopped before the fire to rearrange the drab, banded pheasant feathers spearing from a vase on the mantel. “Miss Hershey is an… intriguing young woman. She came to my attention a number of years ago—still a child, by most standards—when she broke into my home to steal a painting I had purchased from her father.”

He liked a challenge, and one look at the security of this place would have sent him looking for easier pickings. “I’m surprised she made it past the wall, more so that you let her live after she did.”

“How could I not? If one of my odious neighbors blows his nose, I’m aware of it, but she found her way to the second floor of my home before her trespass was detected. She earned her painting. The guards who failed to apprehend her earned death.”

A single act of daring earned Reese the sort of admiration she would come to regret. “You’ve been watching her ever since.”

“She’s a fascinating creature, a child of privilege with the sensibility of a street thug.” She clasped her jeweled hands against her bosom. “Oh, you should see her at the opera, Malcolm. She appears so elegant in her finery and jewels, but she watches the audience like a tigress surveying a pen full of succulent little pigs. If they make it home with their lives and valuables, it’s because she has chosen not to prey upon them. She’s aware of her superiority and revels in it.”

He wished she’d move away from the fire so he could stand near it and combat the chill that set in as her motive was revealed. “You want to transform her into more of a predator than she naturally is.”

She laughed again. “Do you think me mad? The cunning little demon would assemble an army in a night and dethrone me while I was still weak from making her. I’m not fool enough to create a threat to my position. No, I don’t want to transform her. I want to consume her.”

Depending on one’s priorities, being sold into prostitution might have been a kinder fate than the one that actually awaited Reese. Longevity wasn’t a benefit of her current predicament. “You have her in your possession, and she didn’t appear in any condition to resist an attack.”

Leliana sighed and resumed her circling. “Don’t be obtuse. You know very well she’ll taste no better than toilet water in her present condition.”

Her father had unwittingly done her a favor by drugging her. “She’ll recover in a day or two.”

The skin on his back shrank as she passed behind him, too close. “And that is when you will step forth to volunteer your assistance.”

She didn’t pass. She lingered, and it required all his will not to ask her to please refrain from touching him. “Surely you have sufficient staff to restrain one victim.”

“I told you not to be obtuse. I want what you want, to taste her at her most passionate. In my fantasies, her blood burns so bright, swallowing is exquisite pain.” The wistful yearning in her voice didn’t quite disguise the vicious greed in her heart. “Alas, she hasn’t responded with enthusiasm to my tentative advances in the past. I believe she may look more favorably upon you.”

Her hands sliding up his back provoked an involuntary shudder. Having failed to affect him with mention of his brother, she meant to make him scream with memories of the last one of her kind whose touch he had endured.

“Such a handsome boy. I confess, I had a passing thought of keeping you for myself.”

Her breath stirred the hair at his nape, and she nearly got her scream. He choked it down. “Only passing?”

“I’d use you up in a fortnight. As enjoyable as that might be, I’d regret it if I found a more practical use for you a month later.” She traced the curve of his ear with a fingertip. “I know she left you once, but even a human of her conceit couldn’t continue to refuse you. We can deny ourselves what we want out of pride for only so long. She’ll succumb.”

She vastly underestimated Reese’s conceit and pride, no doubt presuming none could exceed her own. “You expect me to do all the work of seducing her while you reap all the reward.”

“Not all of it, darling. You do get to partake of that delectable body of hers in ways I never can, but since I know you haven’t invested all this time and effort pursuing a tumble, I’ll share her blood with you.”

His attempt to imagine a scenario in which Reese fell into bed with him took a violent turn at the addition of another woman—and that was before anyone was set upon by bloodsucking fiends, one of whom vastly overestimated Malcolm’s powers of persuasion. “Feeding both of us will kill her.”

“If you’re squeamish about that sort of thing, I recommend you fuck faster.”

Had he expected her to have sentimental attachment to a meal? He shrugged her off and paced the width of the room. It no longer mattered if she saw his agitation. She wanted him agitated, and he didn’t particularly care to know what she planned to try next to accomplish it. “Reese and I didn’t part on the best of terms. I’ll need more than a few minutes to charm her. I may have better luck improving her disposition toward me while she’s still sedated.”

Before she could express the objection lurking behind her pursed lips, he asked, “Do you think your tigress will fall into the arms of any man who compliments her? I’ll have to earn the privilege, and that will take time. The sooner I begin, the sooner you’ll get your taste.”

She considered his reasoning. “Very well. Wait here while I break it to my girls that playtime with their new doll is over. Someone will fetch you momentarily.”

He gripped the mantel with both hands for support and told himself playtime wouldn’t involve harming her. Not this time.

Leliana stopped at the threshold. “It would be inadvisable to cross me, Malcolm.”

He inclined his head to acknowledge the warning without looking at her. “I’m not so young and tender that I can’t see the folly of that on my own. I have a fine sense of self-preservation, I assure you.”

“Truly? One must wonder, in that case, why you’re standing in my parlor rather than paddling your little boat back out to sea.” With that, she left.

Those who lived a long time learned to distinguish between sensible and cowardly, brave and foolhardy. If this went well, he would get to live after he helped kill Reese. Ordinarily, the odds on this game would make him leave it to fools who believed in luck and miracles.

So why did he feel no inclination to test whether he would be allowed to walk away?

A glitter at the edge of the fire caught his eye. He crouched and nudged a collection of mangled gilded wires from the ashes with the tip of his dagger. Delicate bones slipped through the bars of the cage, holding onto their identity as a wing for an instant before scattering on the tiles of the hearth. A brutal punishment for not singing at the mistress’s whim.

Why, indeed.

* * *

Reese felt as if she’d been living under water, senses muffled, body weighted, swept from place to place by currents she couldn’t resist.

One such current pulled at her hair with a comb. Each tug briefly lifted her chin from where it rested against her chest while she examined the latest ridiculous garment in which she had been clothed. It barely covered enough body parts to adhere to minimum standards of decency, and then failed even that because the fabric was completely sheer. She could have covered herself more effectively with her hands, if she were capable of moving them where she wanted them to go. “I see nipples.”

“And lovely they are, sweetheart.” A hand forced her chin upward, and the second current poked at her left eye with a stick. “Oh, hold still. It’s just a bit of kohl to emphasize those pale, pretty eyes. There.” The girl stepped back to admire her handiwork. “One look at you would make a eunuch a man again, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, he’s no eunuch.” The hair pulling stopped, and a pointy chin came forward to rest on Reese’s shoulder. “Did you see him, Winnie? Handsome enough to brag about it and respectable enough to pass in public, but such a sleek way about him, you know he’s no gentleman in private.” She shivered against Reese’s back. “I wish I could be you for a night.”

Her drug-induced hallucinations of Marrs must be contagious. She’d even imagined him at the auction. What a hoot it would have been if he’d bought her. She’d have devoted the entirety of her enslavement to being a complete waste of his money.

“I saw him. More important, I heard Miss Leliana has plans for him, so you’re to keep your mitts and mouth away from him, too.”

Pale arms wrapped around Reese, and the fine-boned hands attached to them crept up toward her breasts. “Aw, if I don’t leave any marks, no one will ever know.”

“I know everything, you silly twit.”

The hands whipped away so fast, Reese stumbled as if she’d been shoved.

Leliana St.-Something-or-other stood in the doorway. She’d changed out of the peacock dress. Probably something to do with Reese vomiting on her lap during the carriage ride after the woman kissed her hard on the mouth. She’d endured worse kisses, really, but between the constricting pink gown, a stomach that hadn’t been fed proper food in days, and the smothering embrace, she’d been unable to control her woozy stomach—or the faintly off lamb stew surging around in it—for another moment.

A terrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t get any in your mouth, did you?”

Judging by the expression that flitted across her face, Reese thought probably she had, but she never answered directly. “Miss Hershey and her beau need some time alone. The two of you may go.”

The currents swished away, and Leliana came at her like a tide. Fingers sparkling with gems brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder with a lingering caress. “While this costume lacks any vestige of subtlety, I don’t believe it makes you any more appetizing.”

She bent her head. Reese felt lips on her throat, then a wet sweep of tongue. While she didn’t welcome the attention, she refrained from the violent rejection with which she typically responded to such advances, figuring she owed someone a liberty or two after vomiting on—or into—them.

Her hallucination reappeared, more nattily dressed than earlier. She’d always wondered why some men dressed up to go to a brothel when it would save a lot of time if they showed up naked, but now that mystery had been solved. She couldn’t look at him in all those clothes and share the current’s opinion that he was handsome and sleek. Clothes were lies made of cotton and wool. No, she didn’t even trust his tight, tight pants to tell the truth anymore.

He said the strangest thing. “Toilet water, Leliana.”

A hot sigh blew across the damp mark on her skin. “Oh, I doubt it would be so bad.” Leliana straightened. “But thank you for the reminder. It would be a shame to waste her at less than her peak due to impatience.”

She swirled around and glided toward the exit. She stopped with her hand on Marrs’s chest, rubbing him with her sparkly fingers. “Prostrate yourself before her if you must to make amends for your offenses, and do it quickly. I won’t wait forever.”

The tide washed out, and Marrs closed the door behind her.

Reese was surprised she hadn’t left wet hand prints all over his shirt. “She’s awfully forward.”

Dark eyes returned to her and scanned her from head to toe and back up again. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

“I know, it’s ludicrous.” She plucked at the fabric where it covered part of her thigh, unconcerned about exposing an extra sliver of skin when the thing was slit on both sides to the waist. “What’s the point of it? I may as well be naked.”

“Unless I’m mistaken, that is the point of it.”

The dismissive wave of her heavy hand rose no higher than her hip. “Fashion is stupid.”

The clock on a side table distracted her. Instead of a side-to-side pendulum, it had a shiny, spinny thing beneath it. It twirled in one direction, slowed to a stop, then reversed, and she leaned in whichever direction the spin went. Swaying back and forth made her dizzy, so she folded her arms on the table and rested her head upon them until the spinnyness went away.

“I’m having a spiritual epiphany,” Marrs said from directly behind her elevated posterior. “There is a God, and He wants me to suffer.”

“Oh? Did you steal something of His?”

What appeared to be nicely formed legs with ordinary feet at the bottom of them came to stand beside her—but boots were certainly liars, too. “Stand up.”

She did, and on only her second try. She fell a little, but he caught her with his coat and wrapped it around her. The sleeves extended well beyond her fingertips and flopped about like octopus tentacles—more lies! She was no octopus. “I am not cold, sir.”

“Your comfort is not my priority at this point.” With his hands on her arms, he steered her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed and pushed her down to sit upon it. “They shouldn’t have marked your face.”

“You don’t agree it emphasizes my pale, pretty eyes?” She attempted to bat her lashes but had to settle for an exaggerated blink.

“A man could drown in them anyway. Ringing them with soot only warns him of the hazard. It’s more devastating to fall into them unawares.” He turned away.

He disappointed her. “You’re not the first man to say my eyes are limpid pools of blue, you know.”

“Limpid pools? More like shark-infested, towering waves that send men’s hearts crashing onto the rocky cliffs of your unfeeling soul.”

She smiled and nodded in approval. “Better.”

He returned with a cloth wet from the washbasin. “Most women would find that insulting.”

“Toward most women, it would be an unfair accusation.” She closed her eyes while he cupped her chin in his palm and bathed her face. “Toward me, it demonstrates understanding of my character and so is an improvement over merely telling me what I look like, as if I’m not perfectly well aware.”

The ablutions ceased. She opened her eyes just in time to catch the quirk of his lips. “At present, you look like a raccoon of ill repute.”

“Appearances deceive. Neither am I an octopus.” She sighed as he left her to return the dirty rag to the basin. Lies or not, his buttocks were a pleasure to look at. “I wish you weren’t a figment of my imagination.”

“Why would you think I am?”

“If you were real, you’d be angry with me.”

“You demonstrate a lack of understanding of my character.” He lifted the side of a painting from the wall to examine the back of it. “You succeeded in surprising me. The last time anyone accomplished such a feat was… well, before you were born, at any rate. As exasperating as you’ve been, I enjoy the excitement of not knowing what you’ll do next.” He righted the artwork and ran his hand across the wall as if the fussy wallpaper were a tactile delight, apart from being an eyesore. “For instance, had you told me when we met that you would end up being sold to a brothel, I’d have thought you absurd.”

“Actually, there’s always been a fair likelihood of this occurring.” She cocked her head when he moved another painting. “What are you looking for?”

“In establishments such as these, some people pay to watch.”

She snorted. “People pay see that?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Did you get to peek for free?”

“Current One thought it would be educational, as if I haven’t seen all manner of rutting animals, and as if rutting people are any different.” Well, it was true animals didn’t feel it necessary to pretend so much, so she had learned something about expectations, at least. She hadn’t been given an opportunity to practice, though.

She bunched the flimsy scrap of fabric between her thighs and shifted to kneel on the bed. After a moment to reflect on what she’d learned, she began bouncing on her heels, thrashing her head from side to side, and reciting a litany of Uh-uh-uh, yes, uh at steadily increasing volume.

After no more than a minute of that, her stomach announced in no uncertain terms that it had had enough of her shenanigans. She stopped bouncing, pressing one hand to her head and the other to her abdomen when they kept on going. Once they settled, she pulled the curtain of hair away from her eyes.

Marrs stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head while juggling pudding and riding a porpoise.

It would be grossly unfair of him to judge her on her first attempt. “I might need another lesson. I missed some of the first because I was giggling so hard.”

“Now that I would pay to see.”

“Oh, it was so silly. I had no idea naked men looked so ridiculous. Pale, round torsos stuck on pale sticks of legs and the whole thing rolled in fur. Being led about by their jutting members, which themselves appear to be stuck on as an afterthought, or a cruel joke. I, too, have had an epiphany.” She thrust a finger toward the heavens. “There is a God, and tailors are His most merciful gift to mankind. They are the perpetrators of lies, but the kind of lies I think we can all wholeheartedly endorse as being of benefit to society.”

Marrs leaned against the wall, his face hidden from her. His back shook, no doubt sobbing out what remained of his shattered ego.

She felt a moment’s remorse for being the one to break him, but it was past time for some woman to speak up. “Any woman who can keep a straight face through all that flopping about and grunting deserves to be paid. Maybe… wait, maybe the one who kept her back to him the whole time hadn’t had a lot of practice, either. Tell me if this is more convincing.” The mattress sucked at her knees like quicksand, making her turnabout into a waddle.

His voice sounded strangled. “Your original routine was riveting. I frankly don’t believe I could endure another.”

Rather than set her head spinning again by turning it, she tipped it back to look at him. She tipped too far to keep her balance and fell backward. Her head and shoulders hung off the bed. “All right, I definitely saw what to do in this position.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “This is excruciating.”

He grabbed her hand as he walked around the foot of the bed, pulling her upright. When he released her hand, she toppled over to land on the pillows. He flipped half the blanket over her. “Sleep it off, Miss Hershey.”

Her breath seized in her lungs, and her heart accelerated until it hurt. Beyond the misty veil cast by the drugs loomed the awareness of what she’d been reduced to. If she slept, she would wake, and then she could no longer pretend this was all a bad dream. Clarity was not an objective she wished to achieve just yet. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that’s an impossibility.” He stretched out on the bed, as far from her as he could get without falling off the edge, and stared at the ceiling. “I’ll look after you. Sleep.”

She’d rather not. “Tell me a story.”

“Once upon a time, there was a dashing pirate.”

She grinned into the pillow. “Who wore tight, tight pants.”

“Do you want to tell this story?” He tugged lightly at a strand of her hair that had ventured into his narrow territory of the bed. “No, really, do you? Because I would love to hear your unfiltered thoughts about this dashing pirate’s pants.”

“He thinks plenty of himself without contributing my thoughts, too. Go on.”

He did, in an insufferably conceited manner that made the most mundane tasks into epic tales celebrating his strength, courage, and good looks. Sleep claimed her mid-chuckle, refusing to take no, I’m having fun for an answer. At that point, her dreams took over the story, tossing the pirate overboard and concentrating on the adventures of a pair of pants with an eyepatch and a cutlass gadding about the Caribbean, brawling, looting, and romancing a petticoat in every port.

Her throbbing head woke her, or perhaps it was the small, furry thing that must have crawled into her mouth and died to leave her tongue in such a vile state.

Or maybe it was the broad expanse of chest smashed against her face. “Get off me.”

“It’s you who is on me, Miss Hershey.”

When consciousness extended beyond the unpleasant afflictions plaguing her from the neck up, she confirmed that, with the exception of her right leg, which paralleled and fit tightly against his left, and the lower half of her left leg, which dangled off the bed after her bare thigh crossed over his hips, she was indeed on him. “I’m sure this is your fault somehow.”

He neither confessed guilt nor claimed innocence—not that the scoundrel maintained even a nodding acquaintance with the latter. She lifted her head to tell him so, but his dire expression alarmed the thought from her mind. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You look ill and exhausted and unclean.”

How like him to kick her when she was down. “I’ve had a difficult week. Don’t look at me, then.”

He pinched her chin so she couldn’t jerk away. “You look like hell, and you’re still the goddamn most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

She’d heard the compliment before, but prefacing it with an insult in that furious tone was a creative twist. “I suppose you’re here because you rented me for the night. I’m now alert enough to tell you how much I hate you during every moment, so have at it.”

He released her chin. His hand settled instead on her calf and began a leisurely upward climb, slowing for the curve at her knee before traversing the thigh pinning him to the bed. “If I were to take you upon that offer…”

His hand reached her hip and gave it a firm squeeze—getting a good grip so he could shove her off him and roll out of bed. “You would be too busy moaning in ecstasy to utter anything as coherent as I hate you.”

Her mouth hung open, not at his monumental conceit, which was to be expected, but at the rejection.

Not that she’d offered, or ever would, but it was common courtesy when a man pawed a woman against her will to grant her the opportunity to ram her knee into his testicles.

Her eyes narrowed as realization struck. “You’re here to witness my humiliation. You were looking for peepholes to scout out the view from which to watch when I’m put to work.” She let out a yelp of laughter. “Oh, when I begged you not to leave me, that alone must have been worth the price of admission.”

She slammed her feet on the floor, wrenched off his coat, and threw it in his face. “You can stand in the corner and watch, for all I care, Marrs. I won’t give you the satisfaction of sniveling about it. I will be the best damn whore that ever lived, just to spite you!”

He flung the coat back at her. She swatted it away, and he was right there in front of her, smashing his mouth against hers, stealing her breath.

When at last he relented, she gasped for air rather than retaliate.

His breath came hot and labored against her ear. “I will not leave you in this place, but you’re going to have to trust me for as long as it takes to get you out.” He dragged his mouth back to hers.

Trust him? Out of the question, but she couldn’t afford to refuse his help. She indicated her agreement with a subtle nod he would feel against his lips, but no one watching would notice.

He backed away. “I have to leave. I’ll be back tonight. You’ll be safe until then.” He turned on his heel and strode to the door.

“Your coat.”

He looked at it lying on the floor between them. “Keep it. One less thing I’ll have to bring with me later.”

The door shut him out—or shut her in, depending upon one’s perspective. She looked around the room for the first time without her faculties impaired. Other than the door, the only possible exit was a single window. The sill was wide enough to accommodate her twice over, but the opening had been framed in to fit a stained-glass insert the width of her splayed hand from the tip of her thumb to that of her fifth finger. She wouldn’t be leaving by that route.

The moment she decided to investigate what lay beyond the door, a key turned in the lock.

That settled the matter of perspective.

She picked up the coat, slipped her arms into the sleeves, and wrapped it tight around her. His scent clung to it, the only familiar thing left to her.

She stiffened her spine. As her mother used to say, There will be plenty of time to mope when you’re dead. She cuffed the sleeves to free her hands and set about making productive use of her time while she waited to be rescued by a pirate.

To be continued…

 

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