Page 5 of The Musician and the Monster

Now that she’d been attacked, he could scarce believe she’d venture out to play at night anymore or that her family would allow such a risk. She had not played last night. He’d waited until the late hours, yearning for her tune, but it never came. Truthfully, that was the main reason he’d bothered to meet with the mayor today. The man always had some complaint for him, most unimportant, but this one he cared about—both because it involved the monster and his musician.

He huffed air through his nose. As if he could really think of her as his when he didn’t even know her name before today.

She might not be his, exactly, but he needed her music all the same.

“What else did you learn about her?”

“The family is poor and somewhat new to the city, having moved here almost three years past. It seems they suffered some tragedy and loss of fortune, but details were few. There is an older brother in the city watch. Both daughters are of marriageable age, though one gentleman I spoke with was not optimistic about their prospects.”

“And why is that?” Who could hear such lovely music and not wish for more?

Jackoby shook his head. “Unfortunate looks? The lack of fortune? A blistering personality? My sources did not say.”

Most interesting, given the way people loved to gossip. As the carriage rolled on, an idea formed for how Drystan might be able to turn the situation to his favor. He steepled his hands in front of him. “I think this unfortunate event may have a silver lining after all.”

“Oh?” Jackoby raised a careful brow.

Drystan banged his fist on the carriage wall, calling for a stop. “I think I’d like to pay a call on the way to the manor.”

Chapter 3

Ceridwen

Word of the monstrous encounter spread like a plague through the city. It was the topic of choice on every street corner. Or so Gerard said. Ceridwen hadn’t been out of the house in the two days since it occurred, not until Bronwyn talked her into attending tea at the home of Elspeth Ainsworth.

A handful of Ainsworth ancestors stared at Ceridwen from their portraits on the elaborately decorated walls, but it wasn’t their studious expressions that unnerved her. Stuffy paintings always listened. The women who attended these gatherings often did not—at least not to a girl from a fallen family who preferred music and plants to parties and gossip.

“Oh, you poor dears.” Elspeth fawned over the sisters the moment they were shown into her parlor.

“Lady Ainsworth.” Ceridwen curtsied in response, despite the ache that still lingered in her back from the monster’s attack, displaying all the grace and poise she could muster for their hostess.

“To have witnessed such a horrible sight.” Elspeth’s hand flew over her mouth as she shook her head. “I can hardly imagine it.”

Fine furniture dotted the space four times the size of their own rooms back home. Picture windows bracketed by heavy green curtains let in the meager light from the cloud-covered sun. Tiered trays loaded with bite-size pastries and sandwiches topped small tables. Their sugary scents and the women’s perfume warred for control within the room to the point their pungency gave Ceridwen the hint of a headache. Her stomach churned at the memory of two nights ago, turning the sweet scents foul and stripping her appetite.

“Come, you must tell us what happened.” Elspeth looped her arm through Ceridwen’s and pulled her toward the gaggle of colorfully dressed women already sipping their tea and chatting in small groups. Ceridwen sighed. As if she wanted to recount that tale. Elspethmeant well. She genuinely liked the woman and her daughter, Lydia. It was one of the few reasons she visited them. They were kind, even if the other guests were not.

“Don’t leave out any details,” Elspeth added with a pat on her arm.

Whatever fanciful tale she expected, the truth was so much worse. Sightings of the monster had been reported since early spring, though some were dubious at best—drunken men stumbling home in the dark of night, shady figures with poor reputations. Occasionally one would sport wicked wounds. Claw marks to the calf. A fierce bite on their arm. A number of animals had turned up dead as well. Wolves, the doubters said, or rabid dogs. And though the monster she’d seen had certain similarities, it was no natural beast.

Ceridwen looked over her shoulder at Bronwyn in a silent plea for help as her heart twisted in her chest. But Bronwyn rolled her eyes and smoothed out a lock of her chestnut hair as she followed after. Her older sister had little patience for such gatherings, not that Ceridwen had much more. But they’d promised Father to try to fit in here. If there was one thing Bronwyn respected, it was keeping Father as happy as possible.

“Make friends. Perhaps find a nice young man,” he’d said. “I won’t be around forever. It would do my spirit good to know you’re taken care of.” As if they were helpless children. Though, the rigors of proper society left little flexibility for a woman to support herself without dropping further down the ranks of class into servitude. The sisters had an older brother, Adair. He’d joined the military and received a post in Teneboure. But Adair could barely provide for himself, much less two sisters, and someday he’d have a family of his own. Ceridwen was determined not to be a burden to him—one more mouth to feed.

A sudden heaviness in her limbs threatened to pull Ceridwen down onto the carpets. She’d longed for marriage once, prayed for someone to look at her the way Father had at Mother. But those days were gone, along with so much else. She’d met the eligible men of Teneboure. They were fine…she supposed, but none of them paid her more than a passing glance. She was pretty enough to warrant those but not much else, apparently.

Lydia set down her tea and practically ran in Ceridwen’s direction, her blond curls bouncing about her head. A year her junior, and with similar coloring and complexion, she resembled Ceridwen more than her own siblings, Bronwyn and Adair. Ceridwen was the only one to turn out like her mother, whereas her siblings got her father’s darker hair and eyes.

“Oh, Ceridwen, it’s so awful.” Lydia took her other arm, capturing Ceridwen between her and Elspeth as they came to a halt near the other women. “What was it like? That monster.”

Lydia and Elspeth released her arms. Bronwyn and another young woman with blazing red hair, Georgina, joined them to form a small circle.

“Red eyes that glowed in the night. Vicious fangs dripping with blood. A lean body of shadow, more animallike than man,” Bronwyn replied, her voice rising and falling as if telling the story to children.

The mere description stripped the heat from Ceridwen’s skin.

Georgina fanned herself. “You must be joking.”

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