Page 12 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

“Not for a while, darling,” she said dismissively, untying her horse. “Important business demands my attention elsewhere.”

A crestfallen expression marred Cornelius’s loathsome face and she laughed, letting him kiss her again. Then, with a sweep of her alabaster fur-lined cloak, the witch mounted the stallion and took off into the night, not sparing a glance back at Cornelius.

Dulce could’ve confronted him at that moment, yet she wanted to toy with him. Just as he’d toyed with her. She hadn’t planned on revealing to him that she was a witch since she’d thought she had put that part of her life behind her. And she was more than pleased that she’dwaited since she was going to uncage her inner witch very soon.

Once her husband was out of sight, Dulce darted toward the conservatory. She turned the padlock and entered the large space, breathing in the scents of intoxicating florals that permeated the air. Mountain laurel, oleander, foxglove, monkshood, and every other poisonous plant imaginable took up one side of the conservatory. On the other were plants of various berries that could easily be consumed without death. And lining the back wall, shelves cluttered with jars and vials of countless colored liquids created from plants. After Dulce gained a tolerance to poison, her mother had taught her how to perform simple spells using alchemy. Since her mother’s death, she hadn’t created any new concoctions, but she hadn’t disposed of any either.

She grabbed a jar from the shelf, its yellow liquid mixed with monkshood, rosemary, mint, and salt. Ignoring their bitter taste, she drank the potion down and, like an old friend greeting her, let the appearance of death unfold.

Dulce lifted a small mirror from the shelf and watched as she worked with the alchemy to transform herself. Her black hair thinned, patches disappearing to manifest bald spots. She smiled, revealing rotting teeth, while her smooth, milky skin wrinkled, a piece of her forehead curling back in a gruesome wave of blood to exhibit her skull. Smoky moths danced in her hair—onyx dragonflies rested on her shoulders. Blood-red beetles and pea-green worms crawled down her muddy dress. Her flesh turned grayish, her lips a shade of ice blue. Bone shone through her fingers as she plucked a spare key to the manor fromone of the jars.

Peering at herself once more in the mirror, she giggled. “Perfect.” Dulce missed this, missed the way magic felt flowing through her, floating around her.

She would now play the role of the decaying corpse Cornelius would’ve had her become.

Leaving the conservatory, Dulce found that light no longer shone in the sitting room but now radiated from the second-floor window of her bedroom.

She unlocked the front door, its bolt barely making a click. The house felt empty, draped in darkness. Every mirror covered in white cloth, every clock stopped. Her chest tightened for Vesta and the others, and she wondered how her staff was faring after her funeral. How would they react when they learned she was alive?

Removing her muddy slippers, Dulce maneuvered silently through the familiar house and ascended the stairs in darkness, the wood cool against her bare feet.

When she reached the landing, sounds of movement came from her open bedroom door. She stood watching Cornelius as the absentminded fool removed his shirt.Hersilk blankets were rumpled, and the foul stench of sweating bodies invaded her senses. She would burn her favorite blankets and all of his belongings along with them.

“Mydear, handsome, husband,” Dulce purred, and Cornelius whirled to face her. “It seems we missed our wedding night.”

He turned deathly pale, horror etched across his face. His lower lip wobbled comically as he gawked at the illusion she’d created before him.

“Darling,” he rasped, “you’re all right. Suchwonderful, joyous news!”

He was tall, his bare chest sculpted, his abs defined, his arms muscular. A man any woman in Moonglade would want. Dulce only wanted to poison him the way he had poisoned her. She yearned to shove the mixture of night irises and aged elderberry down his throat until his face and insides bloated with pus.

“You poisoned me, dearest,” she cooed, stepping into the room, her muddy dress swishing. “I thought you loved me. Tell me, why did you kill me? If you tell me, only then can I rest in peace.”

“I… I had no other choice,” Cornelius stuttered, backing away from her, tripping over his discarded shirt and nearly falling. “I had to! I was threatened—that’s right. You would have suffered much worse were it not for me. I made sure you died quickly and painlessly because I love you. Try to understand, darling.”

Dulce tsked, shaking her head slowly. Insects and worms fell to the floor in soft plops. “You pressed your boot on my back to make certain I died because youloveme? How quaint.”

She gripped his vile neck in one cold hand, and Cornelius wept and blubbered most satisfyingly.

“Now tell me the truth,” she demanded. “Otherwise, I’ll haunt you for all eternity. As yourwife. You can make love to me while worms and maggots feast on you.”

Cornelius turned whiter than the bones peeking from beneath Dulce’s exposed flesh.

“I-I love someone else!” His voice cracked with hysteria, and she nearly laughed, releasing his neck. “That’s why I gave you the poison. She needs the land—I don’t know why. It’s valuable to her and she insisted onhaving it. You have to believe me—that’s all I know. Will… Will you leave me alone now?”

“No, I think I’ve changed my mind,” Dulce purred, blocking his way from the room. “Who is this woman? I know she’s a witch.”

Cornelius spun, rushing across the room to throw open the attic door and bound up the steps. Dulce trailed behind, ever so slowly, singing a gentle song that had played at their wedding. She held back laughter as Cornelius cried and whimpered like a weak bladdered babe.

When she reached the top of the staircase, Cornelius was frantically shimmying through the small window that led up to the roof.

Glancing out into the misty darkness, she turned to watch his boots disappear with the rest of him while he scrambled onto the parapet. There wasn’t anywhere else for him to go. Would he spend the night on the slippery roof, hoping daylight would banish her ghost?

Dulce shook her head, grinning to herself. He’d been so smug as he killed her—now look at him.

A piercing scream filled the air, followed by eerie, deafening silence. Dulce froze, knowing Cornelius must have fallen.

She rushed down the flights of stairs and into the night in search of him. At the back of the manor, ironically close to her grave, Cornelius’s unblinking eyes met hers. His body hung impaled by the enormous spikes along the cemetery garden’s iron fence, his blood streaming from his suspended limbs to pool amongst the misty grass.

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