Page 27 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

“I apologize for the absence of our regular staff,” he continued, opening a large registry and sliding it across the desk at Reed. “They found themselves unwell and didn’t dare to risk our guests’ health.”

“Most thoughtful of them.” Reed nodded, signing the registryMr. and Mrs. Jones Taylor,the common name theychose to go by. “We will take your best room, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” The man retrieved a key from the wall behind the desk, each one tied to a black tassel, the one he handed Reed having the largest tassel of them all. “Dinner will be laid out at half past seven, though I’m afraid it’s only stew and bread tonight.”

Reed smiled, accepting the key. “Stew and bread will do splendidly, thank you.” It was certainly a much better meal than he was accustomed to in the Glen.

They followed the man—who insisted on carrying their luggage—up a staircase of more dark stone, the paintings lining the walls hidden in deep shadows, as if the artist only had shades of gray to work with. Dulce took his arm, murmuring, “You’re quite good at playing the aristocrat, my lord.”

Reed smirked. “Much obliged, I’m sure, Highness.”

She fought a laugh, and the effect on her features was alluring, even in the cold shadows of the place. Reed no longer noticed the cold with her delicate hand on his arm.

Their room consisted of two beds large enough for an entire family in the Glen, their carved wood draped in canopies of black velvet, an armoire of that same ebony stone, a mirror surrounded by carvings of wolf-like creatures with wings, and a bath.

“I’m going to keep the spell book close,” she said, resting her hand on her satchel. “I don’t trust leaving it anywhere I’m absent from it.”

He nodded, not trusting the inn in the least, and as she opened the luggage, sorting through a few vials, he asked, “So how did you get the name Dulce?”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Do I look morelike an Alexandra or a Josephine?”

Reed smirked. “Not at all. Dulce suits you rather perfectly.”

“Alexandra comes from my grandmother on my mother’s side, and Josephine, my grandmother on my father’s side. But as a young child, my father said neither suited me, and I was too sweet for such stuffy names, so he called me Dulce.” She grinned. “Although, after all that’s happened now, I’m not certain my father would feel the same way any longer.”

“On the contrary.” Reed cleared his throat before he said something that sounded like a sappy poet. “Speaking of sweet things, I do believe there is a meal calling us downstairs.”

The pair returned to the inn’s lobby, finding the dining room by virtue of its being the only area with any light. Multiple candles cast a soft glow along the inky wallpaper of black poppies on gray, and the chairs, made of the same dark wood, were decorated in carvings like so many grasping hands.

Hands struggling to climb from graves, Reed thought. He glanced down at his stew and brought a spoonful to his lips.

“It’s quite beautiful,” Dulce said cheerfully, and Reed stopped eating to stare at her. “What?” She met his no doubt gaping expression.

“If you can callhauntedbeautiful,” Reed whispered. He jerked his chin at the painting of a young girl with bluish skin standing alone in a forest of gray, her eyes full of sorrow as they seemed tostareinto his very soul. “Justlookat that painting, for one thing.”

“Oh, it’s most certainly haunted,” Dulce agreed,continuing to eat. “But why should that make it any less beautiful?”

Reed shook his head in fascination.

She took a small velvet bag from her pocket and fished out a white berry, then slipped it between her pretty lips. “I’d offer you one, but you’d die.”

He smirked. “A tolerance to poisons. Quite the quality you have.”

“Indeed.” The edges of Dulce’s lips curved up into a smile.

Reed finished his stew in silence, unable to halt his thoughts about what one went through to become accustomed to poisons.

On returning to his room through the inn’s dark and empty corridors, Reed was surprised to find the water from the bath’s greenish copper faucets was hot. He filled the tub and let Dulce bathe first, then sank down into its blissful depths himself.

Tired from a full day jostled in a carriage along rocky lanes, Reed slipped into the room to find Dulce had fallen into a deep sleep on her bed. He studied her heart-shaped face a little too long before blowing out the candle on his bedside.

Reed hoped absently that Lucas was comfortable in the servant’s quarters, that Philip didn’t worry too much about what had become of him. He tried not to think of Dulce, sleeping just two steps from him, her breathing soft, but as he closed his eyes, she was the only thing he could think about. With the light casting an eerie silver glow through the window, her face was the perfection of a priceless marble statue, and he was reminded of the first time he saw her, lying within her grave.

“Reed,” Dulce whispered, waking him, the rain outside falling in loud torrents now, and he opened his eyes, seeing nothing but shadow. The creatures along the mirror seemed to move, and he blinked, his vision clearing.

“Hmm?” he managed, confused. Someone—Dulce—was most certainly climbing into his bed. A leg came up to rest over his, a smooth foot caressing his own. He was fully awake now, all too aware of her body against his back, soft and warm.

Dulce’s breath was hot along his neck as she whispered, “Reed, I’m frightened.” Her delicate arms wrapped around him then, and he froze. “Won’t you hold me?”

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