Page 99 of Eldritch
“Pride?” I chuckled. “You’re as stubborn as a mule.”
His cheek dimpled with a wolfish grin. “I welcome the insult, if it means the pleasure of having your thighs wrapped around me.”
I pressed my lips together, turning so he wouldn’t see the smile begging to escape. “Always quick with the wit. Tell me, is it a requirement for men to relate all conversations back tothat?”
He shrugged. “I don’t speak for all men. I just happen to enjoy seeing you blush every time I mention my face between your?—”
I pressed my palm to his mouth. “We are going to pause. Or I’m going to insist that you let me walk the rest of the way there.”
His lips pulled to a smile beneath my palm, and he planted a kiss there, before I lowered it away. “I’ll do my best to refrain. However, I’m looking forward to picking up where we left off.”
We finally reached the entrance of the village and the wide stone archway topped withFoxglove Parishwritten in bold, black letters. The dirt path we’d traveled converged with the once-bustling cobblestone road that ran through the center of the village, flanked on either side by long stretches of shops and homes, their steep roofs blanketed in fresh snow. Gas lamps stood cracked and unused, and at the center of the town, the frozen fountain, whose statues once spouted water, remained quiet and still.
Haunting.
On the left, we passed the village apothecary, where I’d sometimes dropped off vials of morumberry oil, its broken window and hollow interior reminding me of an empty eye socket. The usually-busy bakery to the right had clearly been plundered, given the broken glass, spilled jars of spices, and discarded, cracked baking stones lying about. And looming over the village in the distance, an ever-watchful eye, stood the Red Temple, a dark silhouette with its pointed spires that pierced the low lying clouds.
Like a frozen corpse, the village slumbered in perpetual darkness.
Zevander finally set me down on my feet, and I stepped cautiously toward Aleysia, who stood staring at the abandonment.
“I’ve never seen it so quiet,” she whispered.
“It’s eerie.”
“Where do we find Moros?” Zevander asked from behind.
I took the lead, turning down an alleyway that let out onto a stretch of road just behind the village. It was along that path of wrought iron fences and dead vines of wisteria that we came upon the ominous mansion. Dark and dilapidated. Dormant.
Zevander slipped past me, leading the way across the snowy, unkempt yard, toward the front entrance that stood half-cocked on its hinges.
The heat Zevander had given us began to wear off, when we finally stepped inside. Or perhaps it was a shudder of memories from the last time I’d set foot there.
The grand foyer stood dark and quiet, the cold chilling my bones. A soft glow bloomed overhead, and I turned to see Zevander casting a flame toward the chandelier. The flame quickly weakened and fizzled out of his palm, but the candles of the chandelier, once lit, offered just enough glow for me to spot extra candelabras on a nearby console.
“Stay here.” Zevander lit one of them for each of us, then swiped one for himself and jogged up the staircase, where he disappeared down one of the shadowy corridors. Minutes later, he passed by the staircase again to the other side. Seemingly satisfied, he descended the stairs. “Nothing up there,” he said, and strode toward what looked to be an office, brimming with shelves of books. He didn’t hesitate to begin his rifling through drawers and cupboards there.
Aleysia headed for the staircase, and frustrated, I followed her, still keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of monstrous spiders, in spite of Zevander’s sweep. She hustled towardthe bedroom Moros had locked me inside, the night of her banishing, and the candle flickered, threatening to fizzle with her hasty steps.
Inside the room, she scampered toward the armoire, throwing the doors open on a selection of dresses.
“I believe he had all of these dresses made for you.” She yanked one of them from a hanger and immediately began stripping off her clothes. Desperate for warmth, I dug through the drawers in search of any trousers and tunics, but found nothing more than stockings and undergarments.
I lifted a lace cammyck from the drawer, frowning at the lack of a crotch. “This is unsettling.”
“Or he just wanted you to be comfortable. I don’t know why you’d wear those damned things, anyway. It’s so much more comfortable without them.”
“Because some women prefer not to walk around without undergarments. It’s a bit too breezy for my taste.” I lifted another cammyck, and like the first, it was crotchless.
Groaning, I opted for it, anyway, and yanked one of the warmer looking black dresses off its hanger, quickly changing out of my damp trousers and shirt. Fresh stockings, boots and a warm cape tempered the cold bite, but the open cammyck felt strange, further unnerving me when it brought to mind thoughts of why Moros would’ve had them made that way.
“The boots are a little big, but it’s better than nothing, at all,” Aleysia said, twisting to admire the black dress and cape she’d donned. She chuckled, “Goodness, I look like you. We look like good and evil personified.”
“Which is good, and which is evil?”
She twisted around, wearing a knowing smile. “That remains to be seen, I suppose.”
I glanced around the room, the sight of it stirring those feelings of dread from before. “I want to check on something.”Quickly exiting, I took the staircase to the first floor, with Aleysia following close behind.
