Page 62 of These Eternal Bones
My fingers skim over rough canvas, smiling down at my work. It’s far from my usual taste. There’s not a pink or purple to be found. No, this piece is dark, befitting its subject. My heart aches for a moment, and he stares back at me from the canvas, seeing it all. I wonder what he was like in that first life, if I could recognize him. If I would want to.
“Péal, would you know where I could find a hammer and a nail?”
The selkie looks up from where she polishes a bookend in Elric’s office. “Yes, of course, mistress.”
No matter the times I tell her to call me Molly, it’s always mistress. It makes sense, out of all my names, that is the one the tiny womanis most familiar with. She’s been on her best behavior after being removed from my side for a few weeks, something I had fought hard to prevent, but Elric is unmovable to a fault. I watch as she breezes through the door. I turn my attention toward the windows, the canvas gripped tightly in my hands. My brow furrows as Tien stalks from the castle, blazing a sure path halfway to the woods before blipping out of sight. Cartiel had headed that way just a bit ago. It’s clear that there is disdain for one another, although I can’t tell if it’s because Tien suspects him of helping me look where my gaze isn’t wanted, or just several hundreds of years spent coexisting with the moody Nephilim. After months here, with my new family, I’ve learned everyone has a role. Tien takes care of everything Elric may need, mostly things to do with the town, paperwork, and when someone comes wanting his financial support. When new supernatural’s come, Tien is also the one to help them settle, to warn them away from the upper floors I call home. They come often, but don’t last long.
Péal cares for me and for the inside of the estate. She is a cook, housemaid, handmaiden, and anything else required of her. She loves it; the selkie had blanched with downright horror when I once brought up her surrendering her workload a bit. Many of the others, the small shadow creatures, mostly seem to take care of the outside of the castle, but only at night. It seems it’s the only time of day they can comfortably leave. Tien once told me they were a type of soul spirit, a human soul corrupted and lost after their physical form had passed. I’d thought it odd considering their small winged bodies were very much physical but didn’t press further. Any interest shown in other beings tends to make Elric growly and grabby. Neither of which I mind, but I try not to provoke him. We’re playing the long game now, he and I. I search and question. He avoids and redirects. I display my neck, bite my lip so it bleeds, and he nearly goes mad with want but refusesto feed. My days and nights are spent where I always am, by his side, being adored and loved in ways I’d never thought I was worthy of.
That’s my role. To be his, it’s a position I love just as much as the man.
The fox lurks outside, dipping in and out of sight. I almost get the impression he wants to come in by the way he paces the wood line, darting out only to stop himself and turn back. I can’t blame him. Apparently, Elric and he have a dementedgamethey play over their long years. A rivalry I can’t help but think has everything to do with me. Elric kills him, as best he can, and tosses him into the woods. The fox comes back and makes Elric’s life a living hell. They fight, seeing who can damage whom more, and then part ways for a time. The fox has even lit Elric on fire once. The information alone was nearly enough to make me lose my breakfast. I’d asked Péal to stop after that.
Everyone, even more of the supernaturals who haunt the woods and lower levels, is such an assortment that I can’t keep track but everyone has a role. Except Cartiel. I had once thought him to be a footman of sorts. He’d try to assist Elric and mostly be ignored, threatened, or dismissed. He’s out of place. Doesn’t fit, and I can’t help but feel profoundly sad for him. It must be lonely, impossibly so…yet he stays. They all stay, ever-long lives, and they spend them here.
It’s strange.
Everything is strange, and the second I’m alone, I’m going to figure out what old me thought. Maybe past Molly, or whatever her name was, also had questions. Maybe Elric was more willing to share them. Maybe he was more whole in his mind. He seems to believe telling me, even a little, will irreparably damage us, like it would ruin everything.
I cannot fathom the same man who brushes my hair and hangs on my every word, the one who adores and worships me. Who dotes andfrets…who loves me in a way that leaves me breathless could commit any crime so terrible.
My eyes slide back to the painting, at the picture of Elric not lost to his madness, not pacing but looking at me like I alone hung the sun in the sky. His silky, dark hair hangs in his face as he sits at his desk, a small tilt to his lips because he again caught me looking. He’s beautiful and frightening.
Mine.
And I’m tired of waiting.
Like before, when he finally took me, perhaps he simply needs a little push.
The bond, whatever it is, is my right. I am tired of this emptiness.
“Here we are, mistress, where do you want it?”
“The upper halls next to the portraits.”
She stills before offering me a bright smile. “I think that’s the perfect place.”
And it was, his portrait taking the place I’m sure he intended mine to go after I am gone from this world. Another of my ghosts to haunt this hall.
“You’re dismissed for the night.” His deep voice sets a tightening in my core and a flurry of nerves in my gut.
What if he hates it?
“Goodnight, mistress. Goodnight, master.” Péal offers a smile in her voice. Always so knowing, although her lips have regrettably become much tighter.
“Goodnight, selkie, thank you for helping me.”
Selkie, because I would never share her given name, something entrusted to me alone. I’ve learned it’s like an odd calling system. If I speak it out loud, even if it’s only a whisper, it gets her attentionno matter the distance. She told me it feels like a soft tug, a prick of awareness that’s unique to her. Since then, I’ve used it sparingly.
“You would have me there instead of you?” He asks, cool arms banding around me as he buries his nose in my hair, breathing me in the same way I’m inhaling spice and cedar.
“Do you like it?” I whisper.
“It is stunning. You made me look less terrible.”
I laugh at that. He knows he’s beautiful. “Fishing for compliments is below the Vampire of Port Clyde.”
“Nothing is below me when you are involved, syringa.”
