Page 32 of Firethorne
It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes. It was an ‘I don’t know what to say’.
I backed up, then told him I had to get to work, sprinting out of the woods, away from the tragic rope in the tree, the ghosts that danced around it, and the man who smiled like everything was right with the world, despite what he was standing under. Maybe that was who Lysander was, an oasis of calm serenity in a world where death and destruction reigned.
Could Lysander be the devil from the mirror message?
I doubted it.
But I couldn’t rule him out just yet. After all, wasn’t the devil himself a fallen angel?
Chapter Fourteen
Maya
I’d been cleaning the second floor all afternoon. Thoughts of the creepy noose in the woods plaguing me.
It’d been a few days since I’d seen it, but I couldn’t get the images out of my mind.
This place grew more sinister by the day.
Apart from Cora, I hadn’t seen a soul today, and in a way, I was grateful. I could do my job and be with my thoughts. I also found it gave me the opportunity to really explore the house and take it all in.
I wandered down the wood-panelled corridor, heading towards the next room on my schedule. I’d been told to clean and dust every room up here, and I could see the door for the next room was open. Light streamed out from the open doorway, casting a welcome ray of light across the dark wood floor. Like a sign that I was welcome there. And when I reached the doorway and saw what room it was, I knew that I was.
The library.
I didn’t even bother to push my cart into the room. I was too taken aback by the floor-to-ceiling shelves that held a mountain of books that I could see clearly as I stood on the threshold. This house held some secrets that appealed to me, after all. Lysander’s studio, and now this place. I took a step into the hidden oasis, noticing a rolling ladder in the corner, and I had the overwhelming urge to climb it and study all the titles on the shelves. I felt drawn to this room, like the promise of escaping to another world was beckoning me on. There was nothing I loved more than reading.
I breathed deep, the smell of wisdom and adventure that came from the pages around me made a calmness settle in my body and mind. A calm I hadn’t felt in a long time. And then I walked further into the library, heading to the far side so I could take a look at some of the titles, touch them, and imagine this was all mine. That this was a place I belonged.
Once I reached the furthest shelf, I scanned the spines, lifting my hand to gently stroke the leather-bound books like they were priceless jewels. To me, they were. When I saw a copy of one of my favourites,Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence, I pulled the edition off the shelf and opened it, reading the first lines with the kind of excitement I always felt when I was starting a new book.
And then...
A cough from behind startled me, and I jumped, almost dropping the book as I spun around to face where that cough had come from.
Right behind me, sitting in a leather armchair in the corner, with a book open on his lap was Damien.
“Do you make a habit of sneaking into rooms and touching other people’s belongings?” Damien asked, wearing an expression that showed he loved torturing me. His grin was wicked, his one eyebrow raised, and his eyes glowed like a deadly furnace ready to burn me alive.
“No,” I spat back. “Do you?”
I waited for something, anything in his expression that might give him away as my mystery note writer, but he just widened his demonic smile and huffed a laugh. Then he closed his book and placed it on the table beside his chair, and the image of his hand on Edward’s as he stopped him touching me in his father’s office appeared in my mind, a reminder that maybe he wasn’t the devil I imagined.
Or was he?
I stayed rooted to the spot as he stood up, and with slow, measured steps, he sauntered over to me.
“What caught your eye?” he asked, then he snatched the book out of my hand so fast I didn’t even see it coming, and he snapped it shut to look at the title. “Sons and Lovers. Interesting choice. Very... telling.” He nodded to himself as he stared at the book.
It was my turn to cock my head and frown as I asked, “Why?”
He tilted his head and studied me as he replied, “I think it’s funny that of all the books in here, you chose the one that tells the story of a man with an Oedipus complex that struggles to form long lasting relationships with women following the death of his mother. Change the character’s name to Lysander and you’ve got a Firethorne history right there.”
If I needed another reason to hate Damien Firethorne, he had just given me one, gift wrapped and branded with the acid from his tongue.
The urge to defend Lysander burned within me, and I couldn’t stop myself from snatching the book back off him, a move which seemed to amuse him even more.
“You might interpret it like that,” I snapped. “But I don’t. Everyone has a different experience when they read a book. Everyone has their own opinion.”
