Chapter 10

Troll rats are the lowest of the lesser shifters. They only have the one good change in them, and they won't make use of it unless they believe their lives or their nest is threatened. Then like a honeybee who loses her stinger, they go troll and never go back. Eventually their hearts give out from the stress of the massive shift, and they die. Just be sure they don't take you with them.

-A Witch's Guide to the Arcane

Rorick

Idreamt of being dragged out of burial dirt by ichors, and then I was sprinting for my life between the gravestones of my family members, the eerie sound of the monsters' panting breaths just behind me, heating my neck. The stink of their moldy flesh filled my nose. Eckert Castle loomed in the distance, dark and colossal, a tombstone in its own right.

I awoke, breathing deeply. Slowly I remembered where I was, but the sinking sense of doom hovered just behind me, like I was still being pursued, still feeling the breaths of hungry ichors down my back. Instinctively, I reached for Quiet, but her space in the bed was empty. That sense of danger was so profound I had to look under the pillows before I felt certain that I was as secure as one could be in a castle haunted by a malevolent presence.

Movement on the far wall caught my eye. An army of ants spelled a message in a squirming scrawl, as though they were as anxious as I felt.

Help, the message read.

"Quiet," I breathed, voice thick, and I threw off the blankets. Lightning beetles went soaring.

I hit the door at a sprint, jerking on the knob. Panicked, I nearly ripped it off before I remembered the ward with my belongings. I sped over to the armchair, slid the knotted charm snugly over my fingers, then leapt for the door. This time it opened.

Ants and lightning beetles followed me into the hall. I was barefoot and in my underthings, but I didn't care, because I couldn't see Quiet. I tried scenting her, but the rot was so strong, it buried her rich smell. The bits I did find were coming off my clothing in little traces that confused and irritated me.

The scar-weaver spiders, garlic moths, and butterflies were as nervous as I was. They followed in a swarm as I paced beside the banister, limbs scampering, wings flapping so hard I heard the whisper of their movements.

"Quiet!" I shouted. The arched ceiling swallowed up the word, and no response came.

No verbal response, that is. A little black spider dropped from the rafters.

I recognized her. "Anita," I said urgently, "where's your witch?"

Hanging from her silk, Anita lowered to the carpet. She scuttled ahead of me, leading the way, but her tiny legs made her much too slow.

I scooped her up in my palm. "Point her out," I said, and she did, lifting her foreleg.

I sat her on my shoulder, then sprinted down the hall. We rounded the next bend, and I froze. Quiet stood there in the center of the corridor before the master bedroom, staring wide-eyed at something inside the chamber in front of her. I started toward her.

"Liam," she said, stopping me. Quiet never called me that. At her waist, she wrung her hands in the brim of her hat.

The use of my first name was a warning, and I heeded it, halting at the end of the hall beside a sculpture of a rearing horse. At my side, my hands made ready fists. Anita rubbed her forelegs together menacingly.

"You don't have to do this," Quiet said to whomever stood hidden inside the bedroom. She dared a step toward me, clearing the threshold.

I made a move to go to her, but she put her hand up. And a hulking werewolf stepped out into the corridor, his face and arms covered in blue-black fur. I immediately thought of our first night in the castle and the pained howling I'd heard as the walls locked themselves down. I'd assumed the castle was playing tricks on me. Now I wasn't so sure.

The were's face was wolf-like with a long snout and tall ears, but he had the broad body of a man and a long bushy tail at his back. It twitched in agitation. He was injured, which made him more dangerous, even if the full moon was weeks away. One of his arms was tucked beneath the other. Blood dripped from it, down his side, staining his torn trousers. In his other hand, he held Quiet's wand.

She took another retreating step toward me, and the werewolf's lips drew back, displaying his sharp teeth. "Stay right where you are, witch."

Quiet stopped, showing the palm of her free hand compliantly. "We all want out of this horrid place," she said. "We could work together to make that happen."

"Or I could eat you," he snapped, "and him over there, too, then I'll get out of here myself."

I'd heard enough, but once more, Quiet stopped me, waving me down with her hat. I paced in a tight circle, feeling like a caged tiger. I trusted her enough that I was willing to listen, but that didn't mean I liked it.

"No one has to die," she said firmly. "We can settle this matter like intelligent people. Everyone lives. Everyone wins."

"There you go again, witch, telling me what to do," the werewolf grumped. "You really need to learn when to shut that trap of yours."

"First of all," I said darkly, and his yellow eyes snapped to me, "I'm the only one allowed to tell my witch when she's being insufferable." That earned me an over-the-shoulder glower from Quiet that I ignored. "Secondly, she isn't telling you what to do at all. She's bossing me. You see, she thinks death is an intolerable waste. She hates it, even though you're being the worst sort of ratbag. She'd still rather I didn't run over there right now, grab your head between my hands, and squeeze it till it popped."

A growl rumbled deep in the werewolf's chest. I bared my fangs. My fingers formed claws, and I lowered into a fighting crouch. Anita shot a threatening burst of silk in the wolf's direction.

"Knock that off, the both of you," Quiet said. She positioned herself directly between us, and then she threw her hat onto the floor at her feet. "He's right. I wasn't talking to you, wolf. You only think you have the upper hand now because you surprised me and got a hold of my wand, but you're mistaken."

A loud droning built inside her hat, echoing around the hall before a dozen large blood bees flew out over the brim. They were plump with crimson and black stripes, and something dripped threateningly from the ends of their razor-like stingers.

The werewolf backpedaled a step, and the bees lifted into the air, forming a threatening semi-circle around him.

"I didn't think intimidating you was a great way to build trust," Quiet said, "but you're not giving me much choice, so hear me now. The venom inside the stingers of my friends here is called blood honey. It's a toxin that creates a malady of the mind."

"Send them away," the wolfman demanded.

"They'll stay right there until you give me back my wand," Quiet said. "Keep in mind, one sting is enough to incapacitate even an immortal brute like yourself. First, you'll feel a sharp pain, then a splitting headache followed by muscle cramps, confusion, and memory loss. Two stings, your brain hemorrhages and you die."

"If a bee comes anywhere near me, I'll snap your wand in half," he threatened.

"Or," Quiet insisted, "instead of all that mess, we could try working together. We don't have to be eternal enemies, you know. Just because our covens don't always get along. No need to be best friends either, but why not attempt to survive this place together at the very least?"

I was firmly in favor of remaining eternal enemies. Especially while the beast had a dagger pointed at my partner.

The wolf didn't seem fully committed to the idea of a truce either. His eyes flashed between the buzzing bees, and his tail whipped at the air. "What are you offering me?"

Quiet shrugged her shoulders. As calm as if she were discussing the weather. "Any number of things. I might be able to reattach the hand you've lost. In return it would help if you'd answer some of my questions."

He lifted what remained of his arm and licked at the wound, letting out an animalistic whine. "What do you want to know?" He lowered the wand to his side but didn't hand it over.

"As a start, who are you?" Quiet said. "Why are you here? Do you know what happened to the staff that serviced this castle? Do you know what happened to the former duke, Alex Harker?"

"My name is none of your business," he groused. "I came here because the late duke paid me to come, should anything happen to him. There wasn't any staff here when I arrived, just two lawmen snooping about. I spotted them through the windows, so I left to wait them out, and when I nipped in later, the castle had gone to hell. This place is more haunted than a mausoleum. I've seen ghosts, and the walls smell like rotten flesh. Sometimes I hear crying coming from the mirrors."

"Were you the one who put the chains on the front gates?" I asked.

The wolfman nodded his big husky head. "That was me. I locked them up to keep more lawmen from swarming this place." His yellow eyes narrowed before dragging over me like he was really seeing me for the first time. "You look like a Rorick. Liam, isn't it? They call me the Gardener."

He raised what remained of his wrist to me. Between the course hair that covered his pale, mottled skin and the stain of blood leaking from his wound, I could faintly make out a tattoo of a crescent moon. Whatever happened to his hand, it hadn't been a clean strike. His wound was jagged.

"I see," I said. I didn't know exactly why Alex had given him the codename ‘Gardener', but I deduced it had nothing at all to do with plants. If his job was to clean up something after Alex's death, then gardening likely referred to the task of burying sensitive materials—and probably people from time to time.

"Well, I don't ‘see'!" Quiet snapped. "Who's going to explain it to me?"

"I will. Later," I said, and I filled my words with as much sincerity as I could muster given the circumstances. I was in my underthings, staring down a ruthless werewolf, and I didn't like my partner being near him and an entire hall away from me.

As though she sensed my impatience, she shot me another warning look, turning her body toward me to showcase both sides of her disapproving face. A red mark marred her cheek, dangerously close to her right eye.

"What's that on your face?" I demanded and my voice shook. Anita's forelegs flexed into a concerned crouch. "Did this mongrel hurt you?"

The werewolf snarled and raised the dagger-wand. He tucked his stump of a hand against his chest, dripping more crimson down his body and onto the floor. The bees buzzed loudly, closing in another centimeter, drawn by the fresh wound. I was starving, but his blood smelled like sweat and tar, as unappealing as the rot haunting the castle.

"Just a scratch," she said dismissively. "We both went for my wand at the same time. You're not going to tell him you're the only one allowed to scratch me, are you?"

"No one is allowed to scratch you," I said, menace dropping the pitch of my voice.

Muscles coiling, I sprang down the hall, blowing by Quiet so quickly I created a gust that ruffled her dress. The Gardener tried to stab at me with the silver-tipped blade. He was big and bulky, but his injury made it easy to overpower him. One swift strike at the wound and he was howling. Anita sprayed him right in his yellow eyes with her silk and gave him a new reason to shout.

Bees droned aggressively over my head. I ripped Quiet's wand out of the were's grip and hurled him down the corridor. He hit the opposite wall with a crash that splintered wood. Rotten darkness seeped between the floral wallpaper.

Quiet was on me in a heartbeat. "I wasn't done asking my questions! Was that really necessary?"

I smoothed a lock of hair out of my eyes. "Yes," I drawled, "it was necessary."

The bees buzzed so loudly above me I couldn't tell if they were agreeing with me or angry that I'd tossed away their chance to dine on his wound. The swarm landed on the carpet, helping themselves to the drippings between the fibers.

"Well done, Anita," I told her, raising my finger to her in salute. She touched her foreleg to the offered digit. Then she leapt from my shoulder, scurrying up the wall toward the ceiling.

The werewolf was gone when I turned back to confront him. He'd high-tailed it out of there. Smart of him and good fucking riddance. When I saw that dog again, I was going to scratch his furry face right off.

Quiet snatched her wand out of my hand with a huff. "I had everything under control. Why'd you have to ruin it?"

"I was responding to your call for help," I said through my teeth. The magic in my body reacted to the threat and readied me for a fight. It pulsed in my veins. I felt it in my gums, making my fangs more prominent. My mouth filled with saliva and ached dully.

Her brow pinched. "What call for help? I didn't even think to call for you. It's difficult to tell what time it is in here. The clocks don't work right. I assumed you'd still be in your slumber."

"The ants," I hissed.

Her expression smoothed. "Oh. Them." She waved her wand hand flippantly. "Ants and butterflies are nervous creatures. We're all connected by the magic I've been feeding them for decades. They must have sensed there was a threat and summoned you on their own." Her stormy gaze looked me up and down. "You forgot to put on trousers."

"I didn't forget," I snapped. "I was rushing to your rescue. Valiantly!"

Quiet scoffed so raucously it was a wonder she didn't startle the lightning beetles into hiding. "I was doing better without you, thank you very much. I would have had him answering the rest of my questions if you hadn't brutalized him unnecessarily like a—"

"—monster," I said gruffly, and my stomach sank. "I know, I know." It was no secret what she thought of me, and I resented the reminder.

Her head tilted, and the thunder in her eyes cooled. "That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say, ‘like a galivanting showoff."

"Oh. Well, that's different . . . but not better." I watched the bees for a time, unsure what to say next. I could still scent the wolfman; the tarry, salty smell of his blood turned my stomach.

"And what was all that earlier about calling me ‘your witch.'" She folded her hands over her chest, lightning brewing in her glower. "I belong to no one but myself, and you of all people should damn well know that."

I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck and grunted a laugh. If I could flush there'd have been color in my cheeks. "Werewolves are possessive. I was simply speaking his language. That's all," I said because that was mostly true. I could wrap my head around that at least.

If there was more to it, well . . . I'd rather not dwell on it.

She tapped her foot at me, looking unconvinced. "Whatever it was, I'm not fond of it."

"Noted," I said sourly.

"I was trying to find Alex's face," she explained. "Gilbert was unhelpful, which either means I've confused him by wanting something else more—like a bath. Ugh, I'd give anything for a nice hot bath . . ." She sighed and her shoulders dropped. "Or your cousin is somewhere we can't reach. I put Gilbert away in my pocket. I think he was overdue for a bit of rest. His shimmer was looking dull."

"How'd you wind up here?"

Quiet shuffled down the hall to stand closer to the master bedroom. "Another trial appeared right there." She pointed to a spot of paneling below the dim gaslight.

I stood shoulder to shoulder with her. There was nothing there now. Not even a spot or a hint of creeping rot.

"It was a mirror," she explained. "A funny one like they have at the circus. My reflection behaved strangely in it. Then the bedroom door opened and about stopped my heart. I had my wand sitting on the stack of books over there." She indicated the pile behind us with a jut of her chin. Her journal was on top. The reaping hook symbol glinted under the glow from the light beetles. "We both went for it, he won, then he shut himself back into the bedroom. I talked him into opening the door, and you pretty much know the rest."

I licked my thumb and rubbed it and the magic in my saliva across the scratch on her cheek. Her injury faded fast.

"Thank you," she grumped.

I helped her gather her books. The bees lapped up the last of the blood from the carpet and returned to her hat. As she pocketed her wand for safekeeping, Gilbert flew out of her skirts. He turned a quick circle and glided down the hall.

"Where's he going?" I asked.

"I'm not quite sure . . . Maybe to your cousin's face? Maybe another trial so we can appease the vengeful spirits and get out of here." Quiet lifted her skirts above her ankles and dashed down the corridor. "Oh, Gilbert, if you're taking me to a bathtub full of steaming water, I'm going to kiss you!"

"Maybe he'll find what I want this time," I said, jogging after them.

Quiet fell in step beside me. "He'll only do that if I instruct him to. It's not a bad idea, though. We may need to give it a try if I keep confusing him with my fickle wishes."

"I won't be any help," I confessed. All I desperately wanted was a fresh vein to suckle. Even more vehemently, I didn't want that vein to belong to Quiet. I'd never do that to her again. "I'm as muddled as you are."

Gilbert led us down a corridor that ended at the columned entrance to the eastern wing. The wings were separated by a sitting room and a balcony. I crossed the threshold, and the stink of death hit me like one of those oversized Circus mallets performers used, right in the face. My eyes watered.

Quiet squeezed her nose shut and gagged. Inky black veins ran across the wallpaper. The wood where the balcony doors had once stood pulsed. The flesh around what remained of the oaken frame was thick and flaky like a scab.

"Now we know what happened to the werewolf's hand," I said, trying not to look at the amputated limb crammed into the center of the former doors. "Apparently the castle bit it off." My stomach dropped.

Quiet cringed but moved in closer, stepping over a large stain of putrid darkness that ran like a river of ink along the floor. The rug beneath had been colorful and ornamental, but the rot ate away at it and bleached it of its vibrant color. Using an armchair for balance, she leaned in to examine the crushed hand held in place by splintered wood and fleshy tissue.

Pinching her nose turned her voice hollow. "That there, it looks like—"

"Teeth," I finished for her. Sharp shark-like teeth. I could see the details fine from where I stood. It was much colder in the sitting room than in the rest of the castle, a stark reminder that I still didn't have any trousers on.

"Oh, yes! Look!" Quiet cried, scooping up her skirts so they didn't hang near the filth. "Yes, yes, there's fresh wind . . . Rorick, there's an opening! A small one. I can see sky and bits of the courtyard. Oh, Gilbert, this is even better than the bathtub, you brilliant creature, you!"

Gilbert alighted on her shoulder and glowed proudly.

I slipped in behind her so I could see the opening myself. Even though it was winter cold, my flesh covered in goosebumps, the fresh air was an instant comfort compared to the filth inside. "Could we force it open enough to get out?"

"Oh no," Quiet said, "I'm not willing to touch it without more help. Just look what it did to his hand."

The flesh around the bone was flaky and desiccated, the bone dry down to the marrow. Not a drop of blood dripped from it.

"Point taken," I said.

"But," Quiet added, undeterred, "that opening is big enough for my butterflies. They have a longer memory for delivering messages. I've been wanting to reach out to my coven for help since we got trapped, but I couldn't see a way to do so." She lifted up the brim of her hat. "Come on, girls."

Small white butterflies burst from her hat. They fluttered around her braid while she readied a message. She took a page from her journal and wrote out a note with her charcoal pencil. I read over her shoulder.

Goose,

Come to Eckert as soon as possible. The castle is haunted and full of monsters. Bring help and be on your guard. The butterflies will show you where to go.

-Quiet

She rolled the message up tight and secured it with a bit of string taken from her pocket.

"A kiss for luck," she said, turning to face me. Surrounded by fresh air, I could scent her without the taint of darkness to obscure it, and my mouth watered.

Wanting herstruck me like a thunderbolt and nearly knocked me on my ass. All sense departed from my body. I stopped being able to feel the cold.

"For luck." I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers. Her gasp was a wash of warmth against my mouth and full of her richness: citrus, fresh florals, herbs. A dark temptation I wanted to devour whole.

And then, just for a moment—the sweetest moment—she fell against me.

Quiet kissed me back, warm lips molding to mine.

But it all ended too soon.

"Wh-what are you doing?" She planted a hand high on my chest and pulled back, stormy eyes wide and searching my face. "I—I didn't mean me. The message!"

Her cheeks turned a charming pink. She lifted the rolled-up paper until it was under my nose. More of her scent rolled off her wrist. Her pulse thumped lightly under golden skin that I now knew would feel like silk against my lips . . .

"Oh!" I chuckled, shaking my head sharply to clear it of bloodlust. My lips burned, the phantom of our kiss lingering there. "Honest mistake." Dropping my head over her open palm, I kissed the roll of paper quickly and stepped back before my hunger made me do something else stupid.

That's all that was, I hoped. Just my hunger stopping me from thinking clearly. Naturally, being as thirsty as I was, of course I wanted to put my lips on her. There was no reason to overthink the matter beyond that.

Certainly, Quiet has a beautiful mind and long legs. . . My thoughts misbehaved, picturing the legs she'd revealed as she'd undressed down to her shift the night before. It was time to think about something else. Anything else.

A feeling of alarm continued to creep up my stomach, and my mind kept right on spinning. I'd foolishly allowed myself to briefly have too many tender thoughts about my partner—ex-partner—when we worked together before. It had ended disastrously, as I should have known it would.

She thinks I'm a monster.

Her heart was a thunderclap in my ears, but she was blushing. Not frightened—or was that just wishful thinking?

And maybe I was a monster. Not the sort that would allow harm to come to someone's gran, but certainly the sort that would always have a thirst that couldn't be quenched. The sort that could become a threat that Quiet should be wary of. I wanted to have her back, but what good was I to her during the day?

What good could I be to her if I was ever injured and that desperate again?

With a wrinkle between her brows, she kissed the paper too. Watching me leerily out of the corner of her eye, she sprinkled garlic over the note for added luck, then presented it to the butterflies. It took three of the winged creatures to lift it.

"Don't be heroes," she told the butterflies. "If the storm starts up again, take shelter and wait for it to pass. Bring Goose back here as swiftly as possible."

The butterflies filed out the opening, toting the message between them. We watched them flutter free until their path took them beyond our limited view.

"Come along. We need to have a serious conversation," she said, "and I don't know if I can manage it unless you have trousers on."

"Trousers would be nice," I agreed.