Chapter 7

The kitchen was bathed in midday sunlight and saturated with the aroma of toasted bread and cinnamon. In the daylight, the space was warm and cozy. Solid oak countertops and modern cottage décor that blended well with the original features of the Gothic building.

The window above the sink looked out onto the mansion grounds, unkept and wild, leaving me itching to explore. Another day perhaps.

Haiden stirred a pot on the stove, his back to the door, humming softly under his breath, but my attention zeroed in on the two men eating up space at the long table.

In the warm light of day, Ordell and Hemlock seemed out of place and exposed somehow. When not shrouded by shadows, they didn’t quite fit the scene, like round pegs trying to force themselves into square holes.

These hunters belonged to the night.

Ordell’s white-gold hair was unbound today, tucked behind his ears to leave his high, flat cheekbones free. He had the kind of face that was solid and masculine, his jawline sharp beneath his neatly trimmed beard. He smiled at me over the rim of his mug, which looked tiny in his paw of a hand.

Hemlock, however, paid me no attention. Parked beneath an invisible cloud, dark brows drawn, mouth in a grim line, he toyed with a butter knife in one hand while rolling a silver coin along the knuckles of another. His dark hair was artfully mussed, and the daylight brought out the streaks of red hidden in it.

Ordell’s attention dropped to the hat box under my arm. “You like hats?”

“Nope.” I set the box on the table and tugged off the lid. “And I like dismembered heads even less.”

Hemlock was all attention now, leaning forward to investigate the box. “Ah…I see.” He snagged the note and read it before passing it to Ordell.

“What will you do?” Ordell asked after reading it.

“Go to dinner, of course.” I popped the lid back on the box. “I won’t give him an excuse to dismember anyone else.”

“He’ll probably dismember someone anyway,” Hemlock said flatly. “He just won’t send you the head.”

I’d already considered that possibility. “Maybe, but I can’t be an added motivator. It’ll also be a good opportunity for me to read him. Figure out how best to deal with him.”

Hemlock’s soft snort of derision was followed by an equally derisive drawl. “You don’t deal with Ezekiel.”

I locked gazes with him. “And how did you discover that?” I tapped my chin. “Maybe it was when you delivered a cartload of humans to him last night?”

Hemlock’s brows flicked up slightly, the only visible sign that he was affected by my statement. “News travels fast in Old Town, it seems.” He rolled his head toward Haiden, who was busy at the stove, his back to me.

I didn’t feel the need to clarify how I’d come about the information, more interested in his lack of guilt or remorse. “You think those people deserved to die?”

“Someone had to, and rather the criminals than the innocent, right?” He waited for me to respond, his gaze a little too probing, but Ordell spoke before I could.

“Ezekiel’s hunger is almost insatiable upon waking,” he explained. “It was the only way to protect the innocent residents of Old Town.”

“Hmmm, right, which brings me to my next question—how do you two know so much about him? Not just his feeding habits, but the fact that he has guest coffins?” I focused my laser glare on Hemlock. “You sound as if you know him personally.”

The coin coasting along Hemlock’s knuckles moved faster. “We’re not the first set of hunters to work with a watcher, and hunters keep archives too.”

“You should eat,” Haiden said, placing a bowl of porridge in the spot in front of me. He carefully picked up the hat box. “I’ll dispose of this.”

“Wait!” I placed my hand on the box and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mary, please forgive me for failing in my promise to you and your husband. I hope you both find peace.” The markings on my arm, inked in when I’d been ordained, tingled with power. “Blessing of the white wings be with you.” I opened my eyes to find the three men watching me keenly.

I lifted my chin. “Can you bury her please?”

Haiden smiled sadly. “Of course.” He shuffled out of the room, leaving me with the two hunters.

If I was going to keep Ezekiel in line, I’d need both their help, and as much as it pained me to even think it, their protection. “I want to bury the others too. All the people he’s killed and drained since he woke last night.”

Hemlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, let’s just wander over to the vampire king’s castle and tell him what to do, shall we?”

“Those people deserve a decent burial.”

“They’re dead,” Hemlock said flatly. “I doubt they give a shit.”

Ordell ended our glare-off with a pointed cough, so I transferred my attention to him. “Is he always like this?”

“He can hear you,” Hemlock bit out.

I ignored him and raised my brows at Ordell.

Ordell sighed. “I’ll see what I can do about the bodies. Leave it with me.”

For some reason, I trusted him. “Okay. Also, the Order sent you to help me keep Ezekiel in check, so you’ll come with me tonight.”

“Of course.” Ordell sat up straighter, his brow furrowing. “That isn’t even in question. We’re at your disposal, Miss Lighthart.”

There was something primally soothing about his deep, growly voice. “Please call me Orina.”

His smile lit up his whole face. “Orina, then.”

Hemlock set his coin on the table with a clink. “And what do you need from us until tonight?” he asked tightly.

“A lift into New Town. I need to contact the Order.” I smiled thinly in his direction.

He arched a brow and snorted softly. “Why, so you can beg them to let you off the hook?”

What was his problem? “No. Mobile phones don’t work in Old Town, but I’ll get reception in the modern sector. The Order needs to know what’s going on here and how the Sangualex have taken control of Order property.”

“I can take you in,” Ordell said. “I have an errand to run.” He looked to Hemlock. “You coming?”

“I’ve got things to do right here,” Hemlock said.

I couldn’t help but ask… “Such as?”

His mouth tightened, and the coin was back in his hand, sliding between his knuckles, winking silver as it moved up and down his hand. “None of your business.”

“Hem,” Ordell said sharply.

“What?” Hemlock snapped. “It is none of her business.”

“Whatever.” I dropped into a seat and picked up my spoon. “I don’t care.” But I did. It bugged me not knowing what he would be doing. It bugged me that there was an itch in the back of my mind where these two men were concerned, and it fucking bugged the hell out of me that any of this was bugging me at all.

Edwin joined us a moment later, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. “Morning all. Oooh, cinnamon porridge.” He grabbed a bowl off the table and headed for the stove. “You want to go down to the archives this morning?” he asked.

Shit, I’d forgotten about that. “Later. I have business in town.”

He joined us at the table. “You’re going to call the Order, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“You think that Padma was lying?”

“I don’t know her well enough to make that kind of judgment. What I do know is that the Order wouldn’t turn a blind eye to what’s happening here.”

He seemed to consider it. “Could be that Padma spoke to the wrong person about all this. It’s worth a shot. I can show you around Old Town tomorrow if you like.”

Getting a lay of the land was wise. “That sounds good, thanks.”

He tucked into his porridge with the kind of enthusiasm of a person free of obligations and the weight of responsibility, despite the reality of his situation. What would it feel like to be free of duty? To not be accountable?

What was I thinking? Duty was my life. It was my oath.

I focused on my porridge—a delicious honey and cinnamon combination—to stifle my meandering thoughts.

Hemlock pushed back his seat. “Enjoy your sojourn into town, Orina.” He deliberately emphasized each syllable of my name. “Hope your errand goes as planned, brother.” He snagged his jacket off the back of his seat and swept from the room.

Ordell drained his mug, and Haiden offered him a refill.

Silence stretched, companionable between the four of us, just the sizzle of bacon on the griddle and the whistle of the kettle to disturb it. Haiden moved about the room in a practiced dance, adding more food to the table—bacon, sausages, and more toast. At the Order we ate twice a day—breakfast and supper—so both meals were usually heavy, enough to fuel us throughout the day.

I was accustomed to eating large portions and being in the company of others who did the same. Food was something to be enjoyed, after all, but I’d never seen anyone eat as much in one sitting as Ordell.

He attacked the food on his plate with a precision bordering on religious fervor. Everything was in its place—a pile of bacon here, a mountain of sausages there, several wedges of toast, and fried tomatoes to wet it all. He cut into it, moving clockwise around his plate and savoring each bite of the offering.

I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, at the way he managed not to get any food on his neatly trimmed beard. It was one of my gripes about beards, how unsanitary they could be if not maintained, but Ordell’s was neat and groomed. What would it feel like against my fingers?

I dropped my gaze to my plate and shoved some bacon into my mouth, crispy, just the way I liked it. I was a little too aware of this man. Of the way his shirt stretched to accommodate his wide muscle-rounded shoulders and how the light played off his golden skin, turning the tips of his lashes to fire. This level of awareness was dangerous.

Haiden joined us at the table and placed a pot of tea in the center. “Help yerselves to top-ups. ”

I glanced at the door. “Are the others not joining us?”

“They know the time. If they want to eat, they’ll be here,” Haiden said.

Silence reigned once more, the only sound the scrape of cutlery on plates. Edwin was the first to finish and offered to top up everyone’s mugs. But Ordell declined.

He carried his plate to the sink and washed it up. “I’ll get the carriage ready,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you out front in half an hour. Daylight is wasting.”

It wasn’t a question; it was an instruction but delivered much too nicely to get my back up. I’d come across people like Ordell before. Able to command with ease, to lead without effort. Micah was the same. One of the few people not senior ranked that I didn’t mind taking orders from, and…Ordell was still waiting for me to respond.

“I’ll be there.”

He dropped me a nod and clomped out of the room.

“Never seen a man that big,” Edwin said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he had giant genes.”

“There are no such things as giants,” Haiden said.

“Not entirely true,” a female voice piped up from the doorway. “I’m sure faerie has them.” The woman was petite, barely five foot three at a guess with rosy cheeks and chestnut waves spilling down her back.

“Merry, this is Orina Lighthart.” Edwin watched her face carefully, as if looking for some kind of reaction.

She turned her smile in my direction. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know we were getting a new recruit.”

Edwin’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. She came in last night.”

Wait, hadn’t she healed me? I looked across at Haiden, who shook his head in warning.

“Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

I shook it. “Likewise.”

Haiden handed her a bowl of porridge, and she claimed Ordell’s recently vacated seat. “Ohhh, it’s warm.” She shuffled her bottom, getting comfy. “Will you be taking a tour of Old Town today?” she asked me.

“She’s going to New Town,” Edwin answered for me. “She has errands to run.”

“Kassie will take you in the carriage,” she said around a mouthful of porridge. “She loves driving that thing. She’ll be down soon.” She frowned slightly. “Where is everyone?”

I was so confused right now.

“They’ll be down shortly,” Haiden said kindly. “Why don’t I make you some elderflower tea to go with that, hmmm?”

She perked up instantly. “Yes, please.”

Edwin tapped my arm and jerked his head toward the exit.

I drained my tea and followed him out into the corridor. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Wow, straight to the point. Um…Merry was hurt in the fire. She survived, but her memory is…broken?” He winced. “I’m not sure how to explain it. She seems to be stuck on the day before the accident. Sometimes she can gather a week or so of new memories, so we tell her the truth of what happened, but then she’ll wake up one day, and it’ll all be forgotten. She’ll be back to the morning before the accident.”

The way he said accident…the slight hesitation before the word… “What actually happened with the fire, Edwin?”

His expression shuttered. “The team got trapped. They didn’t make it out. A beam fell…I’m not sure. You should speak to Padma.”

He was hiding something, and the time to push him for answers would come, but not now. Right now, my focus had to be on getting answers from the Order.

Why had they turned down Padma’s request? Or had she made a request at all?