26

S idestepping through the door frame, avoiding any physical contact with her, I entered the room, unprepared for what I was about to see. The dingy, decrepit hallway opened into an enormous room with rich green wallpaper and floor-to-ceiling dark wood shelving. Each one was crammed tightly with more books than I had ever seen in my entire life. I looked back at her, still standing by the doorway, a soft, unusual smile on her face as she studied my reaction.

“How is…” I turned back to the library.

In the center was a grouping of tables, all with their golden lamps flickering with candlelight and a few comfier areas with long plush chaises and sitting chairs. Such a space couldn’t exist in a place so worn down, and yet I found myself at a complete loss for words.

“Do you see its beauty?” She asked.

I stared at her for a long moment, breathing in her essence as she watched me with bright, curious emerald eyes. They flickered up to the high ceiling and down over the tall window panes that allowed light to spill inside like rushing water. I was amazed that mere moments before, we had been in a decrepit and drafty hallway in a building that appeared far past condemned.

I saw the beauty, but I wasn’t looking at the library. “I do.”

“After some time spent in the Manor, I found this room. I believe it was a gift…”

“A gift?” I asked her.

“I had explored the deepest corners of the Manor time and time again until I thought I had gone insane, and then one day–” When she finally broke eye contact a chill set in, as if she was the only warm thing in the room and, without her, there was nothing to stave off the cold. “–I was led to those doors and inside…” She looked around the library.

“This isn’t a trick?” I asked her, shoving a hand in the pocket of my trousers to keep it from shaking as I inquired.

“Only a monster would play such a cruel prank,” she hummed, raising a single brow at me. “It’s real.”

My stomach knotted at the sight of her amusement, something softer creeping up my spine as I studied her eyes. They were the darkest shade of green I’d ever seen in an eye color before; they were dark but caught the sunlight like a prism.

“Thank you,” I said, setting down the book in my hand and wandering in to explore more.

“I thought you might be able to find something in these books, I’m sorry there’s no…” She tilted her head to the side, looking for a word. “Computer?” She said, unsure of herself. Koen had walked her through all of my devices the day before as we sat in the parlor and I took notes on her life.

“That’s correct,” I praised. “This is much better than that. Computers are finicky and sometimes will only give you half the answer. Or sometimes they’ll give you the wrong answer on purpose. ”

“Do they have conscious thoughts?” She stepped into the library, keeping her distance, but curiosity sparked in her eyes and I bit my lip to keep from smiling at her like an idiot.

“No,” I said, “well, sort of. Their thoughts are nothing but code and information that real people have programmed into them.”

“So people…” She wandered closer, intrigue lacing her voice as she worked through the foreign ideas. “Put information?” She asked, unsure about the word. I nodded to encourage her and inched closer to her. “From books and their lives onto the computers for others to find?”

“Atta girl.” I smiled at her. “That’s exactly it.”

She looked up from her feet, and her expression relaxed. Under my gaze, her cheeks blushed a rosy pink color.

“Thank you for sharing your space with me,” I said to her, clearing my throat as I ran a hand through my hair. A few wavy curls fell against my forehead, even in my attempts to keep them back.

With a curt nod, she blinked slowly and the curiosity died in her eyes, turning them a pale shade compared to seconds before. She wandered around me, keeping the space, and then walked to a shelf near the back of the library, the only shelf not crammed with books.

“I see the way you look at me, Mr. Dunn,” she said. “Like I’m fragile or innocent, but I can assure you, I am not.”

I watched her as she circled the row of books, her hair but a flash of red in my vision as she moved. “Then what are you, Ms. Cabot?” I asked her.

“Long before I was accused of being a monster, and before I was trapped. I was just a woman,” she said, appearing on the other side of the row with a tight smile on her face. Her breath shuddered as she thought about something, and her lips parted to continue her thoughts. “I enjoyed risking everything, extending my kindness to help people, women specifically. Those who were unable or not allowed to help themselves. Women in particular situations, burdened by something forced upon them.”

I watched her, a little confused but still very curious. I followed as she disappeared around another stack, listening for the honey sound of her voice.

“I was brave,” she said, “curious, intelligent.”

You are all those things still, I wanted so desperately to say, but she wasn’t finished.

“Your eyes remind me of a friend,” she said quietly, stopping her movement and scanning the shelves for something.

Finding what she needed, she pulled the two leather-bound books from the shelf and set them on the table beside me. I inched closer, our shoulders brushing as I reached to open the top. Inside were pages upon pages of handwritten notes, dates, and names.

“Is this a ledger?” I asked her, inspecting with more detail.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s stories.” She brushed her hand down the open center of the book.

“I did not want to forget my life in old age, unsure of what the Manor had in store for me.” A shaky breath interrupted her thoughts and the darkness returned to her eyes as she thought of something. “So I recorded every story I could remember. Some of them are simply silly days that made me smile or brought me joy. Some are sad and full of grief or pain.” She briefly tripped over her words in an attempt to control her tone. “ The color and kindness in your eyes reminds me of a young woman I used to call a friend.”

“Will you tell me about her?” I asked her, unsure if that was crossing an invisible boundary.

“Aisling. She was my ladies maid in my household before I was… before I came to Orchid Manor,” Florence explained. “But she was more than that. We would spend hours together in conversation. She was so bright and always wanted to learn. She would accompany me and assist me with every woman I helped. Aisling was loyal and kind, and I will never have a friend like her again.”

I looked over at her, eyes still glued to the page but now filled with tears that weren’t there before. I wanted to reach out and brush the tear that trickled down her flushed cheeks but curled my hand deeper into my pocket.

“I apologize, Mr. Dunn. It seems that I’m still grieving for her. Up until your arrival, I was unsure of the passing time; frequently, the house–puts me to sleep, and it seems more time has passed than I ever could have imagined. To me, Aisling was still alive until a few days ago, and now she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry, about Aisling,” I say, extending my verbal sympathies instead of touching her.

“Time is a thief,” she mumbled, “except when you are begging it to steal from your own life, and it plays ignorant to your pleas.”

“She will live on forever in your stories,” I offered.

“Correct and I’m sure, with time, the ache of missing her will ease.”

One hundred and seventy-two years she had been in the Manor.

I ran my hand over my mouth, trying to hide the raw emotion that rolled through me. There was nothing I could say or do that would ease her heartache.

“How long have you been a–Hunter?” she asked me, seemingly trying to change the subject.

“Fourteen years, which to anyone else would seem like a long time but,” I paused, running my tongue over my bottom lip.

“To a one-hundred-year-old monster.” She fingered the old page and sighed.

“One hundred-year-old anomaly .” I corrected her.

Florence looked up at me and stole the air from my lungs.

She was like a supernova in the night sky, begging to be picked apart and explored for every inch she was worth. Bright and burning, but so far away.

It would take a lot of convincing to prove she wasn’t a monster but, quietly, the determination snuck up on me; I was willing to put in the work. The moment that stretched between us was long and quiet, her eyes searching mine with her lips pressed into a thin line. There was a tiny freckle beneath her right eye that begged for attention and a fleck of dark brown in her left iris that seemed so harsh against the stark green of them.

I cleared my throat to break the trance.

“Do you have any family?” She asked and shifted away from me.

“I did,” I said, rolling my shoulders back despite the stinging pain in my bicep as the muscles flexed. “I do,” I corrected myself. “My parents died when I was eighteen, killed by a wraith that would have taken me too if Wes hadn’t saved my life.”

“And then?” she inquired, brushing a piece of loose hair away from her face.

“Koen’s parents were killed when he was small. I don’t even know if he remembers them. Wes’ parents lived for a long time until they were killed during a hunt. Now it’s just the three of us.” I tried to explain.

“You mentioned before that Koen and Wesley aren’t blood related,” she asked.

“Yeah, Koen was… adopted into the family later, not legally or anything. His real last name belongs to the past now. Wes slipped into the role of older brother without a second thought.” I left out small details, things she didn’t need to know about Wes, stuff he would kill me for speaking about.

“You are all very odd,” she said to me. Only then did I realize I was staring again. It was nearly impossible not to. “Do you believe you can figure out why I’m stuck here?”

“If anyone can, it’s me,” I said. “I’ve always been more interested in the lore and science behind the hunt. The hunting part is a little violent for my taste.”

“You don’t enjoy killing?” She asked me and leaned against the desk, staring into the books.

“Not particularly, not in the moment, at least. Once it’s done and we’ve saved a family or protected a town… it feels satisfying,” I explained. “But learning all the ways we can accomplish that, chasing that fulfilling feeling through research. That’s the real high.”

She turned to look at me, the green flooding her eyes again as she smiled softly at me.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Mr. Dunn.” She excused herself, wandering toward the door.

“Clay,” I stopped her with my voice, and she turned toward me with her slender hands on the frame. “Please, call me Clay.”

“Then you’ll have to call me Florence.” She smiled sweetly, sending a shiver down my spine as I nodded in agreement.