Chapter 18

The trunk shut with a decisive click before I hauled it from my bedroom, letting it join the other bags by the front door. I glanced out the windows, expecting to see Kieron's cart on its way across the field, but the lane was empty.

I sighed, twisting his ring on my finger over and over as I waited. It was still a novel oddity for me, making my hand look far more refined and grown-up than I felt.

Yesterday, just moments after I learned that Merrick had left, Kieron had rapped on the door with freshly picked wildflowers in one hand and his grandmother's ring in the other. I'd pushed down all my wounded feelings and pent-up frustrations, thrown caution—and Merrick's vague forebodings—to the wind, and said yes. We'd spent the afternoon on my quilt beside the fire, pretending it was the picnic we'd planned, kissing and dreaming of our future. When I'd asked if he'd wanted to begin that future then and there, starting right now, he'd laughed at my impetuosness but agreed.

Now my stomach was a ball of nerves, and every muscle in me jangled with barely suppressed anticipation.

We were actually doing this.

We were packing up and leaving Alletois for good.

I had no pretensions that Merrick would be unable to find us, to find me, wherever I went. But Kieron and I would be married by then, man and wife, and there wasn't a thing my godfather could doto break that vow.

My fingers tapped on the sill. Where was Kieron?

The clock on the mantel said it was half past eleven, and he'd promised to arrive by noon. There was still time left—so, so, so much time—but I felt annoyed with the wait. If our roles were reversed and it was me meeting him, I would have had the horse and cart waiting outside his farmhouse at daybreak.

I whirled away from the window, pushing aside the unhelpful thoughts.

Kieron had wanted to finish his chores, the last ones he'd do for his father, and see that everything at the farm was left just so. Following his lead, I stalked about my own house, making sure I'd not left anything important behind, scrawling out a list of instructions for the young boy I'd hired to look after the cottage until someone else would move in. Cosmos would come with us, but there were all my fowls and the gardens to tend to.

As I paced from room to room, feeling my anxiety and trying to understand its root, my pup skittered after me, his nails clicking on the wooden floors.

When the clock chimed twelve, I raced to the front window, but there was still no sign of Kieron.

Restless, I moved my belongings to the porch, certain he'd be here soon. He'd probably gotten caught up saying farewell to his parents.

The ghosts were in a line in their spot across the field, against the fence, nothing more than dark shapes on the horizon, but even from a distance, I could tell they were watching me. I'd driven them back there earlier that morning, then surrounded them with a circle of salt. I knew it wouldn't keep them there forever, knew eventually the circle would wear thin and break, but Kieron and I would be long gone by then. It could take them months to finally stumble their way to me again.

Unsure of what to do with myself, I went through the house one last time. I spotted my valise under the worktable in the study but left it where it was. I didn't know what the future held for me, for us, but I planned to never treat another person again. I would not add to my collection of ghosts. If I was cutting ties with Merrick and his dreams for me, I was going to sever them all.

A quarter of an hour went by.

Then another. And another.

And still no Kieron.

At one o'clock, I decided to go after him.

I loaded the cart with my bags and hitched up my dappled mare. I whistled for Cosmos to hop into the back and I left the cottage behind without a second glance. There was too much promise ahead to spend the day looking backward.

We took the land at a brisk trot, flying by the ghosts without acknowledgment. The sun was shining and the day smelled of warmed earth and flowering trees. I nearly laughed aloud as I pictured Kieron on his way to me now, how we'd run into each other on the narrow little lane and have to decide whose cart we'd take. But we didn't meet on the lane, and we didn't meet on the road, and I made it all the way to the LeCompte farm without seeing my beloved.

I hitched Zadie to a post, expecting Kieron to come out in a rush of apologies and explanations, but the farmhouse was still.

No one answered when I knocked, and I paused, wholly unsure of what I ought to do next. Were they still at work in the orchards? Had they gone into the village for supplies? It would be just like Kieron to want to help his father for as long as he could, putting in a full day's work before he snuck off to elope.

I was just about to go to the barn, to see if their cart was there, when I heard a swift crack from the back of the house.

Curiosity led me around the porch.

I found Kieron, still in his work clothes, splitting logs. I leaned against the railing to admire my almost-husband, watching the way the sunlight played across his long, lean form, the way the sleeves of his shirt strained over his biceps.

But something was wrong.

The swing of his axe was wide and unfocused, never striking its intended mark.

"Kieron?" I called, keeping my voice light. "Have you forgotten what time it is? What day it is?"

I tried to laugh, as if this would be a joke we'd tell many times throughout our lives, even when we were old and wrinkled and gray. Do you remember the time you forgot you were eloping with me? I smiled too widely, desperately trying to push down the sense of unease growing in my middle telling me that something wasn't right, that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He turned on shaking legs, his eyes listing vaguely somewhere above my right shoulder, and all traces of my attempted laughter died away.

"Hazel!" he exclaimed, and his voice was wrong too, thick with consonants grown soft. A curtain of blood fell from his hairline.

I had to piece together the story on my own from the clues around him.

His parents had taken fruit to market and, because he was Kieron, he'd decided to do one last project before sneaking away, chopping a fallen tree for firewood. His axe had split a log badly, and a piece had ricocheted back and struck his temple.

There was so much blood.

His equilibrium was off. I saw evidence he'd thrown up. He trembled, flushed with fever, but his hands were like ice. He answered my questions in confusing circles interrupted by snorts of laughter that dissolved into tears.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, whipping around toward the house. He pawed at the air, as if trying to swat the cause away.

I heard a smattering of birdsong in the trees, but nothing that should have agitated him so. "Hear what?"

Kieron frowned, then cupped his hands over his ears. "It's so sharp. The ringing. It hurts! Make it stop! Make it stop!" He picked up a log and hurled it away from him, hard. It shattered a window along the side of the house, and I jumped at the sudden ferocity.

I'd treated patients with concussions before—there were dozens of ways a head could be struck during a workday—but this felt different, more dangerous.

His brain was swelling, I was certain of it, filling with fluid and pushing upon his skull. It would eventually restrict blood flow. His brain wouldn't get the oxygen it needed, and parts of it would begin to die. And when the brain began to die…

There was only one way to stop the pressure from building to such levels.

Trepanation.

I'd need to drill a small hole through his skull, giving the brain a way to let go of all the pressure. It was his only chance.

But I couldn't do it here.

Wrestling the axe from him, I guided Kieron to my cart. We'd have to go back to my farm, back to my cottage, back to where that damned valise waited. I'd send word to his family when I could and help clean up the mess of shattered glass later. Later, when Kieron was well.

Kieron didn't want to go.

His steps kicked out to the side like a newborn foal's. He nearly fell over trying to get up onto the wagon's seat, and Cosmos went mad, barking with excitement and fear.

"Stop!" Kieron ordered, slurring as he pointed a warning finger at Cosmos, hitting the side of the cart with a booming thud that finally silenced the pup. I'd never seen Kieron so aggressive before. I knew it was only the injury, knew that the swelling could cause him to react in surprising ways, but it still set my nerves on edge anticipating the next blow.

The ride back felt a million years long. We passed the ghosts, but I barely noticed, mentally preparing myself for the surgery to come.

Once back at the cottage, I struggled to get him inside and across the large worktable in my study. He didn't want to lie down, didn't want to be still. I held back tears as I tried to smile and reassure him.

As fast as quicksilver, his mood changed again. A dopey expression washed over his face as he grinned up at me. He reached out to hold my chin. It took him several attempts to catch it. "So pretty today Hazel. You. I'm today Hazel, you marrying today Hazel. You," he announced proudly, unaware his words were wrong, a jumble of noises and nonsensical sounds.

I wanted to howl. I wanted to fling myself over his heaving chest and burst into tears. I wanted to sit and wring my hands as someone else handled this, as someone else took care of him. But there was no one in town who could help, not like I could. Not like I would.

"It's going to be okay," I tried, the cords in my neck straining as I struggled for composure, and I wasn't sure if that promise was for him or me.

I needed to prepare, needed to grab at some sort of structure and plan to follow or I feared I'd lose my mind.

I opened my supply cupboard.

There were scalpels and braces and brushes, burrs of various sizes, and the drill.

I stared at the C-shaped piece of metal. It was thicker than my thumb. Its handle was made of polished mahogany, and it looked far too lovely to be used for such a gruesome service.

I'd practiced the surgery before—on the skulls of freshly slaughtered pigs bought at market—but I'd never done it on a live patient, and my hands trembled now.

"Today Hazel you," Kieron murmured again as his eyes fluttered, struggling to remain open.

There wasn't much time left.

As tenderly as I could, I probed at his head, feeling the wound.

"No," he protested, flinching at the pain. He wrapped his hands around my wrists, squeezing too tight.

"Kieron, that hurts," I said, trying not to flinch in pain, trying to keep the panic quelled. If he wanted to, he could cast me aside like a rag doll. I'd always loved how much taller he was than me, always admired how strong and capable he was, but now—though I knew he'd never hurt me on purpose—I feared just how much harm that powerful body might do. "Kieron, you're hurting me."

Instantly remorseful, he loosened his grip, lowering my hands to his cheeks, and I saw it.

A skull, gruesomely misshapen and black with poisoned blood.

The world around me stopped and shrank until all I could see was its dark form, its empty eye sockets, its bared teeth.

"No."

I wanted to scream, but instead that one tiny, small word escaped me. It was a puff of air, a breath on a cold morning, a wisp of vapor too fragile to last.

"No."

Not my Kieron.

Not today, when we were meant to be joined together. Our lives were supposed to be long, stretching out in front of us, rife with possibility and good fortune. We would be married. We would have children. We'd watch them grow and our house would be filled with love, with laughter, with comfort and care, and this was not happening. This could not be happening. The skull wasn't really there. The skull was wrong. The skull…

The skull snapped its teeth at me, demanding I pay attentiontoit.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, swallowing the shriek that wanted to rip itself from my soul.

I had to think clearly.

I wasn't going to kill Kieron. That wasn't happening. There had to be another way. Another path.

So.

If I couldn't kill him, I'd have to save him, regardless of the consequences that would come.

If. If there were consequences to come.

My parents and the other ghosts had been sick. They'd been sick and would have gone on to harm others had they lived. Many, many others.

I didn't understand how the deathshead worked, what sense of morality it operated under, how it decided how many potential victims were too many.

But Kieron wasn't sick. He wasn't a threat.

I narrowed my eyes as a thought crossed my mind.

It was a terrible thought.

Perhaps the worst one I'd ever had.

Kieron was a threat.

Not to me, not to his family or anyone in town.

But to Merrick…

To Merrick, he was the ultimate danger. The one who would take me away from my godfather, away from the plans he'd set out for me, the plans he expected me to follow without hesitation, the plans I always had followed…until I'd fallen in love with Kieron.

I cupped Kieron's face again, studying the skull with fresh eyes.

Had my godfather done this? Did this skull mean what the others had? Or was it simply doing my godfather's dirty work?

"Damn the deathshead," I muttered, then sprang into action. I laid out the instruments, pulled down bottles of antiseptics, and arranged everything I would need in neat rows on a tray, choking back sobs I couldn't afford to feel.

I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to think Merrick would be behind something so dastardly.

But I also couldn't find it in me to say he wouldn't….

Kieron's eyes flickered open and he tried to focus. "Where are we today, Hazel?"

I swallowed. "We're at home."

"Today Hazel home," he repeated, struggling to sit up. "Today Hazel's home. No. I need today Hazel my home…" His words were like apples left past harvest, wormy and softened to mush.

"It's all right. You're safe here. You were hurt, but I'll take care of you, I promise."

"Today Hazel promise," he repeated dully. "Prom…ise…prom…"

His eyes rolled back into his head as his body began to shudder, to shake. His muscles rippled beneath my fingertips as he bucked against me, and I fumbled for something to put in his mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue.

After a moment, the seizure passed. His eyes fell open, gazing about the room, and when they found mine, he broke into a sloppy smile. "Not right today Hazel. Not…true." He blinked, struggling to find the right words in his addled mind. "Not right Hazel today. Today Hazel. Hazel."

I squeezed his arms. "Just rest now, Kieron. Rest."

I plucked the drill from its bath. The spiked bit gleamed inside the cylindrical blade, a gruesome flower ready for blood.

"Not right today Hazel," Kieron repeated behind me, pawing at my skirts, the pitch of his voice rising with panic. Was he trying to tell me he knew what I was about to do? Did some part of him know he was meant to die? Would he try to stop me?

The drill fell from my hands to the floor and I cursed. I'd need to clean it again and there was no time, there wasn't time, there wasn't—

"Not today Hazel," he insisted. A wounded noise of frustration escaped him. "I take care of today Hazel." His fingers shook as they wrapped around mine, tightening as if he was trying to impart the message his tongue could not convey.

With a final burst of strength, he pulled me down to him, kissing me with all the fervor I'd imagined for our wedding day.

But like everything about this afternoon, it was off.

The moment his fingers knotted through mine, I wanted to recoil. His soft lips had turned to bone, cold and unyielding. The ridge beneath his nose cavity pressed in painfully. Bared teeth clattered against my own.

"I…love today Hazel. Hazel. All…all…always."

Kieron's eyes rolled backward as he fell into unconsciousness, and I was ashamed to feel happy he'd slipped under. It would be easier to get through this without him breaking my heart each time he spoke, flailing and jostling the surgical table as I tried to work. It was for the best.

"I will see you soon," I promised his still form, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

And then I picked up the razor.

The surgery itself didn't take long.

When it was finished, a circlet of small holes had been drilled into the skull, revealing glimpses of slick white brain tissue. Before I bandaged the area with cotton gauze, I inspected the clean edges of my work.

My insides struggled between pride and utter revulsion.

Had it worked? Was it enough to break the deathshead and save him? A long moment of cowardice ticked by. I could not bring myself to check.

I was tying off the ends of the bandages when I sensed the change of pressure in the air and knew Merrick had come.

I turned with a smile but immediately stopped short.

Tangible waves of fury radiated off him. Still, I faltered forward, playing innocent.

"I did it," I said, pushing back a lock of hair. "My first trepanning. Do you want to see the holes? None of the skull splintered off at all—and on my first attempt! It was—"

"You stupid, stupid girl." He strode forward, peering down at the supine form spread across the table. "What were you thinking?"

I rubbed my hands together. I'd felt so triumphant only moments before but now trembled against my godfather's wrath.

"He was showing signs of edema. I…I had to operate if he was to live."

Merrick sliced through my nervous chatter with the swift whack of an executioner's blade. "He wasn't meant to live."

"But I—"

"Did you see the skull?" His fingers clenched the edge of the table, digging in so hard they left divots pressed into the wood. "Did you see the skull?"

"Well, yes, but it was—"

"Then what is this?" Merrick smacked the tray, scattering instruments across the room in a clatter of scarlet and steel.

A series of short, shaky gasps escaped my chest. Panic rose, choking me. "Merrick, please. I couldn't let him die. I just…I couldn't."

"I told you yesterday it was a mistake to let him into your life, and now this," he hissed. "What were you thinking, Hazel?"

"I couldn't lose him, I couldn't," I repeated, wanting to hide from the heat rolling off him.

"I'll never understand why mortals place such emphasis on the here and now. This boy will die and your life will go on. You can live without him. You will live without him. Why is that such a hard concept to grasp? Your heart won't stop if his does."

"It will !"

"It won't," he insisted.

I sank to my knees, small and broken, as tears raced down my cheeks. "It will feel as though it has. It will feel that way to me!"

For a long moment, the room was silent save for my gasps for air, wet and trembling.

Gradually, Merrick's shoulders fell and his fury faded. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, full of commiseration. "Leave him for a moment and come with me."

"I can't." I pushed away the tracks of tears, but more only followed. "I need to finish bandaging him and—"

"Hazel."

Merrick held out his hand, and for a moment, I was tempted to remain at Kieron's side, flexing the untested muscles of my newfound defiance. But before I could resist, Merrick's fingers wrapped around my wrist and with a snap of his fingers, we were gone.