Chapter 2

ChapterTwo

The icy drafts of the manor never ceased. Perhaps that was his family’s penance for all the dark magic that swelled within these walls.

Alistair Orbweaver was the forgotten son of a very influential man. Wildecliff only valued those with power, however, so he supposed it wasn’t unexpected that his father would forget the boy whose only gift was to see through the veil of the world. Alistair saw the faerie creatures, gods, and goddesses, as though they were in the same realm. Most others only ever felt the faintest impression of being watched.

He saw their true forms. And while that was terrifying to such a young man, it had made him quieter than his brothers.

He peered out of his bedroom, eyeing the cold hall to make sure that neither Lysander nor Cassius were waiting for him. They were relentless with their pestering, no matter what time of day it was. Sometimes, he swore they had placed a tracker on him so they knew when to exit their bedrooms and how to find him in the corridors beyond.

The dark floors reflected no shadows of people, however. The black wallpaper didn’t ripple with any spells, though the hand-painted lilies looked a little too awake for his liking.

Still, he was hungry. He hadn’t gone to breakfast with them because he knew their torment would be endless on a day like today. With clouds in the sky and rain on the horizon, his brothers would stay inside all day. Boredom bred madness with Orbweaver men.

He twisted the knit hat in his hands and reminded himself that he couldn’t starve. All he had to do was make it to the kitchens, and then he could sneak back before anyone saw him. What reason would they have to be out of their rooms?

Alistair pulled the hat down over his ears so he didn’t freeze them off and nodded. He would be brave. He could walk out of his own room and to the kitchens without feeling like his heart would beat out of his chest.

The second he put one woolen sock on the floor of the hallway, he heard two doors creak open.

Alistair winced and squeezed his eyes shut. He had known they would watch for him, yet still, he had taken the risk.

His brothers descended upon him like vultures to their prey.

“Look who it is,” Lysander hissed. His eyes were so pale they were nearly yellow and glinted in the torchlight like a snake’s. “What do you think you’re doing? Walking out of your room in the middle of the day like this seems like you’re planning trouble.”

“It’s not the middle of the day,” Alistair muttered, marching down the hall as though he wasn’t terrified of them. “I’m going to the library.”

He’d learned a long time ago never to tell them what he was actually doing. Otherwise, they would follow him, hounding him until he snapped. That’s what they wanted, after all. They wanted to see him at his worst and to encourage behavior that made their father angry. They loved watching their father punish him.

Cassius waited for him midway down the hall, his arms crossed over his chest and a disgusted expression on his face. Lip curled, nostrils flared, he looked like he’d smelled something rotten. “What are you wearing, whelp?”

Alistair slipped as one of his large socks slid from his knee to his ankle, causing the toe to be floppy. He righted himself quickly, but not soon enough to escape his brother’s laughter. “It’s cold in here,” he muttered.

“Cold is good for you.” Cassius was the oldest of the brothers and had spent more years with the icy drafts. Even he wore a woolen coat, and his fair hair covered his ears.

“I’m sure it is,” Alistair replied as he tried to skirt past his brother. “I’m just getting a book to read, so if you’d let me pass...”

With the speed of a viper, Cassius shoved Alistair against the wall and slammed his hands on either side of Alistair’s ears. “What’s the truth, then? You’re hungry, is my guess. You weren’t in your seat for breakfast. But don’t you remember? If you don’t eat with the family, you don’t eat at all.”

Why were his brothers so vicious? They were cruel just to be cruel, and he hated every second of being around them. The way Cassius’s lip remained curled, like the mouth of a wolf, let him know how much danger he was in.

Until he saw the shadows on his brother’s shoulder. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes go slightly cross so he could see outside of his world and into the other.

Their bean-tighe had her hand on Cassius. The elderly fae looked after their house, although he couldn’t imagine why. Her kind frequently took to thoughtful families who remembered they existed. Her wrinkled face had creased with anger, and the tattered edges of her old-fashioned gown blew in a wind he could not feel. She stood on a small stool usually strapped to her back for sweeping far off cobwebs, but today she used it to grab the boy who threatened young Alistair.

“Alistair,” his brother hissed.

He wasn’t paying attention anymore. Not to his brother, at least.

“Cream and berries?” he asked the bean-tighe. “I saw raspberries in the kitchen two days past.”

The grin on her face was all the answer he needed. But then the faerie woman who came up to his chest snapped out her clawed hands, grabbed onto Cassius’s ear, and yanked so hard his brother nearly fell over.

He saw an opening and took it. He darted away, though he heard Lysander trip the moment he tried to run after him. Likely the bean-tighe as well.

Thank goodness for the kindness of faeries. Or he’d have died here a long time ago.

He ran past the library where he’d told his brothers he planned to go. The dust-covered books were rarely touched by anyone but himself, and even then, the grimoires liked to scream if someone stroked a finger down their spines. He sprinted past the corridor that led to his father’s wing because Balthazar Orbweaver never left that side of the house unless it was for family business. Past the dining room with its massive chandelier decorated with spider webs and tiny crystals carved to look like knives.

Alistair didn’t slow down until he reached the servants’ quarters and the section of the house that disappeared underground. His father liked to believe that the help didn’t need light, but Alistair knew they’d found other ways to illuminate their way.

The stairs leading down into the kitchens were always slick. Two doors leading outside hit the cold air of this home, making water pool and drip down the stairs. They were horribly dangerous. He’d heard of too many servants falling and injuring themselves.

He took his time getting downstairs, one hand on the wall and socks soaking up the water until his steps were wet slaps echoing around the stones. But he made it down without slipping, then rounded the corner into the massive kitchen that made up most of the underbelly of the manor.

Food filled one long table to the brim with all they would need this week. Four butlers ordered the maids about, each telling another person where the food items should be stored to keep everything edible for the longest amount of time.

Two chefs stood on opposite ends of the kitchen, each one manning a massive stove that burped and belched like monsters devouring everything put inside them. Alistair used to fear those horrible contraptions. Even now, he knew better than to stand next to them. They spat coals at people they didn’t like.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he flinched in fear. Had his brothers found him again? He thought the bean-tighe would keep them busy for a little while, at least.

Instead, the hand softened around the joint and gently squeezed him. “We were wondering if you’d make your way down here, Master Alistair. We didn’t see you at breakfast!”

He looked up at one of the maids who had always been kind to him and felt all the tension in his body ease. “Hello, Nora.”

“Hungry?” she asked.

Vigorous nods were her answer, and he knew he didn’t have to tell her why he hadn’t been to breakfast. All the servants knew their place in this home, but they also knew his. They’d seen how his father reacted to Alistair’s mere existence. The last thing he wanted was to see his father if he could avoid it.

Alistair trailed her through the kitchen, dodging maids with arms laden with food, butlers with scowls and pressed suits, and the chef on the right who tried to pop him on the head with a spoon. At least they weren’t afraid of him like they were the rest of his family. He considered that a good sign.

Finally, they made it to the back of the kitchen. Nora whirled around and put her hands over his eyes. “Wait! You aren’t supposed to see this yet.”

He lifted his own hands to cover his eyes and sighed. “Why not?”

“Because, little master.”

Right. If anyone else had talked to him like that or said it in front of his father, they would have their tongue cut out. Balthazar would have used their entrails in his next spell.

He sighed and waited while a commotion whirled around him. Though there were noises he recognized, like footsteps and the clattering of dishes, there were also a few sounds he didn’t. Like... feathers? Was that ruffling feathers?

“All right!” Nora called out. “You can look.”

He lowered his hands to stare at the empty table in front of him. There was nothing there but the worn oak and stone wall behind it. Screwing up his face in confusion, he pushed at the edges of his knitted hat to see better. “Nora?” he asked, then turned around.

The staff had rushed to get rid of the food on the table behind him, or at least some of it. They’d pushed most to the back and now stood around the end near him with a tiny honey cake set up at the edge.

A single flame flickered atop a precious candle, clearly made with the leftovers of others. There were at last twenty different wax colors in it, but it still burned for him, and that was special.

Nora clasped her hand at her heart and grinned. “Happy birthday, Alistair. Many blessings to you for this year.”

It was his birthday?

Sixteen years felt like a milestone he should have remembered, but the days passed either too slow, or too quick, in this house. He’d forgotten. Somehow.

Apparently, no one else had remembered either. Other than the servants.

A tiny faerie shuffled forward on the table with a flower hidden behind his back. The brownie was one of his favorites, although the only way he could tell the difference between the mouse-like creatures was the color of their hats. This one had a bright red cap on top of his head. He dragged a daisy into view and let the glamour fall away from it so the rest of the staff could see it.

The red-faced chef noticed it first. He let out a boom of laughter and pointed to the flower. “Even the real help of the manor agrees! Happy birthday, dear boy.”

The servants knew about the fae just like he did. They were the only ones who made him feel sane when he was just a little boy and first started seeing faerie creatures that crawled up the wallpaper and hissed at his attention.

They’d all come a long way from those first few moments.

Nora gestured for him to come up to the table. “Come on, Alistair. Blow out your candle and then the rest of us will get back to work. No need for you to wait much longer, otherwise your father will find out.”

He’d find out no matter what, Alistair thought. Balthazar had eyes in every part of this manor and always knew what the servants were doing. Though, he’d never said anything about them paying extra attention to his youngest son. Maybe the old man had a heart, after all.

Lungs filling with a deep breath, he blew out the candle and tried hard not to let his cheeks turn bright red as the servants all cheered quietly around him. He failed. The brownie laughed at him, although it was a sweet sound and not filled with malice. The tiny mouse-like man gave him a little bow and pointed at the flower. As though it was important.

Alistair picked it up and twirled the long stem between his equally long fingers. The petals billowed out from the bright yellow center, and a sweet scent like honey filled the air. The fae had always taken good care of them. They wanted him to be happy, but sometimes he worried they stayed in this crypt of a house because of him.

The other servants started off so they didn’t fall behind on their work. But Miss Nora stayed right beside him and then leaned down to squeeze his shoulders in an awkward hug.

“Are you doing anything fun for your birthday?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t even remember it was my birthday, miss.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Then straightened with a determined expression on her face. The maid ripped off her apron and yelled to the cook, “Didn’t you say we needed to get more milk?”

The cook gave her a startled look before he noticed Alistair still standing beside her. With a soft smile on his face, he replied, “I did.”

She held out her hand for him to take, palm up, cheeks bright red. She had to know the rules that she’d break by taking him out of the house. And yet, Nora still said, “Why don’t you come with me, Master Alistair?”

He shouldn’t. He’d get her in trouble. and his father might even fire her. It wasn’t easy in Wildecliff to get a job, let alone in a house as prestigious as this.

And yet... It was his birthday. And his own family had forgotten that.

Alistair slapped his hand down on hers and nodded. “I’d like that, Miss Nora.”