Chapter 27

ChapterTwenty-Seven

10 years later

Dust motes floated in the air throughout the study. Alistair had tried everything he possibly could to get rid of them. Every spell that he knew from the damned Academy. Every maid that he could hire. None of it changed.

It was like the spirit of his father had hung around in the form of dust just to make him angry.

Blowing a breath across the paperwork in front of him, he cleared a few spots of ink that had gotten too messy to see. Leaning back, he lifted the paper to the meager silver light coming through the window and realized that he’d somehow dragged his hand across the wet ink. The words were not legible. The whole thing needed to be rewritten, and he already had a stack the size of his arm in front of him that needed the same treatment.

He could break down and use the magical quill that wouldn’t allow him to make mistakes. But the spell had been wearing out for a while on that and… well…he only used it for special occasions.

Letting out a groan, he dropped his head onto the table with a thud. The papers rattled beside him, shifting as though they were going to tumble onto the floor. Maybe that would be an excuse for him to leave this room for the day and come back to it all tomorrow.

When had his life taken this horrible turn? He wanted to live a life full of mystery and wild adventures. Now, he sat at his father’s desk every day and signed papers until his vision swam.

The door creaked open, and he let his mind wander in guessing whether it was the maid or if it was an errant fae who had wandered into his home. The faerie creatures had been particularly pushy the past few months. Red deer kept showing up outside of his house while leaving scratch marks on the ground.

Reminders that he was supposed to do his job in protecting them. So far, he’d kept that promise, but the Academy was pushing him more and more lately. The Headmistress wanted to see into the faerie realm. She wanted him to make something that would let them peer through the veil.

They had no idea he’d already made something exactly like that.

A warm hand smoothed between his shoulder blades. “Alistair, have you eaten today?”

“No,” he muttered into the table. “I have too much work to do.”

“You never have too much work for food.” Something clinked against the table and then scraped over the edge. “Make sure you get something in your belly, or you’ll keel over. And I’m sure your father would love to know that you passed out trying to do all the work he did on a regular basis.”

“Why does it feel like you’re making fun of me?” Alistair finally lifted his head and leaned back in the chair.

Nora, not one of the fae, had brought him a small tray with a tiny brass teapot, two cups, and a plate full of breakfast food. Eggs, bacon, freshly buttered bread. It all smelled delicious, but his stomach turned at the sight of it.

She no longer wore the maid’s outfit he’d gotten so used to. Instead, Nora had been promoted and therefore wore whatever she wanted. She’d taken to wearing men’s trousers in a deep blue, with a lovely blouse that had tiny blue flowers all over it. The matching blue vest with silver buttons didn’t make her look masculine in the slightest, nor did she look like a butler. But maybe that was aided by the face-framing curls she let hang out of her bun.

He still had his father’s voice in his head, muttering that men didn’t get to eat until the work was done, and if he was so weak, then one of his brothers should have this job. He had to shake off the memory before his body would let him even consider taking a bite without vomiting.

Nora sat down on the edge of his desk, not caring at all that she crinkled a few of those very important documents.

What were they again?

She leaned forward and ran her thumb over his forehead. “You’ve ink on your head again.”

He mumbled through the mouthful of food, “Probably because I laid it on wet ink.”

With pursed lips and a scowl that should have been blistering, Nora eyed him as she always did when she was disappointed. She had every reason to be. Alistair had thrown himself into the work as only a man possessed could do. And that was years ago.

She’d changed in that time. The creases around her eyes were deeper. Her forehead now had permanent wrinkles that came with running an entire household full of maids, while her counterpart, the head butler, pretended he still ran the other side of it. Though he was so ancient, he frequently forgot their names. She’d done a good job stepping into the role, though.

Alistair didn’t know what he’d do without her.

Sighing, he put his bread back down onto the plate and pulled a handkerchief out of his front pocket. “I understand you think I’m going to work myself into an early grave if I keep this up.”

“Not think. Know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Look at your father. He died all too early, and that was because of this work.”

One might think that was the cause of his father’s death. But Alistair had a feeling it was more likely the ancient god he kept in their basement. The one that Alistair was still ignoring because he didn’t want to deal with the creature’s wrath once it was let out.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he stared at all the papers and relented. “I know it’s too much work for one man to do. That’s why father always had Cassius to help him. Paperwork doesn’t move if someone isn’t doing it.”

“It only grows bigger the more you ignore it.” Nora nodded. “So why haven’t you thought about finding someone to help you?”

He had. But the documents here... Surely there were family secrets in them? “I don’t know anyone in Wildecliff that I would hire on. After father’s death, you know how the vultures swarmed. They all wanted a job here, or to marry one of my brothers. All the gossip started when they were turned away. I want to avoid that tragedy again.”

It wasn’t that he cared so much if people were talking about his family. That never bothered Alistair. What bothered him was that they were talking about family secrets. Things even he hadn’t known about. When the crowds of Wildecliff had smelled blood in the water, everyone arrived early for the feast.

“Then don’t hire someone from Wildecliff.” Nora lifted an eyebrow. “The gates are open again. The war is over.”

So it was. A year ago now, in fact, although very few people would admit it had been that long.

He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose as a headache bloomed behind his eyes, but his glasses got in the way. Ripping them off, he slumped in his chair with a little too much angst.

Alistair hated that he had to wear glasses now. He hated how chained he was to this desk and if someone could help him, then...

“Fine,” he muttered. “What do I have to do?”

“Oh good. I’m glad you agreed.” Nora stood and left the room for a few moments.

He stared after his head housekeeper as though she had lost her mind. Why had she walked out after he asked a question? Was she not at least required to answer it?

Then she bustled back in with a stack of papers in her hands. “I thought you needed help, and that you wouldn’t admit it easily. I already submitted the position through a job agency. There is a business set up in Waterdown Commons that is working on creating relationships between the two river cities.”

She set the stack down in front of him with a thud. Dust billowed from underneath it and made Alistair sneeze a few times before he pressed the handkerchief back against his mouth.

“And this is?” he asked.

“All the applications. There were quite a few qualified people who wished to work with you, and some that were... less qualified.” She tapped her finger against the stack. “I already took the liberty of looking through the applications, although I’ll admit, I don’t know exactly what you’ll want this person to do. All I need is for you to review them and—“

He picked the top application off the stack and handed it to her.

Nora blinked at him owlishly. “What are you doing?”

“I trust your opinion more than anyone else’s, Nora. If you think this person was the best of the bunch, then hire them.”

“Well, I...” Nora took the paper hesitantly. “I didn’t place them in any particular order. There were at least twelve applicants who had remarkable references and...”

He interrupted her again. “Hire them. I don’t care who they are or where they come from. If they can even do half a stack in a month, that’s better than I’m doing now.”

“Regardless, I think it would be wise for you to at least read which applicant you’ve handed me.”

She tried to return the piece of paper to him, but honestly, he didn’t care. Whatever man or woman wanted to leave the haven of their home in Waterdown and come to this dying city... They could come here. He’d give them a roof over their head, food, and whatever amount of work they wanted to do. At this point, he was so beyond caring that he didn’t think it mattered who the person was.

He’d have very little to do with them, anyway, considering his work at the Academy kept him rather busy. Being a professor wasn’t the job he’d ever wanted, but the children kept him on his toes.

Sighing, he stood and tried not to wince at the crick in his back that had tightened up after sitting for such a long time. “Just send them a letter, Nora. The sooner they can get in here, the better. I’d prefer not to be sitting at that desk for so long.”

“Do you want them to have any other responsibilities in the home?” She stood with him, her eyes a little too wide. “You’re hiring a secretary, but I don’t know if you have enough work to keep them busy the entire time.”

Again, he didn’t care about any of that. “Put them in for a half-time secretary and if you need someone else to work in the house with you, then use them as you see fit.”

Nora scanned over the document in her hand. “I think this person would be qualified for a lot of jobs in the household, but I want to warn you—“

He wanted no more warnings. He didn’t want to talk either. The headache seemed to get worse now that he wasn’t so engrossed in signing paperwork, and that meant he couldn’t think through the pain that tightened around his skull like someone had tied a band around his head. “Nora.”

Apparently, he’d said the word with a bit more of a tone than he should have. She straightened and eyed him with a nervous glance. “Master.”

“Please don’t call me that.” He put his chilly hand against his forehead, which seemed to help a bit. “I have a headache that feels like it’s going to split my skull in two. Can you please have one of the maids bring up one of your famous teas?”

“For the headache or for sleep?”

“Can you mix the two?”

She nodded. “I can. And I’ll take care of this for you as well. It shouldn’t take much longer than a couple of weeks to get someone on a ship and bring them over.”

“Good.” He hoped it would be sooner than that, but school was starting soon, anyway. If someone came in two weeks, he likely wouldn’t see them for a while.

Maybe, if he were particularly lucky, the next time he saw that desk, there would be half the amount of papers on it. Nora would figure out how to get the new secretary notarized so they could sign everything for him.

Slowly walking down the hallway, he remembered what this house had once been. The cold mist remained in certain sections of the house, but a lot of the old finery had been sold off after he had to deal with his father’s debt. The floors were even colder these days without the fine rugs. Though faint shadows of where they once were remained on the floors, as though the house wanted to remind him it had once been great.

No more chandeliers swung over his head. Instead, there were merely bare bulbs illuminating the corridors. They flickered as he walked underneath them through the undecorated halls. No statues. No artwork. It was a house that felt like the skeleton of what had once been a home. But he knew that it had never been a home—only a prison for those who lived here.

Alistair paused at the base of the stairwell. Behind him was the locked door to the basement where all the mist erupted from. The cold, white tendrils clung to his ankles as though they wanted him to open that door and disappear into the depths that had consumed his father.

He would never. Could never.

Alistair knew what awaited him in those lonely shadows, and he knew it would not be kind. Nor did it care to see another Orbweaver whispering promises they never would keep.

He wrapped his hand around the banister and pulled himself away from that door. Each step up the stairwell felt as though he were trying to run through deep water. But he made it to the landing where his father’s portrait had once hung. Now, there was only a blank wall with a large rectangle of darkness.

Trailing his fingers over the shadow, he crept up the stairwell toward his own room.

“I know,” he muttered to the ghost of his father, who walked with him every step of the way. “You hate what this house has become. But it’s all your fault, you know. You bound me to this house, father, and I will take care of it best I can. Still, all you did was chain me to a corpse and tell me not to eat it to survive.”

Shuffling down the long hall, he tried not to look at the locked doors to his brother’s rooms as he made it to his own.