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So, for my entire life, it’s been Isolde. She made sure we had everything we needed to tend to the Sage alphas and omegas in a satisfactory manner.
Apparently, we don’t need much.
In the kitchen, Beth and Nancy are standing with the remnants of the coffee tray I dropped in their arms, watching Noah storm through the kitchen with matching awestruck expressions.
Inwardly, I groan. I’m sure this will be all anyone talks about for weeks. I don’t think Noah has set foot in the kitchen in years, and now he’s carrying me about?
As he carefully scales the narrow basement steps, I envision Gran moving quickly in our room. Hiding things. Sweeping away secrets.
Honestly, most of her secrets only involve plants, which he probably wouldn’t understand, anyway—I definitely don’t.
Noah barely fits in the stairwell, and as we enter the hall, I feel him attempt to contract his shoulders to walk through the narrow space. It’s dark, and he pulls the strings hanging from the light bulbs as we pass them, casting a dull, yellow glow over the space.
Most of the doors that line the hallway lead to large storage closets, and one of them is considered the wine cellar. It’s not until we get to the last set of doors that he stops, looking down at me curiously.
I see it in his eyes—he can’t believe that we’d live in any of these closets.
“It’s this one,” I croak, pointing to the door on the left as Isolde’s crisp voice echoes in my brain.
Males on the right.
Females on the left.
He grunts and pushes the door open, pausing as he takes in the tiny room. I shift uncomfortably, my eyes downcast—I know what he’s thinking.
How sad.
I had no idea.
It’s a narrow room, just big enough for the two three-tiered bunk beds on each side with a bureau between them—Gran’s currently kneeled in front of it, struggling to shove the full bottom drawer closed.
There’s only one tiny egress window next to the top bed of the right-side bunks. It joins the hanging lightbulb in coating the room in a dirty, pale light.
Nancy’s as old as Gran and has no interest in a top bunk, but Cleo and Beth switch off who gets to sleep in the bunk next to the window each week. I’ve never slept there, though. I prefer to stay close to Gran. She sleeps on the left bottom bunk, and I’m right above her on the middle bunk.
“It’s that one,” I whisper to Noah, pointing to my bed.
At the sound of my voice, he snaps out of his shock and steps forward before setting me on top of the covers like I’m a fine, breakable object. He leans down next to me, his eyes surveying my face curiously while Gran floats behind him, watching worriedly.
“Get out,” he says softly, his eyes trained on my face.
It takes both Gran and me a moment to realize he’s talking to her and not me.
“No,” she says firmly, standing up a bit straighter.
“I want to talk to Hetty,” he says, still not turning around. “Alone.”
“That’s not a good idea—” she starts, but he cuts her off with a roar.
“Go!”
We both jump. Gran’s not usually cowed by much, but for the second time today, she listens to Noah and reluctantly shuffles into the hallway.
“This is where you sleep?” he asks once she’s gone. His face hovers a foot or so over mine, worried lines spreading from his eyes and mouth.
I nod. “All the betas sleep here. Don, Lou, and the boys are across the hall.”
In total, Sage House has nine beta servants. Don and Lou are as old as Gran and Nancy, but the other males, Oli and Beck, are younger. The males mostly handle the garden and work outside, so I’m not as friendly with them.
