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“Do you know…” I looked down at my shirt. “It’s just…”
“For heaven’s sake, child, spit it out.”
“These are my clothes, but I didn’t bring them here. Do you know if I have others? Or where they came from?”
“No, but I bet Hollis will have something. He’s in the garden out back.”
I walked to the door, resting a hand on the knob. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
She wiped her fingers on her apron with a laugh. “People have come and gone from this house for years, Maiden. Some stick around longer than others, some are dangerous, some are shy. Some are broken, some are healing. But all are human, and we have our own burdens and stories. The way I see it, you probably haven’t been shown a lot of kindness in your life. I’m sure you don’t quite know what to do with any of us. But we’re only people, like you, trying to make the most of our situations. I am not afraid of you, only worried for my son and that power inside of you. But I think you have a story to tell, as well. And just maybe, you’ll find a space here to share it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, and nothing came out. I hated that I was feared, but there was comfort in the boundaries. Solace in the solitude. Her words were unnerving.
“The back door is down the other hall on the right.”
Hollis, wrist-deep in dirt, was still impeccably dressed, wearing a leather wide-brim hat, though the clouds had lingered. When he saw me coming, he stood, wiping dirty hands on a cloth before pulling out his golden pocket watch to check the time. “Hello, Little Dove.”
I wanted so desperately to ask about his sister. She was younger, but already gone. Had been gone for at least twenty-six years. Which meant she’d succumbed to the madness, and it devoured her. She’d killed too many, too fast, and had paid the ultimate price.
“This might seem strange, but Elowen thought you would have a change of clothes for me.”
He stroked a thumb over his chin, gesturing for me to turn. I twisted slowly, feeling every bit the fool I must have seemed.
“I’m a tailor. Clothing is precisely the right thing to ask about. I have a simple outfit. Not your usual leather, I’m afraid, but I can make you something soon. Wait here.”
As he made his way inside, his gait a bit slower than most, I knelt and continued pulling the weeds he’d been working on in the slightly overgrown garden. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, though, and when a particularly stubborn weed plopped out with a tiny carrot on the end, I jerked upright, glanced at the door to make sure no one was watching, and shoved it into my pocket. Taking three giant steps away, I tucked my hands behind my back and waited, content to leave the gardening to the old man.
He strode from the house with a gentle whistle, carrying a pile of neatly folded clothes. I didn't really care what they were, as long as they were clean and fit well enough.
“Just some pants and a buttoned shirt for you. I hoped you could manage the buttons with your wound.”
“Oh, umm. It’s not bothering me much today.”
“Good. There’s a river that runs along the east there, just over that small hill. It’s private, and the water’s usually still warm for a few more weeks before the frost sets in.” He dug into his pocket and laid a bar of soap on top of the pile. “It isn’t the nicest smelling, but it’ll do. Most that come to stay for a bit use it, and I haven’t had a complaint yet.”
I didn’t remember to thank him until I was already out of earshot.
The path leading to the riverbank was lined with lush vegetation, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The scent of wildflowers and damp earth filled the air, rejuvenating my senses. Beyond the hill, just as he’d promised, in a small clearing, the river flowed serenely, shimmering like liquid silver under the scattered rays of sun battling the clouds.
The water’s surface danced over rocks, with ripples enticing me to immerse myself in its cool embrace. I removed my clothes, feeling the weight of the world gradually lifted with each layer discarded. The air was slightly chilly, but I knew the river’s touch would be revitalizing.
The riverbed beneath my feet was a symphony of smooth stones and soft silt, its texture grounding me to the earth. I waded until the water reached my waist, and then, with a graceful dive, I fully submerged myself in the refreshing stream, feeling only a small ache where I’d been stabbed.
The initial shock of the water’s chill claimed a breath, but as I resurfaced, revitalized, I let out a contented sigh, my muscles relaxing. I ran my fingers through the water. The gentle current caressed my skin, carrying away the sweat and grime that’d plagued me.
I could have stayed in that river forever. Might have tried, had bickering voices not interrupted my stolen peace. I strained to listen, my heart quickening as I recognized the familiar timbre of Orin’s voice. I whipped around just in time to see him and Paesha moving down the hill.
I covered my breasts with my hands as if they could see me from there. If I swam to the bank and managed to get out of the water fast enough, I still wouldn’t be able to dress before they arrived. There was no escape here. I pressed myself against the partially submerged trunk of a fallen tree, its branches providing some concealment.
But when I’d emerged, keeping only my eyes and nose above the water, I watched as Orin gently shoved her backward, clearly agitated by her attempted help, until he’d barked something rude, and she’d flipped him off before storming away.
He watched her leave, waiting for her to fall beyond the cover of the hill, then moved to the edge of the riverbed and gripped the loose bottom of his shirt. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, as if the forest itself held its breath, anticipating what was to come. I should have looked away. But gods help me, the second that shirt came off, I couldn’t move.
He dropped his pants just as quickly, and my thundering heart should have given me away. Utter perfection stood on the bank of that river, as if he’d been crafted as my personal punishment for every one of my sins. Orin Faber was an indulgence I’d never let myself experience.
The bandage had already been removed, and had I not been holding my breath, I might have gasped at the condition of the wounds on his side, still fiery red and swollen. Though you could see each individual slash from that hellhound across his stomach, he was far more healed than he should have been. Interesting. He couldn’t be hiding the Life Maiden and simply visited her. He hadn’t left that room. Not a single person had wandered in either. He was clearly still injured. Still slow to move. But something was off.
Orin’s healing was not the only mysterious thing about him. In fact, it might have been the least concerning feature when he faced my direction, revealing a heart so black it showed through his skin. Even the surrounding veins had turned black, growing from his heart like vines. For a moment, I thought it might be the most beautiful, intricate tattoo I’d ever seen, until it throbbed.
