I wrapped my hand around the silky paper, not sure what to say or how to react. Maybe this was something rich people did? Gave presents to strangers they encountered. Their way of saying,We don’t bite. My eyes caught the shine of his ring again. It had a single letter engraved into it.L.
“Open it later,” Hudson added, and I nodded, glancing down at the gift in my hands.
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice quieter than I meant.
The last time I got a present was almost two years ago. It was the last Christmas my mum and I celebrated in our flat. It seemed so long ago now. The lights greyed in my memory as the laughs faded.
“How nice of you.” Lilian smiled. “And as of what we agreed upon, can I count on you?”
My attention shifted with interest. What could she possibly mean by that? She wasn’t in politics, was she? My eyes flickeredbetween them. Hudson’s expression was bored, almost blank, as his fingers trailed the carved bird on his umbrella handle.
“As always,” he said at last, and Lilian nodded, flashing him a pearly-white smile.
The small hairs rose on my nape. I wondered what conversation had passed between the two before she’d summoned me here.
“Splendid,” she said, her fingers curling into my shoulder.
I could barely stop myself from slipping out from under her grip, but I knew better than to risk my stay here with stubborn moves. Hudson suddenly stepped back, just as a bird fell from the sky, landing on the frozen ground with a thud. I flinched, its movement slow as if waving goodbye to life as it knew it, before going rigid.
“Poor thing,” Lilian leaned down, brushing the rusty-brown head of the dead nightingale. “How unfortunate that you stood back,” she glanced up at Hudson. “You might have been able to save its life.”
My brows twitched. “That’s not true,” I said, the words pushing past my lips before I could’ve stopped them. “Birds didn’t just fall from the sky if they were healthy.” Whether Hudson had somehow magically caught it or not, it would’ve died.
Lilian didn’t look up; instead, she lifted the limp body of the bird and stood, brushing its head as if it were s taking a nap.
“Interesting,” she answered, catching my gaze. “I didn’t know you knew so much about birds.”
I didn’t, it was just common sense, but I didn’t say that.
“Miss Elodie,” Hudson’s gaze found mine, and he bowed his head slightly. “Lilian, it was a pleasure, as always.” He nodded, and with that, he turned and left the way he came, leaving behind neat footprints in the dew-slick earth before any of us could react.
Lilian’s gaze lingered on his back. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” she asked, her tone casual like she wasn’t still holding a dead bird in her hands.
I blinked. “I did.” I nodded. “Thank you.”
She smiled, then walked around me, placing the nightingale between the thorny flowers.
“I’ll take care of it later.” She straightened, and looped her arm through mine. “Come,” she murmured. “I want to show you something.”
My eyes drifted to the gift in my hand as she guided me through the sleeping garden toward the gaping entrance of the maze. Its hedges loomed high, thick with ivy and needle-like thorns.
“Your mum relished playing here,” Lilian said, as we walked into the dark throat of the green beast. “She would vanish for hours.”
I tried to picture it—my mum running wild through these paths, laughter in her throat, no weight on her shoulders. And just like that, up ahead, a girl darted across the path. Dark hair, pale skin, flushed cheeks. She was laughing, and for a breath, I saw her. My mum. Not as she was before she died, but young. Alive. Whole.
She vanished around the corner like mist, leaving a pulsing ache in the hole in my chest. We reached a clearing at the heart of the maze. In its centre was the sculpture I’d seen from my window. Tall, black, twisting like nightmares breaking loose, but definitely not moving.
“What do you think it is?” Lilian asked, circling it.
I followed her example, moving around the rich and dark stone. Not marble as I first assumed, something else. I narrowed my eyes at the dark whirling casts stretching towards the grey sky. Something about it felt…familiar. It wasn’t fire, or claws or bony fingers, but it looked like something just as powerful. Ishook my head, letting my gaze drop to the engraved words at the base of the sculpture. It was Latin.
“It’s a representation of the Thornbury family,” Lilian said, when I didn’t answer. She brushed her hand across the stone, and for a moment I could’ve sworn it shivered under her touch. “Your great-great-grandfather designed it entirely of obsidian.” She pointed at the name engraved under the Latin sentence.
Orion Thornbury.I remembered him from the article I read at Anhe Fei’s. He was the one who died of Tuberculosis. I tried to puzzle out the words carved above the name, but I couldn’t. My Latin was still non-existent.
“Darkness consumes, darkness takes, and from it, we rule,” Lilian said, her voice low, melodic. “It’s our family’s motto.” Her head twisted in my direction. “Did your mum ever talk about us?” she asked, and I shook my head.
She hummed and sat down at a forged bench embellished with thorny vines. She patted the empty space beside her and waited until I was seated. The cold iron bit into my legs even through the layers of my pants. She took my hand and squeezed it, the feeling caging and suffocating.
