Page 116 of Mortdale

Her lips parted as she drew one deep inhale and turned away from me, grabbing her glass and taking a long drink. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to herself, her pulse suddenly growing unsteady. “I—” Her shaking hand came to her throat. “I think I need to use the lavatory.”

And then she was gone.

Closing my eyes, I stepped into the cloud of perfume she’d left behind, nuzzling the scent until my lungs were drowned in it.

She’d not reappeared after that. Lu and Ulric had left sometime after, too.

I knew better than to invade her space when she needed time to process everything, but something felt wrong. Her thundering pulse had slowly moved away from the vicinity of the estate. The moment it vanished entirely, there was no quieting my brain.

Getting up, I left my study, stopping when I spotted Liam sat on the stairs, reading a book.

“Where’s Willow? Why are you not with her?”

He frowned, hiding the book he was reading behind his back. “She said she was going on a walk with Henry.”

“Who?” Henry asked, leaning against a pillar as we chewed on an apple. Whatever was written on my face had him straighten up. “She’s with Art. They left me a note.”

Liam stood from the stairs. “Arthur? No, he’s in charge of training today. He’s at the drill halls.”

Fuck.

I crossed the corridor to her room where her scent still lingered. Piper sat on her bed, playing with Willow’s rat who now wore a set of pink pants and a blouse that I was sure belonged to one of her dolls.

My niece squealed when I hauled her off the bed and kissed her over a dozen times. “Bunny, where’s Willow?”

She thought about it for a moment, sighed gravely, and thought about it some more. Tracing a finger on her palm as if she was recalling things, she said, “Boo said to tell you that she’s alright and that…that there’s something she needs to do before she has to go.”

Something cold sank at the bottom of my stomach. “Go where, Bunny?”

“To a very nice place.” She itched her cheek. “She told me, but I forgot the name. She said there’s many flowers and it’s always warm—but not too warm because it burns the skin.” She blinked up at me. “But it’s a nice place, Bear. She should go. You’ll let her go, Bear. Please.”

“Bunny,” I pleaded. “Where is she? Sweetheart, you have to tell me.”

Her face suddenly filled with worry. “She write letters,” she said, reaching under the pillow to hand me a folded piece of paper.

“Christof!” I called, taking the stairs down two at a time as I unfolded my wife’s note. “Get Edwin to ready my horse. Now!”

I need to know, Logan.

I need answers.

Nothing makes sense.

I need something to make sense.

Fuck.

Nightshade Cemetery was warm at night. Fireflies dipping in and out of the pale mist, hopping from one grey gravestone to the other, circling around the dark-coloured flowers that had sprouted around the footstones.

The grey fog stirred as I broke through it, heading in the direction of the most deafening sound in the night. The same sound that had led me here.

Loose grey hair cascaded down her face, soaked by the rain and clumped with wet soil. She sat with her legs folded under her at the foot of a grave, bracing her shoulder against a shovel.

Three graves were dug up, and her fingertips were bleeding into the wet wooden handle.

I threw my jacket around her shoulders, resting my forehead against her temple as I held her tightly to me, trying to offer her any bit of warmth I could muster.

Her voice was hoarse, lost and fragile when she finally said, “Why wouldn’t you just tell me? Why would you let me believe you had a hand in it?” she bellowed, throwing the shovel to the ground, breathing so heavily I thought her lungs would burst. “Is that why you had me watched at every hour of the day? Why…why I couldn't be near even a fork or a butter knife? Why Christof was always there when I stood at the top of the stairs, why Liam tracked every step I took, why Arthur and Henry always spawned out of nowhere to be with me? Did you think I was going to lose my mind and kill myself like the rest of the witches? Like Cassandra?”