Page 40 of Mortdale

“I want to eat.”

A beautiful long-sleeved sapphire blue dress with a white bertha collar along the low bodice was hung up in my dressing room, and several pear pins were scattered on the desk along with a pair of heavy diamond earrings I was most certainly not going to wear.

Leaning close to the mirror, I tried the earrings. “I gave you food this morning.”

“Four dead bugs. That’s not food. I was the head of my clan in the Beyond! Until I was banished here. And you treat me with bugs.”

“You ungrateful asshole. Do you know what I went through to find them? Nearly got poked in the eye by a pigeon.”

“Let me eat the girl.”

“Mention eating Piper again and I will flush you down the toilet,” I harshly whispered, grabbing him off the bed and pressing a few kisses on his cute head before shoving him in a shelf.

The entire cupboard rattled from his little hungry hysterics. But I was too distracted; a jar of bones that had been left on top of it along with a letter.

Ten high quality hyoid bones. Still on the search for toenails and fingernails.

I muffled a squeal, running out to actually kiss the moustache-man this time, only to nearly break my nose against my husband’s chest.

Both his hands were in his pockets. He was freshly showered, hair still wet and white shirt clinging to his chest. “Running away or planning to fling yourself off the balustrade?”

I held a hand to my pounding nose. “Option none.” Lifting the jar to his face, I shook it to make the bones rattle. “Look what Christof got for me. I think I’m in love with him! This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Do you know how many times I’ve had to dig into bone flea markets for at least one singular piece of an intact hyoid?”

“I’m guessing a lot.”

I nodded. “Like eight times. They put me on a banned clientele list for haggling too much with the vendors. I couldn’t go back. And Ethel is very funny about small bones.” I shook the jar again. “It’s the only bone in the human body that does not directly articulate to another bone.” Hiking the jar under my armpit, I grabbed his hand, bringing his fingers to my throat. “It’s right here.” I swallowed. “Feel that?”

My smile slowly fell when his expression turned solemn and so tense I thought he’d snap in half. The ring of gold around his eyes had disappeared, laying flat against the dark limbal ring.

“I’m wearing a dress,” I told him, letting go of him and stepping back. “Tonight, I mean.”

His hand was still against my throat for some reason, his fingers lingering over my pulse before he pulled them back to his side, stretching as if he’d touched something dirty. After a few seconds of stewing in the awkward, fermented air, he undid his tie and pressed it to my bleeding nose. “Be ready in an hour.”

The earl’s home was spacious, but not nearly as big as my husband’s, set on a wide drumlin surrounded by woodland that extended out to the sea. You could hear the waves crashing in the distance, echoing through the barrier of the large pine trunks that had filled the night air with a sharp, musky scent. The shapes of the old half-timbered building were softer, painted a warmer rosy colour with delicate pale lace curtains draping the square windows framing a starless night filled with grey thunder. It looked like what I’d imagined home felt like. It looked lived-in. Loved. Alive in a way.

I ran my fingers over the soft green cashmere sofa drenched in the warm yellow lamplight, and could feel the stories told under candlelight, the drunken afternoon laughter, the long nights spent on it while gazing out at the sea. And I was so sick with wonder, to know what that felt like.

The Earl of Galahad didn’t look old enough to be my husband’s grandfather. The patriarch was dressed head to toe in a tight navy silk suit, adorned with ornate pins and various diamond-encrusted chains coming down the lapels. His pale blond hair was almost white, short on the sides and slicked all the way back with something shiny. A meerschaum pipe was clutched between his teeth as he smiled at Logan and patted his shoulder before pulling him in a hug. His wife was something more gentle, reserved in the way she presented herself—her bronze-coloured hair was gathered in a flawless apollo knot and she wore a tea green dress that hugged her slender body. Her features were soft and elegant just like the rest of her, and I could finally see where my husband had inherited his graceful nose and sculpted, full mouth.

As she let go of him with a pat on his cheek, her eyes skimmed me head to toe. “This must be Willow.”

“She is,” I agreed, feeling somewhat conscious of my overdressed state. Diamonds, pearls, silks and brocade. None of them belonged on someone like me, and it was obvious to any working eye. They’ll laugh at you, a voice deep in my head echoed. Shame was the first emotion I’d learnt to swallow. And I was awfully good at consuming it. To the point I sometimes craved it.

“Ah,” the earl said, reaching to cup my shoulders as he took the liberty to stare me straight in the face. “And she’s a beauty.”

My smile shook a little as I bowed my head. “A pleasure to meet you.”

They didn’t know the Willow I’d left back in Meridian. The fact should comfort me, but I liked her even when they laughed at her.

“Look at you two,” he said, huffing a cloud of smoke in our faces as he shook his head. “Who would have thought? My grandson. Married. To a witch, nonetheless.”

Right. That was me.

“She’s got people in a jar!” Piper wildly announced, and I winced.

“They’re bones. Just bones of people. I collect,” I awkwardly explained.

“Ah,” her grandfather gasped in mock fascination. “Incredible. You will have to show me some day.”