Page 6 of Four Promises to Love

Sarah, of course, had vanished. He supposed he was lucky that she hadn’t slit his throat before doing so. It was a lesson: he had no business getting entangled with any female. Even if he managed not to hurt a potential mate, there was no guarantee that she would extend him the same courtesy. A broken heart would be the straw that broke him for good—and he could not risk it.

“No lady will change my mind,” he said. “I have no intention of getting married.”

“Intention has nothing to do with it. You will fall in love,” Gigi said. “It is the family tradition.”

“And the rhyme about Bloody Thom foretells that love’s seasons will free him from his curse,” Xenia mused. “There are four seasons—and your three siblings have already fallen in love. You are the last season, Owen; your turn will come.”

The wistful pang he felt was overshadowed by his self-knowledge: of who he was and what he’d done. He was struck by the terrible irony.

They believe that I will break a curse. What they don’t realize is that I am a curse. A blight that ruins the lives of those who come too close.

Owen knew he couldn’t atone for the pain he’d caused. But he would try. He would dedicate his remaining years to supporting his family, the way they had supported him. From now on, he would be a dependable brother, dutiful son, and loving uncle to his siblings’ offspring. If he could manage those three things, he would count himself content.

Luckily, the door to Pell House opened, diverting attention away from him. A lad dressed in the color of shadows stood in the entryway. His ash-blond hair was meticulously parted and pomaded, and his eyes were long and pale green. While he had the gangly build of early manhood, he had none of its awkwardness as he addressed the crowd.

“I bid you welcome.”

He bowed with a flourish. His voice was assured and—Owen thought—a tad dramatic.

“I am Caleb, assistant to Madame Seraphina, Intermediary to the Veil. She has arisen and is ready to receive visitors.”

The crowd quivered with excitement.

“However, as spirits prefer privacy, Madame may only entertain a dozen guests at a time,” Caleb declared. “No more, no less.”

“Me and the missus have been waiting all morning.” A portly, red-faced fellow near the front crossed his arms. “We ain’t leaving until we’ve seen Madame Seraphina.”

Excitement bled into aggression as arguments broke out over who had arrived first.

“Oh, dear.” Xenia bit her lip. “There are a dozen people ahead of us, surely. We shall have to come back another time.”

Owen had no trouble with that. In fact, he wouldn’t mind if they didn’t return at all. If there was one thing he was good at sensing, it was trouble—and Madame Seraphina and her business reeked of it.

“The spirits choose who they wish to commune with.”

Caleb’s booming authority silenced the throng—or perhaps it was the object he wielded. The wooden baton was carved with what appeared to be ancient symbols, and Owen didn’t know if it was a trick of the light, but the crystal tip seemed to glow from within.

“This spirit rod was fashioned by Madame Seraphina,” Caleb said. “I will use it now to channel the will of those from beyond.”

A hush fell as Caleb’s eyes rolled upward and his head dropped back. Simultaneously, his rod-wielding arm began to move, jerking this way and that, as if guided by some unseen force. The crowd shrank back with each twitch, gasping as the rod singled out people one by one. Owen’s amusement at the absurdity of the performance turned into unease when the glowing tip settled on Gigi, Xenia, and Evie—and then, after a waver, on him.

When twelve were chosen, Caleb’s head snapped up. From the relieved expressions in the crowd, Owen surmised that more than a few had changed their minds about going first. The portly fellow, who hadn’t been picked, was pale as a sheet. He pulled his wife away, promising in a shaky voice to take her shopping instead.

“Chosen guests,” Caleb said grandly. “You may enter.”

He moved aside, revealing a glimpse of a dark interior swirling with shadows.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Gigi squeaked.

She, Xenia, and Evie made a beeline for the door.

Exciting is one way to put it.

Exhaling, Owen followed them in.

Two

It took Owen a moment to adjust to the stifling gloom inside. Caleb lit a candle and led the group through a narrow entry hall. In the flickering light, Owen noted the stone-flagged floor. Recalling Henry Pell’s grisly hobby, he hastily sidestepped a rust-colored stain before entering a small parlor.