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His eyes blinked open and he caught Melody’s gaze. The man did a double take, as if surprised by her sudden appearance.
She waved at him to say hi. Reluctantly at first, sheepishly, he raised one big arm to signal back.
“Who’s that?”
“Hell if I know,” said Eric.
The man was still staring at her awkwardly. He had striking blue eyes. A stubbled chin. Eventually he dropped the bucket and turned away, heading back in the direction of the barn.
“Where’d you come from anyway?” Melody asked as they walked. It was odd that the question had only just now occurred to her.
“Stepped out from behind one of these trees,” Eric said with a short laugh. “Remember? You were there.”
She looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. He wore a gentleman’s coat and vest, all black with gold buttons. Shoes with silver-washed colonial buckles. Everything he had on was period dress, just like her.
“I know that, but why are you here?”
He smirked at her. It was a knowing smirk. “I could ask you the same thing actually,” he said.
“I’m an invited guest,” Melody told him. “There’s a ball tonight.”
“There’s a ball every night,” he laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Eric said dismissively. He gestured at his own outfit. “Look at me. I’m an arriving guest, just like you.”
Melody gave him another once-over but said nothing. There were almost to the house now. Her legs had finally stopped trembling.
“Listen,” he said, leaning in confidentially, “I’m just like you. I’m here for the same thing you are.”
“The cotillion?” she asked innocently.
Eric’s gaze shifted back and forth for a moment before falling back on her own.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m here for the egg.”
4
Melody stood at the base of the porch, trying not to be stunned. They were in the shadow of the house now. It loomed over them like a living thing.
“You’re here for what?” she asked carefully.
“For what I just said,” Eric answered. His voice dropped even lower. “Don’t make me say it again.”
“But—”
“You think you’re the only one sent here by the Order?”
Now she was stunned. The Hallowed Order was never to be acknowledged outwardly, at least not for what it was. The only exception of course was to other members. Melody stared back at him, completely uncertain.
“Ah,” said Eric, “you still don’t believe me. Here. Look.”
He rolled up one sleeve. A large tattoo snaked its way up his forearm, all black and grey and filled in with intricate detail. Tribal bands gave way to a lion, a rose, a swooping dove. And further up, past his bulging bicep… a familiar eye, its pupil etched with a crescent moon, buried within the other designs. An eye set in a circle, against interlocking triangles.
The symbol of the Hallowed Order.
“So you’re…”
