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Odette stood next to Rothbart outside of a large, rusted ornate gate that twisted up like gnarled fingers reaching for the sky.
She relished the feel of the trousers clinging to her legs and the dark cotton shirt covering her torso. They were heavy, solid. So much better than that flimsy white dress she usually wore. The clothes were Rothbart’s, of course. They smelled of his musk and parchment scent. She’d had to roll the sleeves and each leg of the pants up several inches before they fit. The stockings and shoes on her feet possessed a bit more feminine quality to them. When she’d asked, he’d quietly growled that they had belonged to his mother. Her stomach churned at that thought, a guiltiness at the idea that he’d had to scrounge his dead mother’s closets for her. The bitterness in his eyes had silenced her from asking further questions about her attire.
Rothbart finished addressing the guard at the gate and turned to face Odette, his expression grim. “They are seeking Alecta’s permission for us to enter. I should tell you, once we enter her grounds, I will be powerless. There are spells to keep a rival sorcerer from using magic within another’s domain.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out two long handled knives. “Which is why I’m giving you these.”
Odette stared at the weapons laying in his palm, then looked up at Rothbart. “You brought me to be your bodyguard?”
He exhaled some air. “I’m not completely helpless without magic, but your skill set may come in handy in this instance.”
She noticed the way small beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and his lips pressed in a hard line.
“Are you nervous?”
His jaw ticked. “Take the knives.”
She grabbed their handles, enjoying their familiar weight, and stashed one in her pants, tucking the large shirt in over it to keep it concealed. He had waited to tell her all of this until right before they entered, so that she couldn’t think of a way to use this information to her advantage. Despite handing her the knives, he definitely didn’t trust her. She slipped the other blade into her stocking.
“One more thing.” He dropped a hand into his pocket, lifted out a golden chain that reflected the moonlight, and held it out to her, a carved wooden pendant hanging from the end.
Odette raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving me jewelry?”
“In case you or the others remember anything you want to tell me. Just touch it and speak my name and I will come. But keep it hidden for our visit.”
Odette gave him a curious look but took it from him, laying the small wooden symbol of a swan in her palm.
She glared up at Rothbart.
A smirk came to his face. “I carved it just for you.”
He checked through the bars of the gate. “Hurry, the guard is returning.”
She quickly put it on and tucked it into her shirt.
The guard appeared, holding a flickering lantern. “You have permission to enter.”
The enormous gates creaked open, and they started up the rutted path toward the large stone structure that loomed beyond.
“There is an additional reason I needed you,” Rothbart added softly, so the guard leading the way up the old beaten pathway couldn’t hear. He reached down and brushed the inside of her wrist with his fingertips. They were warm and unexpectedly wet. “I’m placing the caster’s potion on you. With it, I can detect whether it was Alecta’s magic that originated the skull pact.”
She pulled away from his touch, telling herself that her blood was up only because of the danger that lurked ahead. “I thought my mother cast it?”
His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice further. “Your mother was not a sorcerer. Someone would have needed to initiate such a complicated spell.”
“You think she is the person who hired us?”
“Only if we are very lucky or horribly unlucky. Alecta is one of the most powerful sorcerers in the land.” His square jaw tightened, and he cast her a warning glance. “Keep your weapons stashed unless you have no other choice. We don’t want to cross her.”
Odette gazed out over the estate’s dilapidated appearance. The overgrown hedges, the thorny weeds dragging the last vestiges of living plants into a brown and wasted death. Small leaves from branches occasionally brushed up too close to them on the path up to the front entrance.
The midnight cloak that shrouded Rothbart’s body bloomed out around him as he walked, making him look like some dark specter ready to seek vengeance on anything that stood in his way. She took in his long strides, his set jaw, the fire brewing in his eyes. He was a man driven, who wouldn’t be stopped. She found something compelling about his fierceness.
They climbed the steps leading to the entrance. The large brick manor was in similar poor conditions as the grounds. Dark vines grew up the side, crumbling bricks, and obscuring windows. It loomed above them, all angles and clouded glass.
The front doors opened, and the entryway displayed garish and outdated opulence. They were ushered into an ornate waiting room. The carpet and furniture were plush, but their design had long faded.
“Have a seat.” The guard who had shown them in, gestured to a couple worn chairs, then turned and marched from the room. Neither Odette nor Rothbart sat. He moved to stand by the crackling fire. She claimed a spot by the wall, next to the peeling floral wallpaper, and marked the exits.
He drummed his fingers restlessly on the chipped wood of the mantle above the fireplace. Odette watched him, itching for the safety of a weapon in her hands. Was it the loss of power that set Rothbart on edge? Or was it the person they were about to meet?
