Page 32 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really.

After he escorted me from the woods, the crowd had already dispersed.

There was such a strange and blissful silence.

I almost wondered if I was dead. If Moros and I were both dead, and our spirits were walking side by side.

” She stared off as if she was reliving that night, and my own visual of it slithered through my mind like a thick, oily sludge.

“The moment we arrived on Agatha’s doorstep, I knew that wasn’t true, when she refused to let me inside.

The afterlife couldn’t be so cruel. Torment and rejection are unique to the living, after all.

” She sighed. “Anyway, it was Moros who took me in. Who gave me shelter when those creatures crawled out of the woods.”

I wanted to believe her words, to imagine that everything I’d seen that night had been nothing more than an illusion, but I couldn’t.

I refused, because even if Moros hadn’t changed into a macabre monster in front of my eyes, he was still a bad man.

A bad man who sewed women’s legs together and had threatened to turn me into one of his grotesque mermaids.

“That can’t be. Aleysia, I saw the wrathavor consume Moros. He became Moros.”

“I too saw many things that night. I saw Uncle Riftyn on the edge of the woods calling my name. Moros told me it wasn’t real. That it was all in my head. Those nasty bites were some kind of wretched venom, you know. I hallucinated him, was all. I know that now.”

I didn’t bother to explain the nightmarish manner in which I’d seen Uncle Riftyn die. “When we found you, you were lying on the floor of the pantry. As if Elowen had put you there.”

“Elowen?”

“The Crone Witch.”

“Yes. She did put me there.” Her face twisted into a malicious expression. “The evil, old witch tried to kill me.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. She started out nice enough. When I left Moros?—”

“You left Moros?”

“Yes. Well, technically he left me first. Trapped inside one of the bedrooms in his mansion.”

“He tried to hurt you.”

“No. He left rather abruptly and locked me in the room—about the time those creatures had made their way to the village. I suspect he was trying to protect me. He never came back, though.” She continued tapping her fingers to her thumbs. “I assume he became one of them.”

“So, you managed to escape.”

“Yes.” She frowned, rubbing her temple. “I’m certain that’s what happened. And, somehow, I ended up here.”

“You said The Crone Witch started out nice. She took you in?”

She lifted her nose in the air and closed her eyes, as if breathing in the scent. “Is that rabbit I smell?”

“It is. It has a bit more time to cook.”

“I’m exceptionally hungry. I’ll take some now, if that’s all right.”

“It’s not fully cooked, Aleysia. Don’t you recall the last time you accidentally consumed raw meat?”

She tipped her head. “No.”

“You were sick. Heaving most of the night. You rarely ate much meat, at all, after that.”

“Well, we can’t exactly be fussy about food these days, can we? I’ve developed a tolerance, I suppose, after the world went to hell.”

“It will be ready soon. In the meantime, there are other things. Canned apples. Some stewed tomatoes.”

Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. “I’m starving for meat. Just a little, Maevyth,” she whined. “I’m so famished. I don’t even remember the last time I ate.”

“I promise, Aleysia. It’ll only be a few?—”

“Maevyth!” The quick vexation in her eyes slowly softened when she diverted her gaze toward the door, where I was certain Zevander stood watching. “I didn’t mean to yell. Forgive me. I’m out of sorts.”

I nodded, backing my way toward the door. “I’ll get some food.” As I slipped alongside Zevander, who didn’t take his eyes off Aleysia, I rested my hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

While the rabbit wasn’t entirely pink, I knew it hadn’t cooked long enough to be done, but I ladled some of the soup into a bowl, anyway, and tore away a few tough pieces of the rabbit meat that didn’t appear entirely raw.

“You’re sure everything is okay?” Zevander asked, as I passed him again on the way to her bedroom.

“Yes. She’s just very hungry, is all. And cranky,” I added under my breath as I kept on.

After carefully handing it over, I sat on the chair across from her, watching her gracelessly shovel the soup into her mouth. The broth spilled down her chin, and she practically buried her face in the bowl for the meat.

“Careful, Aleysia. It’s very hot.”

When she pulled the bowl away, she was staring at me, brows lowered, lips snarled in a way that reminded me of a feral dog. The sight of her had the hair on the back of my neck standing.

She quickly broke into laughter. “I was being silly. Remember Mrs. Castor’s dog that would growl at anything that passed its bowl?”

The memory brought a half-smile to my face. “I do, yes.” I was relieved she had remembered, too.

“I always hated that mangy mutt.”

“I like to think he was simply misunderstood.”

“Yes, well. Speaking of mutts, you’ve yet to introduce me to your friend.”

I frowned at the insult. “His name is Zevander.”

“Zevander? What kind of name is that?”

“Vespyri,” Zevander said from behind, leaning against the doorframe. “It means to move with a quickness.”

She glanced up, and the blush that rose to her cheeks told me she hadn’t realized his presence. “I’ve never heard of Vespyri.”

“As I said…we have much to catch up on.” I waited for her focus to return to me. “You were telling me The Crone Witch took you in after you escaped from Moros.”

“I didn’t escape from Moros, silly. I escaped from his home.”

“Right. And Elow—The Crone Witch gave you shelter.”

“She did. And she threw me into a cold pantry for reasons I can’t begin to fathom.

” She tapped her spoon to her bowl four times.

Paused, then tapped four times more. Before I could question her about the strange behavior, she asked, “Might I get some rest? I still feel a bit dizzy and out of sorts.”

“Of course. Yes. We’ve plenty of time to catch up on things.”

“Yes. Plenty of time, now that you’ve returned.”

“If you need me, I’ll be in the other room.”

She handed me the bowl, offering a slight smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I exited the bedroom, closing the door behind me, and after depositing the bowl onto the table, I made my way over to the rocking chair where Zevander sat sharpening his blades in front of the hearth. A cold, numb sensation settled over me while I stared at the flames.

Zevander’s gaze swept my way. “What is it?”

“Well, she doesn’t seem to be infected, at all, but she doesn’t seem to be entirely herself, either.”

“How so?”

“She just seems rather nonchalant about all that’s happened.”

“I suspect she’s been through a lot.”

“Yes, of course. It does sound rather traumatic, with her thinking I was gone for good, and trying to escape Moros, and then whatever events led her to being thrown into a pantry. But she believes that Moros helped her out of those woods. She believes he helped her.” I shook my head, my thoughts like drifting plumes of confusion.

“It isn’t possible. I saw him swallowed by that creature.

It wasn’t a hallucination.” I nibbled on my bottom lip as I puzzled through the story she’d told me.

“At the same time, I have to wonder, why didn’t he kill her?

For the most part, she seems like herself. ”

“What are you asking me, Maevyth?”

“What if I did hallucinate it all? I was bitten by those damned wickens. I was feeling a bit dizzy and confused at the time.”

“And so what if you did? What does it change?”

“It just makes more sense.” Hands fidgeting, I bit my lips harder. “I should get some sleep before we head out to the Moros manor.” I couldn’t hide the grimace on my face at the mention of his horrific mansion.

“Is there something I should know?” He ran his dagger over the length of what looked like a deer antler, the scraping sound only a minor intrusion to my thoughts.

“In the cellar…he had a tank.” The rhythmic scratch of the steel blurred into the memory of that contraption outside the tank, pumping air into the masks the women wore on their faces.

“It housed two Lyverian women he’d kidnapped.

He’d sewn their legs together and turned those poor women into mermaids .

” I winced at the visual of their raw, peeling skin and ruined bodies.

“He kept them alive with a makeshift breathing apparatus.”

“And this was your betrothed?”

“Yes.” I shivered at the thought of being forced to marry him. “Thankfully, fate had other plans.”

“If we find him there, I can’t promise he won’t suffer an equally gruesome death.” Shuttering one eye, he studied the edge of the blade and flicked his thumb over its sharpness.

“We won’t find him there. Aleysia said he fled. But we might find those women.”

“And if we do?”

“I pray they’re not alive. Is that cruel to say?”

“No. Sometimes, death is the kindest mercy to wish someone.”

I stared off into the hearth, trying to imagine such an awful existence, trapped inside that tank while the rest of the world crumbled. “Then, if we find them, I’m asking you to be merciful.”