Page 28

A s soon as the door snapped shut behind her, she exhaled the breath she held while Lord Vincent departed. She couldn’t risk him knowing about Leopold, in beast or human form. But especially in beast form. If he found out about him—if anyone found out about him—she feared the consequences.

She appreciated the man’s offer to help her and her household by offering to pay her before she finished her work. Refusing his offer was likely an insult, something she would have to deal with later.

Her duty of taking care of the household had been sorely neglected. It was something she had taken pride in before, when they lived in port and she had a full staff to help her. Now, she was down to Gerald, Edith, and Emmaline, and she hadn’t even looked at the ledgers since they arrived. Helping Leopold, though, seemed far more important and urgent.

She waited there until her heart returned to normal. Emmaline exited the parlor with an unreadable expression on her face, her hands clasped in front of her. Perhaps she was disappointed at Lord Vincent’s hasty retreat. Or that she had barged in on their private meeting.

“Shall I help you retire for the evening, miss?” the girl asked.

Bella glanced at the cursed book still resting on the foyer table. She shook her head. “No, thank you. Not yet. I need some time.”

Some time to continue to look at that book, try to try to read the thorny language and find the answer to Leopold’s wicked curse. The girl gave her a nod and headed up the stairs. Bella stepped to the foyer table and scooped up her belongings.

“Welcome home, miss. This arrived for you this afternoon.” Gerald appeared from the other side of the manor, an unopened letter in his hand. He extended it to her. “It’s from your father.”

Her heart returned to its throbbing as she reached for the letter. “Thank you, Gerald. I’ll read it in the library.” Before she hurried away, she turned back to him. “I apologize for not being here, Gerald, but—”

“There is no explanation necessary, miss. I know you are doing what must be done to make sure we and the household is cared for.”

She blinked surprise, unsure what he meant. Did he know she spent her days in the gloom of Thornhurst Castle?

“You do?” she asked.

“Yes, miss. Miss Emmaline said you’ve been in town. I assumed that meant you had taken a position at the bookshop to keep the larder well stocked, and the other bills paid until this nonsense with Mr. Rinaldi is settled.”

She gaped at him. Emmaline covered for her? She owed that girl a debt of gratitude. Something else he said stood out. Apparently, there was a mysterious benefactor keeping them afloat. Words fled her mind, and she searched for some reply that sounded appropriate. Gerald stepped closer to her, then, his expression one of caring and concern.

“The three of us, that is Edith, Miss Emmaline, and I, appreciate all you’re doing to make sure we’re taking care of. I wanted you to know.”

She was stunned. “Thank you, Gerald.”

“Do get some rest, my lady. You look exhausted.”

With that, he left her standing in the foyer shocked to the soles of her slippers. It took several moments for her to regain her senses. He didn’t understand she had no time for sleep, though he was correct in that she was exhausted. Fatigue pounded through her, making her weary. Somehow, she found the energy to push onward through it all.

She glanced down at the letter in her hand desperate to read what her father had to say and hurried to the library where she shut the door, enclosing herself in deafening silence.

The window was still boarded, but the glass was cleaned up. She placed her things on the writing desk and quickly lit the candles to give the room a warm glow. Then she sat and stared down at the letter with the Port Leclare seal. Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal.

The penmanship was not his normal, careful script. It looked as though he hastily scribed or was under duress. Ink blotches appeared along the page and a few scratch-outs existed here and there.

When her father arrived back in Port Leclare, he was immediately taken into custody. He was in a portside jail awaiting the formal inquiry to conclude. Then he would appear in front of the local magistrate to attempt to clear his name. They suspected he was a smuggler of some type of contraband. His crew was dispersed. The manifest confiscated. His accounts seized. His merchant license suspended.

It was worse than she thought. Her hands shook as she read the last few lines. I begged to write this letter to you so you would hear from me the situation. By now, I’m sure the gossipmongers are doing their swift work. I did not do these terrible things, Bella. I am not a smuggler and would never put our livelihood at risk, nor would I put our reputation in jeopardy. But I fear this terrible misunderstanding will have cataclysmic consequences for both of us. I hope you can forgive me. Stay in Hawthorne Hall for as long as you can. Do not come to the port to see me. I will not have you be a part of this abhorrent situation, too.

Numb. She was numb. There was no other word for how she felt at the moment as she read her father’s letter. Lord Vincent didn’t tell her he had been apprehended. Perhaps to save her feelings.

What was she to do now? He didn’t want her in port. She understood that, and she agreed with his assessment. If she showed her face in the port, then she would face ridicule and haughty derision from the locals. Her father had carefully built his merchant reputation over the years and now it was in tatters.

She stared down at the cursed book, certain it was to blame for all the ill will that came to her and her father. With a careful hand, she refolded the letter and placed it aside, then reached for the book.

Her hands still shook as she cracked it open to the last page she was studying before she left Leopold’s. Now, she was determined more than ever to find the answer and be rid of the book forever.

Silence encircled her. The only sounds were that of her shallow breathing and the scratching of her quill against the parchment, pausing only to dip it into the inkwell. The clink of the tip against the glass seemed deafening in the quiet.

Her hand wrote furiously, scratched out, wrote furiously again. As she peered at the runes, they seemed to move and transform before her eyes. As through rearranging when she was close to a breakthrough. If she didn’t know any better, she suspected the book did not want her to find the answers buried there amongst the thorns.

Dropping the quill, she sat back in the chair, immense frustration edging through her. She covered her face with her hands, the hot tears pounding her eyes and threatening to fall. It took all her self-control not to swipe the book and the parchment with her notes to the floor.

She shoved up from the chair and paced the small confines of the room. Her back and neck muscles were stiff. Her hands ached from the tight grip she had on the quill. Her fingers were stained with ink.

The hope she would find something useful in the final translation of Lord Vincent’s book diminished when she completed it. The story was nothing more than a child’s bedtime fairytale. It did not aid in her translation of the cursed book at all. Another irritation.

What was she missing? What was she not seeing? There had to be something that eluded her. She halted there in the middle of the room, clutching her elbows and glaring at the book still open on the desk, the parchment next to it.

As she stared at it from across the room, she thought she heard a puff of breath. Then the parchment next to the book stirred. She remained where she was, frozen in place, as her eyes went wide and round.

There appeared to be faint movement on the page. As if the thorny vines and brambles shifted.

It had to be her imagination. She rubbed her tired eyes. She should retire and try again tomorrow. Forget about this cursed book for the rest of the night.

Outside, the mournful wail of the wolf’s howl.

She glanced at the boarded window, expecting something to barrel through it. The beast. Or perhaps another veil-shade. But nothing happened. Nothing else stirred.

The candlelight flickered over the page, the shadows dancing across the aged paper. Again, she thought she saw the twisting vines moving across the page. And then it formed a word followed by an eerie whisper. As though it rearranged itself for her while she stared.

Tentatively, she moved closer, still clutching her elbows. When she was close, she peered down at the page. The word appeared before her tired eyes.

When

That was all. Nothing more.

Excitement pumped through her. She reached for the quill slowly hoping the book did not see her do it. Holding her breath, she picked up the pen and then inched closer to the desk. Standing behind the chair, she waited.

Two more words appeared.

the sky

Her gaze landed on the parchment next to the open book. She was desperate to sit and record the words. She pulled out the chair slowly, stepped around it, and perched on the edge. She wrote the three words when the sky and then sat back and waited.

The moment she jotted the words, they disappeared. The vines and thorns and brambles rearranged themselves and covered the letters. In place of the letters, a rose bloomed, the petals unfurling as though seeing the sunlight.

“Oh.”

The word slipped out between her lips on a murmur.

She sat back in the chair and waited, gripping the quill so tight her fingers cramped.

Movement again on the page and this time, the vines revealed more words.

is blind and the stars

She sucked in a sharp breath and wrote the next line. As she finished, the pages changed. The roses bloomed.

Never in all her years of translating strange texts had she seen anything like this before. It was astounding.

Quickly, she dipped the tip of the quill in the ink and waited again.

Again, the same thing happened. The thorny vines wound around the odd shaped runes and then more words appeared. She wrote them in a hurry.

dare not shine

A breath hiccupped out of her as triumph flooded her. She made progress. Sitting back in the chair, she read the line altogether in a low voice.

“When the sky is blind and the stars dare not shine.”

What did it mean?

Outside her boarded window, the wolf howled.

“When the sky is blind…” she repeated, her mind racing.

She shot from the chair and prowled the small library, her heart drumming against her chest as excitement drummed through her. She thought she knew what it meant as she searched the shelves for a book that might tell her. Her father was always bringing home new and wonderful books about anything and everything. He loved all subjects and read voraciously.

When she found the one she wanted, she pulled it off the shelf and flipped it open, the musty scent of the ancient pages fluttering up to her nose. Then she saw it and halted, staring down at the page that was a drawing of the phases of the moon.

A blind sky. The new moon?

Stars dare not shine might indicate the total darkness of night that seemed to swallow the stars.

Was the new moon the key to breaking the curse? Or did it mean if the curse was not broken by the new moon, he would forever remain a beast?

She glanced at the cursed book. The book that played tricks and liked to hide the meaning behind cryptic messages that she was forced to unravel. She understood, now, how it worked. She understood how to reveal the hidden messages behind the brambles and thorns and vines.

Patience was key. Let the message reveal itself.

Now more determined than ever, she tossed aside the celestial book and went back to the desk. She had more work to do.