I don’t trust this woman, and yet I’m leading her into my house. I’m clearly losing it. But I heard her voice…heard it without her lips even moving. That’s the voice from my head, now in the flesh. The voice has a face and a body and a bloody heartbeat. The voice breathes and hums. It’s her, I know it is, but what the hell is she doing here? Or better yet, how did she find me?
I open the front door, leaving it wide so she can follow me inside. I carry myself down the marble foyer, past the dark columns wrapped in vines, until I’m in my kitchen. There’s a bell by my backdoor and I pull the rope down, ringing it twice.
When I glance over my shoulder, the woman isn’t there. I march around the corner, and she’s standing in the middle of the foyer, gawking at one of the portraits on the wall.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, and she turns her head to look at me.
“Is that you?” She points up at the painting from Aunt Maeve—the one she had done for me when I first built this place. Black horses with manes of fire, and a shadowy man riding one of them toward total darkness. The horse the man is riding reminds me of Onyx.
The woman turns to look at me, awaiting an answer.
“Come to the kitchen,” I order, giving her my back. She appears this time, and I tell her to sit at the table.
“Any chair at the table?” she asks, pointing at the twelve-top.
“Would you please just sit?” I grumble, and she does, taking the chair closest to her.
I’m glad when I hear footsteps and Della appears. She smiles at me, light wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth, and says, “You rang for me, sir?”
“Yes, Della.” I gesture to the woman in the chair. “I need you to stitch her up. She’s bleeding on the leg. Where, I don’t know, but the sooner it gets done, the sooner I can send her off.”
Della focuses on the Willow woman, and her smile stretches even more. “Of course, sir.” Della walks to the Willow woman, grabbing her hand and helping her stand. “Right this way, dear. I’ll have you all stitched up and ready to go.”
“Do you have a phone?” the Willow woman asks.
“I beg your pardon?” Della looks between her and me, confused.
“She keeps asking for this phone. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Right.” Della wraps her hands around the Willow woman’s and leads her toward the stairs. “Come with me, and we’ll learn more about this phone thing you speak of.”
I watch them go. The Willow woman looks back at me with a frown before snatching her brown eyes away.
How the hell do they not know what a phone is? Her voice echoes in my head, and as Della takes her upstairs, I don’t hear anything else. I’m glad.
When they’re completely out of sight, I grip the edge of the wooden counter and shake my head. This cannot be happening—not right now. This Willow woman—she’s a distraction. She must be.
I leave the kitchen and make my way back down the foyer toward my office. My transmitter is on the desk where I left it, and I pick it up.
“Tell Maeve there is an emergency. Meet me when she can. Allow her to track my location.”
The transmitter blinks red, then neon blue, and I watch the screen load the words before sending my message off. I replace the transmitter, set my gun on the desk, and sit in the chair behind it.
Is he always so on edge? I hear the Willow woman’s voice, which is strange considering she’s probably near Della’s chambers a floor up. I shouldn’t be able to hear her, yet I do. How the hell does this mind-voice thing work exactly? Now that she’s closer, does that mean I’ll hear her conversations too? Can she hear mine? I pray for the person who has to suffer through my thoughts.
“Don’t you answer that, Della,” I grumble.
Ever since I’ve known him, yes.
I refrain from rolling my eyes and work my jaw instead.
It must suck working for him, the Willow woman says, huffing a laugh.
Not at all, actually. Mr. Harlow takes very good care of me.
I smirk. Take that, Willow Woman.
Is he angry sometimes? Yes. Della goes on, and I work my jaw again. But he’s not as horrible as you may think.
So, I was right. You are a jackass. Good to know.
“Right. That’s it.” I push out of my chair and march back to the kitchen, heading up the spiral iron staircase until I’m on the second floor. I make a left turn and stride toward the wide-open French doors. I’m in Della’s wing. It’s been a while since I’ve set foot here. She’s spruced the place up with Vanorian flowers, a few Blackwater plants, and mauve wallpaper.
“Are you about finished?” I ask as she wraps a bandage around Willow Woman’s leg.
“I am, sir. I would like to give her some new clothes—these are…unique. And filthy, might I add. Perhaps I can find some in Juniper’s closet?”
“I don’t think Juniper would approve,” I counter.
“Juniper will live. It’s either that, or you take this young woman to the village and let her pick out her own attire. You don’t want her walking around in dirty garments, do you?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My eyes move to Willow Woman’s and she’s smirking. Shit. I can’t let her stay in my head. I frown and envision a wall of rocks surrounding my brain. Then I cock a brow at her, and she narrows her eyes, confused.
“Fine. Borrow something from Juniper’s. When you’re done, send her to my office.”
“Understood, sir.”
I turn and leave the room, but not before hearing, Eww. Why is he walking around like something’s stuck up his pale ass?
I don’t bother looking back, despite my fists clenching at the remark.
