“Some of them are still convinced you’re evil,” she admits. “They think you killed Herron and Grandmother Riquet, and a few other people who have disappeared over the past several months. They say you’ve bewitched Beresford.”
“How clever of me.”
“But there are a lot of people on your side, too,” Anne hastens to add. “They like you and Beresford together, and they’re excited about having the chance to attend a lavish wedding. There’s a great deal being said about your beauty and his looks, as well as the hope that your marriage will bring business to the area and revitalize some of the villages.”
Those hopes might be justified, because Beresford seems to have endless resources to devote to the occasion. Our wedding is going to be the party of the year, if he has his way. But as we move through the stages of planning, I realize that the suddenness of the event poses a challenge to local suppliers, who must procure decorations, flowers, and food that are to Beresford’s liking, all within a short span of time.
I join my fiancé for most of the meetings with the suppliers, and he yields to my preference in most things. When we don’t agree, we debate the matter and take turns conceding to each other. Whenever a supplier claims they can’t obtain something in time, Beresford offers them more money. Usually that works,though in a few cases we have to alter our plans to fit with what’s readily available in the area. There’s no time to import any exotic luxuries from other regions or kingdoms.
Beresford and I don’t always travel to the meetings together, and sometimes he has other business to do. I’m not sure where he got his money or what business he still pursues, and whenever I ask he chuckles and says, “Please, let’s not talk about it. It’s too unbearably dull to discuss.”
His reluctance is a warning sign posted along the path to the wedding. I see it clearly, and I choose to ignore it, because I want to marry him. I want to fuck him, eat dinners with him, sleep beside him, play games by the fire in the evening, and take strolls in the gardens of his estate. I want to roam the hallways of his mansion with him and christen every room with our love.
I have to imagine the rooms, because I still haven’t seen them. Beresford says there’s work going on in the house, that he’s redecorating some of the rooms to prepare them for my arrival as the new mistress of the estate. He says I mustn’t enter the mansion until after the wedding, when the work is complete.
When another warning sign pops up in my mind, I avert my eyes.
On the night before my wedding, I summon three demons.
One arrives torn and screaming, a bat-winged creature the size of a dog, with eight eyes and the feathered tail of a bird of paradise. When it refuses to let me touch it or bandage it, I open a window, and it flies out into the night.
An hour later, while I’m sitting in bed with a cup of tea, trying to calm myself down, something furry slithers against my legs. I jump up and rip back the sheets, revealing a weaselly demon with tiny tusks and a thick pelt studded with tiny mushrooms. Alerted by my shriek, Mama and Anne trap the creature in a wooden box and transport it carefully outside.
Shaken and distressed, I agree to drink some of the rum Beresford gifted my mother recently. The glass bottle is beautifully crafted in the shape of a large rose, and the stopper is engraved with a pair of leaves.
Mama pours me three fingers of the liquor. “You need your sleep.”
I swallow the drink quickly, eager for it to take effect. But I can’t make myself go back to my room alone and put my legs under those covers again, not after the appearance of the weasel, so Anne lets me share her bed. Her presence settles me, and the alcohol turns me warm, drowsy, and talkative.
“What’s happening to me?” I ask my sister. “Why so many demons at once? Why now?”
“Your emotions are heightened,” she says. “You’re getting married tomorrow.”
“The idea of the summonings being tied to my emotions has never made sense to me, though,” I counter. “Sometimes I experience strong emotions that don’t result in a summoning. That’s what frustrates me, and what frustrated Grandmother Riquet, too, I think. We could never really identify what triggers them. There’s no particular word or phrases, no specific emotion or situation. It’s unpredictable.”
“Maybe it’s never beenyouthat’s causing it,” Anne suggests. “Maybe it’s them.”
“The creatures?” I frown.
“Yes. What if you’re like a door, and they’re the ones opening it and walking through.”
“They always seem so startled and confused, though.”
“They might not understand what they’re doing when they connect with you and pass into this world. Or maybe they do understand, but our dimension of existence is a shock to them anyway.”
“Why would they want to come here?”
Anne sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe to escape something terrible that’s happening in the other place?”
We both fall silent, staring at the dark ceiling beams and the pale plaster between them.
“What if this happens when I’m married, Anne?” I whisper.
“You didn’t tell Beresford about it?” When I don’t reply, she mutters, “Shit, Sybil.”
“I know, I know.” I flip over and plunge my face into the pillow.
“Sybil.”
