“Well, when you say it likethat, it sounds terrible,” says my mother.
“You’ve proven your point, wife,” Beresford says, with the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips. “What is your idea?”
I sit forward on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped over my knees. “We can’t do it alone. We’re going to need one more person.”
17
When I was first summoned to this world, Wormsloe was my only refuge until I devoured Beresford’s soul. I wandered its ridges, hollows, and bogs. I became intimately familiar with every part of it.
Even after Valenkirk became my home, the forest’s energy drew me, and when I felt unsettled or lost in this new world, I went there to be among my fellow fugitives from the wight’s lair. The other demons, as Sybil calls them, couldn’t blend into the world beyond the woods like I could. For the most part, they remained within the shrinking sphere of Grandmother Riquet’s influence. If any of them wandered past the border of Wormsloe, people tended to gasp and point at the sight of them, throwing salt or meal, touching their foreheads and turning in counter-clockwise circles while mumbling oddly worded couplets.
For a long time, even with the growing influence of the wight, Wormsloe protected us from humans and from the unfamiliar landscape. But that isn’t the reality now. Rot has crept outward from the Barrow, leaching into the soil. Tree trunks have split open, leaking yellow pus. Swollen toadstools glowwith a sickly inner light. Feathery black mold cloaks the soil and the roots, creeping upward, gloving the branches, dripping from them in noxious webs. Oily ooze bubbles in hollows, releasing puffs of foul green smoke. Motes of black dust float through the air.
At my mother-in-law’s insistence we all cover our mouths with our shirts or with handkerchiefs as we navigate the path.
I knew the wight’s magic extended far beyond the experiments he conducted in his den, but I did not realize how swiftly he could corrupt an entire forest once he was unleashed. According to Sybil’s mother, the wight didn’t do any such thing at the time of his bargain with Sybil’s father. Instead, he lured many forest animals into the Barrow with him, no doubt intending to fuse parts of their bodies with creatures from my realm.
His intentions have altered since then. He has around two decades of foiled plans and stolen victims to avenge, not to mention my escape, which is arguably the worst loss of them all. His reserves of my blood and spinal fluid have likely run out by now. He’ll be desperate for a renewed supply.
Does he know that Sybil and I are married? If he didn’t realize our connection before, he has likely pried it out of Anne by now. He’ll factor it into his schemes and play this encounter to his maximum advantage, I have no doubt. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t rot our flesh where we stand, the moment we come face to face with him. He can’t do it from a distance as long as we keep moving.
“Don’t stop walking,” I warn the others, my voice muffled behind the cloth. “Don’t pause to rest, and don’t touch anything.”
“No chance of that,” Sybil replies, with a shudder that I perceive even through the drapery of her cloak. She’s holding a fold of the crimson fabric over her nose and mouth.
I glance back over my shoulder to make sure Sybil’s mother and Henry Partridge heard my warning. They both nod. Henry’s face, behind the veil of his spotted handkerchief, is red with anxiety. Considering what we’re planning to do, I don’t blame him.
My own stomach is churning with unease, and despite the cold, I’m sweating beneath the cloak I chose for this outing. It’s black with gold lining, embroidered with gold swirls across the shoulders. I selected it because it looks powerful, almost royal, and it lends me a measure of extra confidence, which I desperately need.
I’m walking back into the lair of my captor. I’m doing it for the sake of my wife, because she loves her sister. And I’m fucking terrified.
The wight can’t strip my permanent forms from me, at least not without a complex ritual. But he could corrupt them or prevent me from shifting.
As Beresford, I am more physically imposing than the average human male. It’s one reason I chose him—not only because his cruelty needed to end, but because he could make me strong. I had been weak and helpless for so many years. It felt good to have power, both physical and financial. What I didn’t expect was the equally powerful sex drive that accompanied his form.
I had experienced sexual longing before, as well as a longing for intimacy and emotional connection. But Beresford’s virile body demanded more. My soul was already knitting itself together with Sybil’s when I first took his shape. Even though she had no idea of my existence at the time, my new body began to respond to any sight or thought of her.
It’s difficult to believe that she’s with me now, walking at my side, loving me despite knowing my whole truth. Months ago, I could scarcely imagine kissing her, much less being intimately linked to her in this way. Not only married, butconnected. I’ve been honest with her in a way I’ve never been with anyone else.
Besides my wife, three other people know my secret: my mother-in-law, Anne, and Henry Partridge, who had to be given the information in order for Sybil’s plan to work. I respect him for believing us and agreeing to come along. Not every man who claims to love a woman is willing to sacrifice his safety for her… yet he’s doing it for Anne.
“We’re getting close to the Barrow.” Sybil’s muffled voice wavers as she sidesteps a noxious puddle of ooze.
Slick, oily bubbles float through the air, each containing a wisp of green or yellow gas. They’re drifting so thickly that it’s almost impossible to avoid them. One pops against my shoulder and releases a nauseating odor.
“This is disgusting,” Sybil chokes out. “Is his lair this bad?”
“His lair is nothing like this,” I reply. “He prefers control over all things, especially his environment, and he doesn’t like living in rot. No, this display is just for us. A warning, a symptom of his rage, proof of his power so we’ll show him deference. And you should. You must kneel, bow, plead, use every honorific you can think of. Place yourself in submission to him and feign humility. If we’re lucky, that will put him off his guard. I’ll need every advantage if I’m to play my part.”
“Is he…” Sybil hesitates, clears her throat, then tries again. “Is he a sexual being?”
“Why?” I say sharply.
“He’s male. Does he like females? Does he have the capacity for pleasure?”
“In a limited way, yes. I don’t think he likes the intimacy of sex, but I saw him stroking himself once.”
Her eyes, visible above the fold of the cloak, look a bit stricken, as if she’s wondering under what circumstances I would have watched my captor pleasure himself. “What aroused him?”
