“You are walking the road in order to beg Thanesia to allow your ancestors through the door. Is it so surprising that you’d face challenges involving your ancestors?”
“True.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. We step forward into the kitchen. Instantly, the opening seals itself behind us.
“Are you a liar, Eloise?” the old woman snaps, her rheumy eyes roving to us a little too quickly to be human. This being looks like Eloise’s grandmother but holds none of the warmth I know Nora Harcourt felt for my mate. I’m not sure what this is, but it is not her grandmother, any more than the beast in the parlor was me. My little bird approaches and places her hands on the back of the chair across the table from the thing. It’s the place she often sat when we were in this kitchen. Her place.
“Why would you ask me that, Grams?”
“You promised me you’d stay. You promised me you’d raise your children here and be buried in Harcourt cemetery.”
Although fully green when we entered the room, a single leaf of the plant hanging in the window behind Eloise’s head turns brown and crumbles.
“Little bird,” I whisper. She glances at me, and I point to it. This is our ticking clock. Once the plant wilts, we’re out of time.
She nods once, then turns back to her grandmother, focusing on the task at hand. “Grams, would you like more tea?”
The old woman looks into her empty mug and frowns. Eloise turns around and reaches into a cupboard under the sink. She pulls out a chipped red pot and fills it with water. I watch vines of purple roses climb across the darkened window.
“I did promise you that I’d live in Harcourt Manor, that I’d have my children here, and that I’d be buried here.” Eloise starts the fire beneath the pot.
“You promised me,” the old woman hisses, and I don’t miss the atavistic rattle at the end of it. We’re in the Darklands, and this is some kind of demon. Some kind of dark magic.
Eloise sighs. “You always wanted what was best for me. You told me that you wanted me to find love again, and I did. Grams would be happy for me, for finding love again, for finding a mate.”
The old woman’s lips peel back from blackened teeth. Teeth that were white only a minute ago. “You promised me.”
Eloise takes her empty cup and carefully places a tea bag in it. “I fell in love, Grams, and when I did what I had to do to defend the man I loved, I became a vampire. I can no longer have children. I can no longer walk in the sun. It wasn’t my choice to become like this, but that’s why I can’t fulfill my promise to you. This body can no longer have children, and if I can’t walk in the sun, I can’t live in Echo Mills. I won’t ever grow old and die.”
The old woman’s hands gnarl, her nails growing sharper, like claws. “You promised me.”
Eloise turns around, the finished cup of tea in her hand. Tears stream down her face. “I did promise you, Grams, but I died. My human body died. And so, I can’t fulfill that promise. I’m sorry.”
“Guilty,” the thing hisses.
“But you promised you’d support me whatever I chose to do. You promised it again and again, my entire life. And you said I shouldn’t waste myself on someone who didn’t appreciate me. Damien appreciates me. He loves me. So, Grams, if you were the real Grams, I know you’d be happy for me, and I also know that this is your favorite tea.”
Eloise slides the mug in front of the old woman.
Behind her, the plant has withered. Only one green shoot remains.
The thing grasps the tea with its taloned fingers and drinks. When she returns the cup to the saucer, her fingers are human again, and the old woman’s face has softened.
“You could wish it to be true, Eloise,” the old woman says softly. “When you reach the end of the road, instead of asking Thanesia to be reconnected with your power, you could wish for a beating heart. You could wish to be a shade and have Damien’s children. Then your promise to me would be fulfilled.”
A strangled sound comes from Eloise’s throat. Her eyes are locked with her false grandmother, and tears rain down her cheeks. “I can’t,” she rasps. “Stygarde is counting on me. Damien is counting on me. I need to connect with my power again to help him.”
The old woman cackles. “Even if you could access your power, without a beating heart, you’ll never be able to use it.”
“Eloise,” I whisper, as the final leaf grows brown. “Eloise, we’re out of time.”
But my mate is sobbing. “I’m sorry, Grams. I’m sorry.”
“The time for that is done, girl. You have condemned yourself.” The old woman rises, her fingernails sharpening again into talons.
I draw my sword.
“What’s happening to her?” Eloise cries, as the thing that looks like Grams splits its skin and bloody wings spread from the remains. Once the transformation is complete, a hag’s face with a huge, hooked nose hangs from the body of a massive bird perched on the back of the chair the thing was just sitting in.
I lunge in front of Eloise, raising Dawnbreaker. “It’s a harpy. Stay back. Their bite is poisonous.”
