Floss rubs my arm.You’ve got this. You really do. You’ve practised so much ...
I shake my head, feeling guilty. It’s easy when it’s one-to-one. More difficult when you know 1,500 eyes are going to be on you. I’m worried I’m going to forget my lines.
Or not even be able to open my mouth,I think privately with a shudder.
Damian picks up on our conversation since I’m not shielding.My offer for hypnosis sessions still stands, Hester. Think of it as a tool to help you prepare and focus so you can feel more confident. I’ll take you through some visualisation exercises.
Thanks, Damian, I think gratefully. Can we do a session soon?
Yup.He gives me a nod from over on the couch, and I relax. Maybe it will be OK. Perhaps I will be able to act this time.
Floss smiles at me kindly.See, it will be fine. You’re going to wow everyone.
She’s being so supportive. Damian too. But their faith in me is misplaced. I can’t keep lying. I should tell everyone right now what I’ve done ...
‘Here we go.’ Elliott hands us mugs of blood, and I sip mine, feeling the tension in my body ease. Sadie is keeping well away, sipping her nourishment over by the window on the other side of the studio. I don’t blame her. Regret for my behaviour is already seeping in. I hate confrontation, and I’m always the first to make amends.
‘Once we’re finished, we should probably go and buy an air mattress before the shops close,’ Damian says. ‘Since there’s no pull-out couch. I checked.’
Ugh, I hate shopping and crowds.
‘We need to visit Charlie too and see if he knows anything about Alexander that may be helpful,’ Sadie comments.
I groan inwardly. That’s even worse! I’d rather slit my wrists than see my ex again.
‘Why don’t I go and buy the air mattress—’ I start.
But Sadie interrupts. ‘No, we need to stick together,’ she says firmly, her blue eyes piercing me over the top of her mug. ‘You may need to shield Floss and Damian in case there’s any blood bond activation with Alexander. We don’t know where he is.’
I nod slowly. She’s got me there. I don’t want anything to happen to Floss or Damian because of one bad decision on my part. But I’m not looking forward to seeing Charlie again. Our break-up in 1905 was so bad that I had to move to Edinburgh because London wasn’t big enough for the both of us.
‘Hopefully, he’s mellowed in his old age,’ I remark nervously. ‘He vowed that if he ever saw me again, he’d rip my throat out.’
‘Charlie’s full of hot air,’ says Floss soothingly, knowing how much I hate him. ‘He’s jealous that your powers are superior to his.’
‘Yeah, Charlie’s a decrepit arsehole,’ adds Sadie blithely, which makes my lips twist. She never minces words. ‘Any one of us could take him down. Even you, Elliott.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ he replies with a self-deprecating laugh, and she puts her arm around his waist. ‘But he does have a knack for coming up with pertinent information when we need it,’ she continues. ‘After all, he led us to Hester in 1921.’ She smiles at me hesitantly, and I know she’s extending an olive branch, attempting to apologise for riling me up before. I take it gladly because life’s too long for holding a grudge and return her smile.
‘Fine, let’s all go to Belgravia and visit the decrepit arsehole.’
Chapter 11
Hester | London, 1560
My arms are gripped so tightly I cannot struggle. I open my mouth to scream but then think better of it. Darius’s warning was clear. If I do, there will be ‘swift consequences’. That likely means either he or the guard will knock me out, and I need to be fully alert to face whatever awaits me in the dungeon.
But why have I been arrested? It doesn’t make sense. I have performed my royal taster duties perfectly for the queen. If what Darius said is true, perhaps she wishes to be rid of me so she can bed Lord Dudley without my judgement? But why now? Things beyond my grasp are happening, schemes and plots that I can’t understand. I feel like a pawn in a chess game, one that I have no hope of winning.
The guard unlocks a heavy door banded in iron, and cold air blasts my face from below. It smells of something rotting: death and decay. Understanding passes through me.If I am taken down there, I will not be returning. I struggle and whimper, begging with the guard, ‘Please, no—’
But Darius claps a hand over my mouth. ‘Quiet!’ he hisses in my ear. ‘I will not tell you again.’
I’m dragged down the dark stairwell and make no further protest, my heart thumping in my ears. By now I am so afraid that I’m on the verge of fainting.Oh please, God, don’t let me be tortured. I am not good with pain.But an inner voice tells me to be calm, to breathe, and all will be well. That I have done nothing wrong.
At the bottom of the stairs, I’m marched along a dank passageway, then paused in front of a thick wooden door, peppered with iron studs. Darius knocks, and a muffled male voice intones, ‘Come!’
A dungeon cell lit with candles is not at all what I’m expecting when I’m dragged inside. Even more surprising is that the square room with its low ceiling is furnished. A man with long blond hair sits at an oak desk, writing with a quill. He is wrapped in a black velvet cloak, and the bare arm resting on the paper is thin and pale. His face is similarly gaunt with protruding cheekbones, but despite this, he is still handsome and possesses a noble presence that commands attention. But he is no one I have ever seen before. The cloaked man places the quill in the ink pot and looks at me silently. Something about the stillness of him,his dark penetrating gaze, chills my bones.
