Heat Season – Day 60 of 91
With a gulp, you stared up the black drive snaking between the dark pines that cloaked the hill. Despite the hot sun, the shadows that pooled beneath the thick stone arch left a shiver on your skin. Your fingers tightened on the shifter. Sicarius strolled around the car and shut the door behind him. The heavy gate slipped open as wide as the maw of some great beast. The road before you looked like an oil slick. Throat tight, you turned to your husband. His grin was as taunting as it was bright. He tapped your hand with his index finger.
“Traditionally, one does not ascend a hill while in park,” he teased.
Glancing from him to the winding switchbacks, you reached for your lap belt. “Perhaps you had better—”
His eyes were cold as ice as the smile stretched one tooth wider. “Now, now. How will you ever learn if I do everything for you, kitten?”
You pursed your lips.
Sicarius laid his hand over yours. “I can handle the shifting if you will work the pedals.”
“That sounds needlessly complicated,” you pointed out. “Also, on a hill this steep, why would I ever shift out of first gear?”
“Just drive faster, and second gear will do fine.”
Eyes narrowed, you shooed his hand away. “I shall stay in first, thank you.”
“As you wish,” he replied with a shrug.
You depressed the clutch and pressed your right foot down until the engine began to purr. Once the sound reached the correct tone, you took a deep breath and shifted into first. Your foot eased off the clutch, linking the engine and transmission back together. While the Lacrima crawled forward, you pushed the throttle higher and started the ascent.
Slow, low claps echoed from the passenger side. “See? You did not need my help.”
With a pleased smile, you rounded the first switchback. The driveway to the manor climbed at a steep grade which made your stomach ache. However, as the Lacrima continued to keep pace, some blood began to return to cold fingers.
Sicarius nudged your arm after the third curve. “Try second gear,” he urged.
Feeling a little less panicked, you tapped the gas and over-revved the engine. As excitement got the better of you, your foot came off the clutch too fast. The car lurched into gear.
Sicarius laughed. “Easy, kitten. The car is no competition for you, so there is no need to kill her.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled, cheeks growing hot.
He patted your back. “Do not fret. There is nothing you can do that I can not fix.”
By the time you reached the final switchback, a low buzz had begun to filter through the cabin. You raised a brow and turned to your husband. “What is that noise?”
He hummed and tapped his chin. “Probably nothing.”
“Probably?”
Sicarius slapped the dashboard. There was a sharp clunk, and the droning noise became a violent rattle. “Ah…” he pointed out his window. “Perhaps I ought to investigate that before we continue?”
You revved the engine for the shift and moved back into first. The car began to slow just as you crested the turn. After you pulled to the side of the hill, your shaking hands yanked up the emergency brake before shutting off the engine. “What happened?”
Sicarius unbuckled his seat belt. “I do not know.”
When the door clicked shut, he walked to the front of the vehicle. The black hood slid up, blocking your view. Small tings and sharp clanks echoed from the engine bay. Unbuckling your lap belt, you slipped out of the driver’s side. Though it was summer, the thin mountain air was cool in the shade. You rubbed your arms and crept up towards your husband.
In a small voice, you asked: “Did I damage it?”
With one swift pull, Sicarius snapped the lid shut. Leaning on the glossy paint, he smirked at you. “Well, it will not burst into flames, but I think it would be best to have Lyle look at it before we proceed on.”
You toed the ground. “So I did damage it.”
Thick arms engulfed your body, and Sicarius spun you around to face the back of the car. “Now, now. It is called ‘learning to drive,’ not ‘driving perfectly the very first time.’”
Nervous eyes glanced at the vehicle. It was more like a piece of art on wheels than a method of transportation. “But the Lacrima is your favorite…”
A pale pointer lifted your chin. Dazzling blue eyes stared into yours. “And you are my wife. Which do you think is more important to me?”
A soft smile tugged at tight lips. You buried your head in his tweed sport coat. “Thank you,” you murmured. “I will not do it again, but thank you.”
Sicarius chuckled in your ear. “I appreciate both sentiments.” He glanced at your T-strap heels and looked up the arduous path. “Though, those might be an issue.”
Kneeling down, you started to unfasten the buckle. He grasped your shoulder. Your eyes flicked to his. His grin was tense.
“Absolutely not.”
You frowned. “It is only a ten-minute walk from this point.”
He sneered. “Do you expect me to let my wife walk stocking-foot up the rest of the drive?”
You shrugged. “All right, then I shall stay in the ca—”
Before you could finish the thought, you were swept up against a firm chest. One arm wrapped itself around your shoulders while the other snaked under your knees. Your eyes bulged as you clung to his neck for support.
“Sicarius, put me down!”
“I will not.”
“You can not carry me up this hill!”
“Why not?” He bounced you in his strong grip. Your eyes clenched shut as zero gravity flopped your stomach. “It’s romantic,” he cooed.
“When you drop me, it will not be romantic!” you protested.
He pouted and pinched your thigh.
“Stop that!”
“Have some faith in me,” he teased. “I am quite sure that I can at least mak—”
The word stuck in your husband’s throat. Broad shoulders stiffened. The air felt heavy and silent, like a blanket of snow. Sicarius lowered you to the ground, keeping your face pointed to the Lacrima. One hand around your waist, he pulled you to the passenger door. When his thumb depressed the latch, it was chilled as a corpse. His tight grip on your hip ached like a bruise. Unblinking eyes stared at something up the road.
Sicarius’s voice was low and firm as he nudged you. “Get in the car.”
You turned to look where Sicarius was staring and wished you had not.
A scruffy red dog stood ten paces off the driver’s side door. The long ears of the setter were matted with cockleburs. It stared into the air, snapping at some invisible fly. Thick ropes of drool oozed from its mouth as it slathered its way across the pavement. All at once, it made a retching, gagging noise and began to swipe at its face. Writhing and clawing itself to blood, it opened its eyes long enough for bottomless black to stare right through you. Like something from a nightmare, your heavy legs felt rooted to the ground.
“Kitten.”
Your head snapped up, staring into Sicarius’s patient expression.
“Get in the car,” he repeated, his voice soft.
Without further hesitation, you crawled inside. As you tried to climb over the center console, the door clicked shut behind you.
“What are you doing!?” you demanded in horror. “Get in!”
With a smile, Sicarius shook his head and held a finger to his lips.
In confused terror, you watched him make his way around the back of the car. By the time Sicarius rounded the vehicle, the creature was seven paces away. Head tremoring, it swayed back and forth on unsteady feet, its empty gaze sweeping over the terrain before it. When its attention snapped to your husband, its black lips quivered into a drunken snarl.
Sicarius came to a standstill, his hand barely a finger’s twitch from the handle to safety. Crusted furrows of fur and saliva curled around the setter’s nose. Long ears swung back until they laid low upon its skull. It lowered its head, gaze fixed upon your husband. Jagged fangs flashed into view, gleaming from frothing mad rage.
Sicarius’s eyes met the inky black with clinical regard. His nostrils flared and a dark shadow fell upon his face. Smirking lips pulled tight over his teeth, mimicking the creature’s expression with eerie accuracy. He drew the door open, smooth and slow. Gaze locked with the mad creature before him, your husband slid into the driver’s seat with only the whisper of his coat on leather to announce his arrival. As the door clicked shut, a great pause filled the empty gap between man and animal. The dog froze, its heavy lids drawing wide over its domed brow. Then, in a furious rush, the creature surged forward, lunging for the source of the noise. When its fangs found no purchase on the swooping fender, it staggered away, face rippling with fury.
It was only when Sicarius leaned over to your side of the car that you remembered to breathe.
“What were you thinking!?” you demanded. “I could have crawled across the center console. You should have just followed behind me instead of getting closer to it!”
“Yes, but the dog is on this side and there isn’t enough room for us to switch places.”
“Switch places?”
The glove compartment fell open in your lap, revealing a steel blue pistol with a dark rosewood handle. Inlaid with diamond shaped tortoiseshell grip embellishments, it reminded you of the geometric patterns on the study floor.
“I doubt you’re as good a shot as I am,” he explained.
Your eyes widened as he extracted the weapon and began to roll down his window crank by crank.
“Why is there a gun in the glovebox!?” you asked in horror.
He raised an eyebrow and let out a snort of amusement. “Because I put it there?”
You glanced back and forth between the cold metal and your husband. “Is it loaded?”
He smiled as he flipped off the safety. “Yes, but the manual guards are quite good.” He patted your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have seen a policeman drop it three stories off a roof during a tussle. The hammer broke off, and the round never fired.”
His words brought you no comfort.
The gaunt dog stumbled, falling to the asphalt. There, it lay on the ground, curly tail tucked under its body. Through its thin red coat, you could see the heart hammering against its ribs. The animal staggered to its feet, staring at the car. A hoarse, croup-like howl ripped from the setter’s throat. Your husband leaned into the window frame, pointing at the dog’s left side, near the tip of the elbow.
“I can not shoot it in the brain, or it might spill the madness into the air,” Sicarius explained, as if he were discussing how to scramble eggs. “Cover your ears. This may take more than one shot.”
Curling into a ball, you buried your knees in your chest and clamped your hands over your head. It was not enough to conceal the sound. One dull pop was followed by a screech of pain and a long pause. Sicarius brushed against you. The car wobbled as the driver’s door slammed shut. Two more cracks fell in rapid succession. Your blood felt like ice water. The door clicked closed. Your husband leaned past you, placing the gun back to the glovebox. When the car slipped into drive, the rattle was gone.
“It had to be done,” Sicarius said. “It would have died in agony and taken others with it.”
Your body began to shake.
A large hand squeezed your shoulder. “Calm down, kitten. You know I will always protect you from any wild dogs.”
That was not it. That absolutely was not it.
It was impossible to decide which item was worse: your husband’s unexpected weapon stockpile or the way in which he effortlessly used it. Your mind was a blur. Trying to absorb the information was like willingly drinking poison. As you stared blankly into your skirt, the now quiet car rolled up the hill.
When Ellsworth opened Gravelorne’s front door, he was greeted by the master’s weary smile. Sicarius carried your cold, quivering body across the threshold. Your eyes were glassy and listless. Breathing came in shallow rasps. Ellsworth tugged the door shut tight and threw the latch.
Sicarius hitched your weak body higher against his chest. “We had a run-in with one of the ferals. Would you be so good as to fetch the brandy?”
Ellsworth’s fuzzy brows furrowed. “Shall I send for a doctor?”
Sicarius shook his head. “No. I think she will come out of it with some food. Poor thing is a bit shocked.”
Ellsworth’s eyes roamed over your dazed expression. Without a word, he bustled to the office and opened the great door. Sicarius strode past his manservant, kicking the entryway shut behind him. The tap of leather on marble faded down the hall. Your husband set you in the large wingback chair, kneeled beside you, and patted your hand.
“We are back at Gravelorne now. Do you understand?”
You nodded, drawing your knees under your chin. Your hands clamped around your shins, clutching your body into a tight ball. With your face tucked into your skirt again, the dull throbbing at the back of your skull became painfully apparent. A single hiccup erupted from your throat.
Sicarius’s warm hand rubbed up and down your back. “You are safe. I promise.”
The image of the unexplained loaded gun monopolized your thoughts. Your teeth began to chatter. Two quick raps on the study door sounded dull, like they were coated in mud.
“Enter,” Sicarius called.
Reeves appeared, clutching a silver tray with warm brandy, steaming broth, and fresh bread. He hurried to the desk, setting the food down. Brown eyes searched yours for signs of life. Stilted breathing and a glazed stare were all he received in reply.
“She looks awful,” he muttered, pouring a small glass of liquor. “What happened?”
“There was some trouble with the car. One of the mad ferals came out of the woods. I dispatched it.”
“Right in front of her!?”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Should I have let it wander off?”
Reeves scratched the back of his neck. “Well, no… I mean—” He cast a sideways glance at your vacant, desolated expression.
Sicarius took the brandy and pressed it into your hand. “Have Norton collect the body for cremation. We can not risk a scavenger consuming it.”
With a grimace and a nod, the footman made his way to the door. As the latch clicked shut, you sipped the brandy. The smooth drink tasted like apricots and oak.
Sicarius lifted the wide porcelain spoon to your lips. “Say ‘ah.’”
Bloodshot eyes rolled to him. You clamped your lips shut and shook your head.
He smirked. “Well, at least you can manage that much.” Setting the bowl aside, he waved one hand to prompt you. “Come along. You need to say it.”
As you swallowed another gulp of the warm drink, your stomach began to burn.
“You are not going to ask why I shot the dog?”
The image of the poor creature violently gagging on its own saliva seared across your mind. You winced and mumbled, “I wish I never saw it, but I did not want to see it suffer either.” With a rattling inhale, you set down the drink and pressed your brow into your knees. “I do not know what to feel about that,” you admitted.
Sicarius stroked your cheek. “It is not the dog’s fault that its previous masters were fools. However, as the steward of these lands, I can not ignore the threat it posed to my staff, my family, and the village below us.”
“I know. I know.” Your voice was cracking. “I know all that, and it still does not—”
As your words devolved into harsh sobs, Sicarius wrapped you in his hard embrace. “Pitying the dead will not bring the world to rights. Only action can do that.” He pressed his cheek against your ear. “I promise you, the nobles who abandoned the dogs have already paid for their short-sighted actions.”
His words did nothing to ease your mind.
A soft clink was followed by a hand lifting your head. “You need to eat for me,” your husband pushed, pressing the bone china spoon to your lips. “A bite at least.”
The taste of onions and carrots rolled across your tongue. Swallowing felt like choking. You threw your head back into the chair, clenching your eyes tight. The soup slipped down your gullet. Sniffing back the tears, you took slow, deep breaths.
His fingers wove themselves into your hand. “If you will eat a little more for me, I have something special to show you.”
“W—what?” you stammered.
He scooped a fresh load of broth into the spoon. “Eat first.”
By the time the master of Gravelorne finished coaxing you through the bread, warmth had returned to your skin. Climbing the stairs on buckling legs was a feat all its own. Sicarius stopped two stumbles before you managed to make it to the bedroom. He set you upon the bed as if you were made of glass. The faucet ran in the bath. Returning with a warm washcloth, he dabbed at your tear-streaked face. Each soft brush of the plush fabric sent tingles down your skin. When he smiled at you, your chest ached.
Satisfied with his work, Sicarius made his way to the smooth desk on the far side of the room. He depressed a concealed panel and a secret drawer popped out on the left. From the hidden chamber, he extracted a stack of old, yellowed letters on fine linen paper. The red binding cord slipped free. He shuffled through them one at a time until, at last, he plucked two from the pile. Tucking the others back into their hiding spot, he strolled to your side. When he held out the letter, you recognized the boar’s head crest.
“That is—!”
Sicarius smirked. “I saved all his letters over the years. Most are bound in the library, but my favorites are up here.” The paper waved back and forth. “Go on. Read it.”
Rain Season – Day 10 of 92, 31st Year of Creipus the Pious
Sicarius:
I am sad to report my fool son has engaged himself to a pathetic farce of a woman. My new daughter-in-law is the only heir of a low-ranking noble house. She possesses great beauty and a title but little else. The woman finds joy in only two things: the society pages and the gossip of her hen-headed friends. She can speak for hours and say nothing at all. The endless blathering wears upon my nerves.
In other news, my eyesight continues to wane. The doctor informs me my retinas soon will be useless. The last employment agency in Illestrad tells me that there are no further applicants for the secretary position. Apparently, I am considered “difficult to work with.” I replied that, had they in their possession a worker who was better than useless, I would be disinclined to correct their employee’s failings. It seems that was an unsatisfactory response as I was asked to never return. I believe I hold the distinct honor of being the only man banned from all fifteen offices.
As fate would have it, I may have stumbled upon a potential solution to my problem. Yesterday, when leaving the city library, I found a bedraggled creature crying in the rain. Curious, I asked what she was sniffling about. It seems she was the chambermaid of some great house, but circumstances forced her from the occupation without reference. The whole thing had such a pathetic romance about it that I offered her a position.
As you would expect, my new maid is a disaster. Her speech is ghastly, and she is completely illiterate. She ducks around my house like an abused kitten whenever I walk by. I have never had a fouler cup of tea in my life than one brewed by her hand. Despite all that, she has two redeeming qualities: she possesses a ravenous efficiency when put to any task and a thirst for knowledge that rivals my own at her age. I set her upon a page of letters and was shocked to find it completed to my satisfaction in two nights. I am thinking of training the feral thing up and seeing what becomes of her. If she disappoints me, I suppose I can put her in a box and write “free to a good home” on the front.
Also, the next time your ship goes out, import me a better laundress. The one closest to my house starches my collars as if she wishes to slit my throat with them.
Yours sincerely,
Professor William Campbell
Blurry eyes looked up from the letter. The professor’s snitty voice rang in your ears, clear as that day in the rain. You clenched your hand to your mouth as fresh tears rolled down your face.
Sicarius held out a second envelope. The paper was wrinkled with dog-eared corners. “Would you like to read the next one?”
With a strained smile, you nodded.
Snow Season – Day 89 of 90, 31st Year of Creipus the Pious
Sicarius:
I am glad to hear business continues to be prosperous despite the mutterings of war in Gamoid. I wish that I could travel with you, but alas, my bones are becoming thornier with each passing day. Getting old is not something I recommend. As to your two inquiries, I have news on both fronts.
First, I must commend you for finding the only thing my daughter-in-law truly excels at: gossip-mongering. She has confirmed that Lady Gravelorne’s last ball gown was of “lower quality” and her new necklaces are “pathetically petite.” My son reports the family’s society appearances are becoming less and less frequent. While rumors suggest an illness is to blame for their inhospitality, Captain Payne reports seeing Lord Gravelorne in a drunken scuffle with a bookie at Pinesburrow Track. If you truly have designs upon Gravelorne Manor, open negotiations posthaste. My insurance agent tells me the eldest son increased the policy on the estate last week. An unfortunate “accident” may soon befall the property. However, if you wanted to negotiate a good price, that may be to your profit.
As to my “pet project,” yes, the maid continues to siphon information like a vortex. If things progress well, I may yet have her reading elementary children’s books within the month. After all those years of teaching fools, I find myself gratified to see one pupil who makes steady progress. When you are old, perhaps you will understand the fatherly pride that teaching a willing mind can give. I admit, I am coming to look upon her much like my own child, and I believe she senses it. Her manner becomes less skittish by the day. In fact, after witnessing a heated discussion with a pushy tradesman, I daresay the kitten has some claws. With a little prompting, she may turn out to be a very entertaining prospect. I wonder if I could teach her to hiss away “well-wishers” at the door?
Yours sincerely,
Professor William Campbell
You snickered into your hand. “I do recall him encouraging me to do that. I thought he was joking. It sounds like he was more serious than I realized.”
Sicarius leaned back onto his elbow, resting his head upon your thigh. With a hum, his fingers rolled down the side of your leg. You inhaled and smacked his shoulder with a grin. He wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at you. As your attention turned back to the letter at hand, you noticed a few smears at the edge of the page. You leaned over and held the paper against his hand. The marks matched the span of his fingers.
“What did you do to this letter?” you asked. “It looks worn ragged.”
He closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. “Do you recall when I proposed?”
You snorted and ran your fingers through his short locks. Your nails traced the edge of his long scar. “Quite viscerally.”
Sicarius rolled onto his back. In the warm afternoon light, his eyes were a moonlike grey-blue. He lifted his hand to your cheek and trailed his fingers down the side of your jaw. “I told you that I wanted you ever since I read the professor’s letter, did I not?”
You nodded.
He tapped the edge of the paper. “You thought I meant the recommendation letter. I meant this one.”
As your eyes flicked to the date, your jaw dropped. “That was over a decade ago!”
He smirked, taking the letter from you. “I saw you once, about a month earlier. You were asleep in that club chair in his study, curled up like a cat. It made me want to pet you. I was interested, but rest assured, it was not love at first sight,” he teased and waved the paper back and forth. “Hearing what he said in this letter is what made me fall for you.”
Your heart throbbed in your chest.
Sicarius raised a brow, grinning at you. “Would you like to read some more?”
With a beaming, teary smile, you answered with one word: “Yes!”