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DIARY ENTRY, EMMA Weaver.
He told me tonight. Lying in my arms, believing he was safe, he told me what he did to his brother. Part of me can understand it—to spend a lifetime being told you’re second best, only to snap when something you want more than anything torments you. But another part of me could never understand because I could never be that selfish, self-centred, or cruel. One thing is for sure—his children are damned. Even the ones not infected with his madness are ruined because of what their father did to their mother and uncle.
A shrill ringing pierced my concentration.
No!
I had to find out what Cut did. Why were Jethro and his siblings damned? What the hell happened all those years ago?
Three days had passed. Three nights where I slept in sheets fading with Jethro’s scent. Three mornings where I’d paced and fretted and begged. Daniel had been offsite, leaving me to boredom rather than torture. I hadn’t seen Vaughn or Cut, and I’d been kept isolated, locked inside my room like a true prisoner.
Wasting three days in limbo was sacrilege. I wanted vengeance. However, my mind couldn’t stop swimming with worry. Jethro, Jethro, Jethro. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was important.
The discordant ringing persisted; I wrenched my eyes from the remaining blank page. There was no more. My mother had left the mystery unsolved.
The Weaver Journal was the only thing with the power to steal me away from repeating thoughts of Jethro. However, reading the journal’s pages gave me the strangest sensation—as if I’d lifted up the veil of time and looked at Hawksridge in a capsule of then and now. Hearing about Jethro when he was young, about Bryan loving my mother, and even Bonnie thanking Emma for making her dresses—it was surreal.
Wrong.
Ring. Ring. Ring!
Tossing away the journal, I scrambled out of bed. Dashing across the room, I peered at yards of apricot fleece, searching for the origin of the ringing. Pushing aside fabric and opening a small cubby inside the storage cupboard, I found the source.
What on earth? Why have I never seen this before?
Plucking the phone off its tarnished cradle, I held it to my ear. “Hello?”
Instantly, a female voice said, “He’s awake.”
My knees gave out.
Slamming against the dresser, I clutched the edge. Adrenaline drenched my system like a tropical rainstorm. No matter how much I’d prayed and hoped he’d stay alive, I hadn’t truly believed it.
“Are—are you sure?” My voice was quiet as a mouse. “How can you be sure?”
Don’t give me false hope. I won’t be able to stand it.
“I’m sure.” Jaz sniffed happily. “I spoke to him myself.”
My heart leapt over mountains of joy. Bending forward, I placed my forehead on trembling hands. “Thank heavens.”
Jaz didn’t speak for a moment.
I stayed silent, too.
Both of us breathed loudly, living in happiness bought with hard-earned fortune.
Things would be better now.
Letting the knowledge settle, I focused on the other man in my heart. “V...did you move him?”
“Yes. He’s in a different room. Warm with regular food.” She paused. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I promise.”
I squeezed my eyes. “Thank you.”
An awkward silence fell, amplifying our unspoken need to talk about Jethro.
Jethro is still heir. He’ll end this. I know he will.
“Jasmine? How—how long—?”
How long will he be gone?
I was greedy. He’d been awake for only minutes, yet I wanted him now. I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hold him—cradle the truth in my hands. But that wasn’t my only reason. The real reason sat like a sinister splodge on my joy. How long will I have to endure Cut’s whims?
I’d been lucky these past three days. I had no illusion that luck would last.
Jasmine read between the lines. “How long is irrelevant. You’re mine. I’ll do what I promised, Nila.”
Fresh tears sparked into being. “I know.”
You’ll do your best, but ultimately, I’m alone.
Just like I’d been alone when Jethro controlled my fate. I guess nothing had changed. It was still up to me to slice out their loathsome hearts.
“And Ke—” I cut myself off. Stay in riddles and code. Who knew what lines were tapped and which walls had ears. “The other one...is he awake?”
Jasmine sighed heavily. “No.”
The single word throbbed with sadness, giving no room for questions.
A loud rustle, then a quick, “I’ve got to go.” A second later, the dial tone rang loud and empty.
Pushing away from the cupboard, I placed the phone back onto its cradle. Her phone call left me jumpy with hope and desolate with sorrow. I wanted them both to make it—hearing only Jethro was awake was bittersweet.
He’s awake!
I hugged myself.
He hasn’t left me.
Slowly, I padded toward the bed where I’d set down the Weaver Journal. At the last second, I changed my mind. I couldn’t handle reading about ancient conspiracies and pain. I needed to cleanse my thoughts with something I had utter control over.
Switching direction to the chaise lounge, I upended the basket where I’d stuffed a damask panel and Georgian lace.
He’s awake.
Those two words were now my favourite in the entire English language. I smoothed out the damask and pulled a needle free from a pincushion.
He’s awake.
Better than alive.
He’s awake.
Fate had finally been kind—the tables had finally turned.
Everything will be different now.
Cut, Daniel, and Bonnie would take Jethro and Kestrel’s place in the ground. The balance of good and evil would right itself. And Vaughn and I would continue with whatever dreams we had with no guillotine hanging over our future.
Switching on another side lamp, I bent to my task of repairing the lace with painstaking needlework. It wasn’t late, but the sun had set a few hours ago and Hawksridge creaked around me, depositing its residents into the night. The growls of motorbikes shattered the wintery air, Black Diamonds disappearing to run another smuggling delivery.
I lost myself in the exquisite craftsmanship, giving myself over to scattered thoughts. Jaz and Vaughn’s rescue mission had gone unnoticed. Flaw had done the impossible. Jethro had cheated death.
We won.
Could Cut tell? Could he feel that his sons weren’t dead?
It didn’t matter.
His arrogance was his undoing.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
His time is running out.
* * * * *
“She wants you, Nila.”
My head snapped up.
My room was no longer empty. It had invited a visitor while I napped on the chaise. The lace I’d been working on littered the carpet and the needle harpooned my denim skirt, sticking upward like a tiny lance.
Flaw headed toward me, hands in his pockets. “Did you hear me?”
I blinked.
By day, I left the dresser pushed away from the doorway in case legitimate requests meant I had to open it quickly. But by night, I shoved the heavy armoire across, allowing a false sense of safety.
How long have I been asleep?
Sunshine sparkled on the horizon, turning my side lamp mute with fresh daylight.
Oh, my God, I slept all night?
I didn’t feel rested. I felt tired and foggy.
Jethro...
He’d been in my thoughts all day. All night. All my life.
He’s awake!
I missed him so much—missed his golden eyes, his hesitant smile. I missed the epiphany when he finally broke and let me put him back together again.
I miss you...
“Nila...you awake or sleep walking?” Flaw clicked his fingers in front of my face.
I flinched. “I’m awake. Sorry, just a bit fuzzy.”
“When was the last time you slept properly?”
I shrugged, plucking the needle from my skirt and stabbing it into the pincushion. “Can’t remember.” My eyes burned from tiredness; wooziness existed in my brain.
He scowled. “You do realise they’re safe. You can relax a bit without grief ruining your sleep.”
Standing, my body creaked in protest from sleeping on the chaise. I stumbled forward with vertigo and my cell-phone thudded to the carpet by my feet.
Huh. I don’t remember retrieving it from my bedside.
Flaw stayed silent as I blinked away my illness and collected it from the floor. I must’ve grabbed it while dreaming, hoping for a text.
Did he message?
I swiped it on.
Nothing.
No messages. No calls. No emails.
I’ve been completely forgotten.
Some part of me hoped that now Jethro was awake, he’d text me. That for the first time in months, we’d talk like we had before this mess started. Kite to Threads. Inbox to inbox.
“Has he been in touch?” Flaw glanced at my phone.
My lungs deflated; I shook my head. “No.” Brushing stray hair from my eyes, I said, “I heard that he’s awake, though. You?”
A slight smile tilted his lips. “Yes. She told me.”
I smiled back. I’d entered Hawksridge believing everyone was my enemy. Turned out, only a few people were worthy of that title. Most of them were kind and honourable, wrapped up in their own issues, but ultimately generous and just like any stranger—frightening and mysterious until the boundary of no acquaintance distorted into friendship.
Kes had proven that. Then Jasmine. And now Flaw.
I knew all along I could win Jethro.
In a way, I think I’d known he was mine ever since I was young.
Once this was all over, I wanted to find out how many times we’d met. How many instances we’d spoken in our childhood—being groomed for our roles.
“Anyway.” Flaw swayed on his heels. “I’m not here for a social call. Been instructed to bring you to her majesty.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“Not the Queen of England.” He smirked. “The Queen of Hawksridge.” Jamming his hands deeper into his pockets, his eyes darkened. “She wants a word.”
“A word or a beating?” I clutched my phone. “A conversation with the old bat, alone, isn’t high on my list of priorities.”
If you’re alone, though, you could kill her.
The thought welded me to the carpet.
“I wouldn’t recommend calling her ‘old bat’ in person, if I were you.”
My mind ran away, forgetting Flaw existed. The only way I could kill those who needed to die was to be strategic. I couldn’t do it around others. I couldn’t do it in plain sight. I had to be sneaky and wily and smart.
Every night, I stared into the darkness, using the black emptiness as a chalkboard for my plotting. I wished I had a treadmill in my room. Running always helped me problem solve. But even though my body remained stationary, it didn’t mean my mind did.
I’d never been so enamoured with death before or so hyped on hypothetical murder.
I knew from television to expect copious amounts of blood and a struggle if I stabbed my victims to death. I also knew that strength would mean nothing against Cut and Daniel, so I had to have the element of surprise.
A gun would’ve solved my problems, but the noise and lack of experience in aiming could potentially be my downfall.
All opportunities led to one conclusion...I had to be quick and quiet. I had to be ruthless. And it had to look like an accident or remain hidden long enough to steal three lives before I was slaughtered in retribution.
I can’t kill Bonnie.
Not yet. It had to be Daniel or Cut first...then her.
She’ll be my last.
“You better go. I doubt she’ll make allowances for lateness even if you haven’t written her on your social calendar.” Flaw’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “New day. New psychological plague to administer.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Ha-ha. Not funny.”
Taking a deep breath, I placed my cell-phone on the end of the bed. “I guess I have no choice.” Spinning to face him, I gathered my long hair and secured it in a messy ponytail with an elastic band from my wrist. “Did she say why at least?”
“Do I look like I have tea and crumpets with the fucking woman?” Flaw rolled his eyes. “All I was told was to get you.” He held up his hands. “And no, I don’t have insider knowledge like I did with the lawyers. This time, you’re on your own.”
His eyes skated down my white jumper with a filigree seahorse and denim skirt. “I, eh...don’t have to tell you what happened a few days ago has to remain secret...no matter what she, eh...does?”
My heart spiralled into a tailspin. “What are you saying? She’ll torture me?”
I was no stranger to pain but deliberate extraction of information through agony? How long can I endure something like that?
He stiffened. “If she knew you had something you weren’t telling...I wouldn’t put it past her.” Coming closer, the strain around his mouth and eyes was prevalent.
I’m not the only one not sleeping.
“I don’t need to tell you how—”
“How important it is that those who shall not be named remain dead? Yes, I understand.” I placed my hand on his arm. “I won’t tattle. What you did to help them has firmly earned my loyalty. My lips are sealed.”
The air in the room turned heavy with seriousness. “I’d understand if she did something to make you tell.”
I blanched. “You think I’ll crack? I’m in love with him. There’s no way in hell I would jeopardise their lives.”
His shoulders slumped. “Okay. Sorry for pushing. My neck’s on the line, too.”
I dropped my touch. “I know. You’ve gone above and beyond...only...”
My forehead furrowed. Details were often the crux of impending ruin. Flaw and Jaz had freed them, but now Jethro and Kes were in the hands of doctors, nurses, and people who would talk.
“Only what?” Flaw prompted.
“How did you do it?”
He pursed his lips. “Do what?”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Get them to the basement. How—”
“Easy.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing at memories. “Don’t suppose you know how many secrets live on the estate. How many animals exist—all bred for different purposes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve seen the pheasants for shooting, horses for riding, dogs for hunting. But I doubt you’ll have seen the pigs.”
I took a step back. “Pigs?”
“Pigs are an excellent way to dispose of things you never want found again.”
My mouth hung open. “Excuse me?” In the months I’d lived in Hawksridge, I hadn’t seen a single pig. “Where?”
“They’re hidden over the chase. Having a few pigs and not a pig farm can be suspicious these days, thanks to the recent mobster movies, serving shall we say ‘alternative food.’”
I wrung my hands. “You’re saying Cut feeds his enemies as food to his pigs?” My gullet churned, wanting to evict all knowledge of this conversation. “Shit, he’s barbaric.”
Worse than that—he has sewage for a soul.
Flaw raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying it. “Whatever you think, it’s smart business.” His voice lowered to a sepulchral whisper. “Anyway, Cut asked me to get rid of their bodies. Only, Kes and Jethro had already come to me first. They knew something like this might happen. After all, they’ve been playing with their lives for months. We’d all agreed that I would remain in Cut’s good graces and do what I could to give them a second chance.”
I kept my voice quiet—hidden from microphones trying to record our treason. “But how did he not notice they were still alive?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Pacing away, I scowled. “Didn’t he ask if they were dead? Didn’t he get on his knees and see for himself if he’d killed his sons?” Even asking those questions turned my saliva into a sickly paste. How could a father not even stand over his children and say a prayer or goodbye? How could he just pass off their remains to a servant without a backward glance?
A monster, that’s who.
Flaw grinned, a calculating glint in his eyes. “Aren’t you glad he didn’t? If he had, the outcome of this would’ve been entirely different.”
Ice ran through my blood. He’s right.
In a way, Cut’s cold-heartedness had destroyed Kes and Jethro but saved them, too.
“Once I’d removed them from the lounge, it was a simple matter to take them where I needed. Cut didn’t question me. In fact, I happen to know Jasmine kept him and Bonnie plenty entertained with her screaming about wanting revenge on you.” His eyes warmed. “That girl thinks fast on her feet. It was a good diversion.”
Yes and kept me safe from the full Debt Inheritance.
I ought to be nicer to Jasmine. The risk she’d played would’ve silenced any lesser woman. She truly was Jethro’s sister—strong, formidable, and slightly scary with her temper.
“After I returned from hiding them and setting up the medical equipment, I reported to Cut that it was done.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “All he cared about was if the carpet was cleaned.”
My heart shattered under an anvil of hostility.
Cut was more worried about an object than his sons’ souls.
Utter bastard. Sick, twisted freak.
And who taught him those qualities? His dear old mother.
Bonnie—the female version of the devil.
My hands balled. “I’ve heard enough.”
Bonnie had summoned me. She’d scared and intimidated me but she was no match for my sheer hatred. I wanted to throw her in a cauldron and watch her bones bleach white. I wanted to behead her and witness her body twitch with death throes.
That’ll come true before this is over.
“Take me to her. It’s time we had a little chat.”
* * * * *
“About bloody time.” Bonnie sniffed as Flaw beckoned me over the threshold.
The second my sock-covered feet padded onto the pale pink carpet of Bonnie’s domain, he cocked his chin in goodbye and abandoned me behind the closed door.
All alone.
An opportunity or a disadvantage?
She couldn’t hurt me. Names and slurs weren’t enough to subdue me anymore.
Screw surprise and secrecy.
If I have an opportunity, I’m taking it.
“What do you have to say for yourself, girl? Tardiness is a dirty sin and must be abolished.” Bonnie tapped her cane like a cat flicked its tail.
No matter how much time I spent in the Hall, I doubted I would ever explore all the rooms and levels it offered. Bonnie’s quarters were yet another surprise. Flaw had guided me up the stone staircase where Jasmine and Cut’s study rested, only to pace down a different corridor and up another set of stairs made of winding red carpet and unicorn spindles.
Straightening my shoulders, I looked down my nose at the shrivelled old woman. “I have nothing to say for myself. I was in the middle of something important. I couldn’t let a simple summoning derail me.”
She made a strange wheeze—like wind through wheat or ghosts over a graveyard. “You insolent little—”
“Guttersnipe. Yes, I’ve heard it before.” Moving forward, I didn’t ask permission as I inspected her domain. Every part of me shook. I was angry, afraid, livid, terrified. Lying in the dark, bolstering my courage and fermenting in hatred hadn’t prepared me for face-to-face duelling. This was new—putting my thoughts into action.
Now that I knew Jethro was alive, I had something to risk.
A future.
Jethro’s alive.
I’m alive.
We can be alive together—far away from here.
If I became too impertinent, I could ruin my plans and destroy my future. But if I didn’t stand up to them, I might not see the next debt coming—just like I didn’t see the Third Debt until it was too late.
I had to be strong but aware, vengeful but intelligent—it was an exhausting place to be.
Bonnie’s room wasn’t what I expected. The peach coloured walls, white fireplace, and rose fleurs on the ceiling plasterwork all spoke of a law-abiding, cookie-baking grandmother.
How can a room fulfil the stereotype of elderly nana when the woman is anything but?
The wainscoting gleamed with gold wallpaper, while cross-stitch framed artwork graced every inch of wall space depicting bumblebees, dragonflies, and multihued butterflies.
I expected torture equipment and the blood of her many victims on the wall.
Not this...
I hated this room because it made me doubt. Had she been nice once upon a time? Had she become this hard-hearted dinosaur thanks to situations in her past? What had Cut done to his brother in order to turn his mother into such a beast?
Because it had to be his doing. Whatever happened with his brother reeked of sedition and backstabbing lies.
It doesn’t matter.
She is what she is.
And she’d pay for what she’d done.
Bonnie didn’t say a word, watching me with the signature Hawk attentiveness. The room throbbed with power; subjugation coming from her and rebellion from me. If our wills could battle, the tension would suffocate with unseen clashes.
I paused over a particular stitched oval, trying to make out if it was a praying mantis or a stick insect.
“Jasmine did them for me.” Bonnie’s voice was sweet venom. “Such a wonderful, obedient granddaughter. It was part of her etiquette and decorum training.”
My eyes widened. “She did all of them?”
Bonnie nodded. “You’re not the only one good with a needle and thread, girl.” Snapping her fingers, reminding me so clearly of her grandson who rested in some hospital, she said, “Come closer. I refuse to scream. And you need to pay strict attention.”
My socks ghosted over the pale pink flooring, sinking into a few sheepskin rugs before stopping beside Bonnie Hawk. My nose wrinkled at the familiar smell of rose water and overly sweet confectionary. I didn’t need to know her diet to guess she loved desserts.
She was rotten—just like her teeth from consuming too much sugar.
In my head, I cursed and hexed her, but outwardly, I stood calm and silent.
Do your worst, witch. It won’t be good enough.
She narrowed her eyes, inspecting me from head to toe. I let her, glancing out the window instead. Her chair rested beside a long table pressed up against the lead light glass overlooking the south gardens of Hawksridge. A water fountain splashed merrily, depicting two fawns playing a pipe. The colourful pansies and other flowers that’d run rampant when I first arrived had long since gone dormant, replaced by skeleton shrubs and the dull brown of winter.
“Do you have any skills in this arena?” Bonnie pointed at the hobby scattered over the table. The array of dried and freshly cut flowers painted the table in a rainbow of stamens and petals. Roses, tulips, lilies, orchids. The perfume from dying flora helped counteract the sickly stench of Bonnie.
“No. I’ve never arranged flowers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She pursed her lips. “Hardly a lady fit for society. What skills apart from sewing do you have then? Enlighten me.” Reaching for a crystal vase, she snapped off a piece of green foam and shoved it into the bottom. “Well...go on then, girl. Don’t make me ask twice.”
What the hell is going on here?
The past few days had a strange consistency, as if I was stuck in quicksand. If I moved, it sucked me further into its clutches, but if I stayed still, it treated me as a friend—keeping me buoyant in its greedy granules.
What’s her point?
My back stiffened, but I forced myself to stay cordial. “I run my own fashion line. I can sew any item of clothing. My attention to detail—”
“Shut up. That is all one skill. One lonely talent. A frivolous career for a trollop such as yourself.”
Don’t retaliate. Do not stoop to her bait.
If her aim was to make me snap so she could punish me, then she’d lose. I’d learned from them how to fight.
My hand rubbed my lower back, checking my dirk was in place and ready to be used.
Wouldn’t now be the perfect time to dispatch her?
We were alone. Behind closed doors. Regardless of my past conclusion to kill Cut and Daniel first, I couldn’t waste an opportunity.
My arm tensed, agreeing.
Do it.
Almost as if she sensed my thoughts, Bonnie cooed, “Oh, Marquise? Can you come in here, please?”
Immediately, a door I didn’t see, camouflaged with matching wallpaper, opened. Marquise, a Black Diamond brother with shoulders like a submarine and long greasy hair pulled into a ponytail, appeared. “Yes, Madame.”
Shit.
Bonnie’s eyes glinted. “Could you keep us company, dear? Just sit quietly and don’t interrupt. There’s a good chap.”
“No problem.” He flicked a glance at me.
I hid my scowl as Marquise did as bade and perched his colossal bulk on a dainty carved chair. I was surprised the tiny legs didn’t snap under his weight.
“Now, what were we saying?” Bonnie patted her lips with a fresh rose.
I didn’t know how she’d read my body language so perfectly, but it put me on the back foot. I swallowed, letting go of my dirk. Grabbing a lily, I twirled it in my fingers. “Nothing of importance.”
Bonnie glared. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. It was very important.” Snipping the end of the rose with sharp shears, she jabbed the stem into the green foam at the bottom of the vase.
She caught me looking. “It’s called an oasis. It’s flower arranging basics. If you’d applied yourself at all, you would know that.”
My skin prickled. Hemmed between Bonnie and Marquise, my hands were tied, my mouth effectively gagged.
Damn you, witch.
“Applied myself? I was working until 10:00 p.m. most nights before I’d even turned twelve. I sewed my way through high school and college—I had no free time to indulge in useless hobbies.”
Bonnie swivelled in her chair. Her eyes shadowed, cheeks powered white. “Watch your tongue. I won’t put up with such contumelious talk.”
I sucked in a breath, doing my best to be quiet even though I wanted to stab her repeatedly. My eyes skittered to Marquise.
Damn him, too.
Grabbing a sprig of leaves, she wedged the plume into the oasis. “Know why I summoned you?”
My fingers tightened around the lily. I wanted to crush the white petals and scatter them over Bonnie’s coffin.
A coffin I’ll put her in.
“I’ve long since given up trying to understand you.” I narrowed my eyes, unable to hide my livid hatred. “Any sane person could never guess what madness will do or not do.”
Bonnie scowled.
Her tiny stature sat proud and stiff; arthritic fingers tossed aside a newly snipped tulip and wrapped around her walking stick. Never breaking eye contact, she stood from her chair and inched forward.
I stood my ground even though every part of me vibrated with the urge to smash the crystal vase over her head.
We didn’t speak as the distance closed between us. For an old woman, she wasn’t bowed or creaky. She moved slowly but with purpose. Hazel eyes sharp and cruel and her signature red lipstick smeared thin lips. “That mouth of yours will be taught a lesson now that you’re in my youngest grandson’s care.”
Not if I kill him first.
I balled my hands, keeping my chin high as Bonnie circled around me like a decrepit raptor. Stopping behind me, she tugged my long hair. “Cut this. It’s far too long.”
Locking my knees, I forced myself to remain tall. She’d lost the power to make me cower. “It’s my hair, my body. I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”
She yanked on the strands. “Think again, Weaver.” Letting me go, she continued her perusal, coming to a stop in front of me. Her eyes came to my chin. The height difference helped me in some small margin to look down on her—both physically and metaphorically.
This woman was as twisted as the boughs of an ancient tree, but unlike a tree, her heart had blackened and withered. She’d lived long enough. It was time she left the world, letting bygones be bygones.
Her breath rattled in antique lungs, sounding rusty and ill-used.
Minutes screeched past, both of us waiting to see what the other would do. I broke first, but only because my patience where Bonnie was concerned was non-existent.
Jethro’s alive.
The sooner I evicted Bonnie from my presence, the sooner I could think about him again.
“Spit it out.”
She froze. “Spit what out?”
My spine curved toward her, bringing our faces closer. The waft of sugar and flowers wrapped around my gag reflex. “What do you want from me?”
Her gaze tightened. “I want a great deal from you, child. And your impatience won’t make me deliver it any faster.” Snatching my wrist, she grabbed a thorny rose from the table and punctured my palm with the devilish bloom.
I bit my lip as blood welled.
She chuckled. “That’s for not knowing how to flower arrange.”
She let me go. Instead of dropping the rose, I curled my hand around it, digging the thorn deeper into my flesh. If I couldn’t withstand the discomfort of a small prick, how did I hope to withstand more?
This is my weapon.
Conditioning myself to pain so it no longer controlled me.
Blood puddled, warm and sticky, in my closed fist. Taking a breath, I reached around Bonnie and elegantly placed the rose into the oasis, opening my palm and raining droplets of blood all over virgin petals and tablecloth. “Oops.”
Bonnie’s face blackened as I wiped the remaining crimson on a fancy piece of ribbon. “Anyone can arrange flowers, but it takes a seamstress to turn blood into a design.” My voice lowered, recalling how many nights I’d sliced myself with scissors or pricked myself with needles. I was used to getting hurt in the process of creation.
This was no different.
I would be hurt in the process of something far more noble—fighting for my life.
“You can’t scare me anymore.” I held up my palm, shoving it in her face. “Blood doesn’t scare me. Threats don’t scare me. I know what you are and you’re just a weak, old woman who hides behind insanity like it’s some mystical power.”
Marquise stood from his chair by the wall. “Madame?”
I glanced at him, throwing a condescending smile. “Don’t interrupt two women talking. If she can’t handle a silly little Weaver, then she has no right to pretend otherwise.”
“Sit down, Marquise.” Bonnie breathed hard, glaring at me. “I’ve never met someone so unrefined and uncouth.”
“You obviously never paid close attention to your granddaughter then.”
She’s rough as sandpaper and tough as steel.
Jasmine could lie like the best of them, but beneath that silk and satin façade, she outweighed me in strength of temper ten to one.
Why tell Bonnie that then? Shut up.
Bonnie shoved her finger in my face. “Don’t talk about her. Jasmine is a woman of eloquence. She knows how to speak three languages, play the piano, stitch, sing, and run a time-worn estate. She outranks you in every conceivable way.”
She has you fooled as wonderfully as she did me.
My respect for Jasmine increased a hundred-fold.
If any of us were playing the game best—it was her. She was the true chameleon, pulling the wool over not just her grandmother’s eyes but her father’s and brother’s, too.
She’s a powerful ally to have.
I couldn’t stop pride and annoyance from blurting: “Shame you’re delusional as well as decrepit.”
Bonnie’s papery hand struck my cheek. Her palm didn’t make a sound on my flesh, merely a swat with no sting. She might have the power of speech and ferocity, but when it came to physical threats—she was brittle and weak.
“My family eclipses yours in every way. It’s a shame you didn’t have such an upbringing. Perhaps you would be more pleasing company if you—”
I couldn’t listen to her cackling drone anymore.
“You’re right. It is a shame I didn’t have someone there to teach me how to do my makeup or bake cakes or learn an instrument. I’m sure I would’ve been happier and more rounded if I grew up with a mother. But she was taken from me by you. Don’t twist my past and make it seem like I’m some underprivileged girl who’s here by the grace of your family because I’m not. I’m your prisoner, and I hate you.” I backed away from the table. “I hate you, and you will pay for what you’ve done.”
Her face twisted with rage. “You ungrateful little—”
“I agree. I have been ungrateful. I’ve been ungrateful for falling in love with a good man only for it to be too late. I’ve been ungrateful for a brother I adore and a father who’s been lost since his wife was taken. But I’m not ungrateful for this. I’ve found a fucking backbone, and I mean to use it.”
Marquise stomped forward. “Madame. Just give the word.”
I threw a caustic look at both of them. “You’re proving Bonnie’s too weak to discipline me herself.”
“Enough!” Bonnie brought her walking stick down onto the table with a resounding thwack. “Don’t you dare use my name without my permission!”
“Tell me what you want then, so I don’t have to look at you. I don’t want to be here another minute.”
Don’t go too far.
Bonnie convulsed. Her face turned puce, and for a second, I hoped she’d die—just keel over from exploding blood pressure or ruptured ego.
Don’t get yourself killed over pettiness.
I had a lot more to achieve before that day.
Swallowing hard, Bonnie clasped both hands on her cane. Her thick skirts rustled as her ancient carcass bristled. “Fine. I’ll take great pleasure in doing so.”
God, I feel sick. I don’t want to know.
“Just let me leave. I’ve had enough.” Storming to the door, I tried the handle, only to find it locked. The air turned thick, the heating too hot. I’d drenched my system in too much adrenaline and now paid the price.
Pacing in a circle, I ran my hands through my hair. “You hear me? You make me sick, and unless you let me out, I’ll just vomit all over your precious study.”
Vertigo swooped in, throwing me to the side.
Jethro’s alive.
He’s alive.
I need to stay that way, too.
I gulped, needing fresh air. I’d never been claustrophobic, but the walls loomed closer, triggering another vertigo wave, forcing me to bend forward to keep the room steady.
Bonnie limped closer. “You’re not going anywhere. You want to know why I summoned you? Time to find out.”
Every cell urged me to back away, but I held my ground. I refused to be intimidated. Swallowing back nausea and dizziness, I gritted my teeth.
Bonnie pointed at the wall behind me with her walking stick. “Go on. Look over there. You want me to get on with my point? The answers are there.”
Suspicion and rancour ran rampant in my blood, but I found the courage to turn my back on her and face the wall. My skin crawled to have her behind me—like some viper about to strike, but then my eyes fell on a few grainy sepia-toned photographs. The pictures’ time-weathered quality hinted that they were old. Older than Bonnie, by far.
Drifting closer, I inspected the image. In browns and sienna, the fuzzy photograph depicted a man in a fur coat with a pipe furling with smoke. Snow banks hid parts of Hawksridge, making it seem like some fantastical castle.
There’s something about him.
I peered harder at the man’s face and froze.
Oh, my God.
Jethro?
It couldn’t be. The picture was ancient. There was no way it could be him.
Bonnie sidled up beside me, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief. “Notice the resemblance?”
I hated that she’d intrigued me when I wanted nothing more than to act uninterested and aloof. My lips pinched together, refusing to ask what she was obviously dying to say.
“That’s Jethro’s great, great grandfather. They look similar. Don’t you think?”
Similar?
They looked like the same person.
Thick tinsel hair swept back off sculptured cheekbones and highbrows. Lips sensual but masculine, body regal and powerful, even the man’s hands looked like Jethro’s, wrapped around his pipe tenderly as if it were a woman’s breast.
My breast.
My cheeks warmed, thinking what good hands Jethro had. What a good lover he was. How cruel he could be but so utterly tender, too.
My heart raced, falling in love all over again as memories bombarded me.
Jethro, I miss you.
Having a likeness of him only made our separation that much more painful. My fingertips itched to trace the photograph, wanting to transmit a hug to him—let him know I hadn’t forgotten him. That I was fighting for him, fighting for a future together.
Bonnie coughed wetly. “Answer me, child.”
“Yes, they look similar. Eerily so.” My eyes trailed to the following photographs, hidden between cross-stitches. One picture had the entire household staff standing in ranking order on the front steps of Hawksridge. Butlers and housekeepers, maids and footmen. All sombre and fierce, staring into the camera.
“These are the few remaining images after an unfortunate fire a few decades ago.” Bonnie inched with me as I moved from picture to picture. I didn’t know why I cared. This wasn’t my heritage. But something told me I was about to learn something invaluable.
I was right.
Two more photographs before I discovered what Bonnie alluded to.
My eyes fell on a woman surrounded by dark fabric as if she swam in an ocean of it. Her tied-up hair cascaded from the top of her head thanks to a piece of white ribbon, and her eyes were alight with her craft. Her hands held a needle and thread, lace scattered like snow around her.
It was like staring into a mirror.
No...
My heart bucked, rejecting the image, unable to make sense of how it was possible. Unable to stop myself, one hand went to the photo, tracing the brow and lips of the mystery woman, while my other sketched my own forehead and mouth.
I was the perfect replica of this stranger. A mirror image.
She’s me...I’m her...it doesn’t make any sense.
“Know who that is?” Bonnie asked smugly.
I shook my head. There was no date or name. Only a woman caught in her element, sewing peacefully.
“That was your great, great grandmother, Elisa.” Bonnie stroked the photo with swollen fingers. I wanted to snatch her hand away. She was my family, not hers.
Don’t touch her.
Why didn’t our family albums contain images of Elisa? Why had we kept no records or comprehensive history of what happened to our ancestors? Were we so weak a lineage that we preferred to bury our heads in the sand rather than learn from past mistakes and fight?
Who are we?
Dropping my hands, I breathed deeply. “What is her image doing on your wall?”
“To remind me that history isn’t in the past.”
I turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
Bonnie’s hazel gaze was sharp and cruel. “I mean history repeats itself. You only have to look through generations of photographs to see the same person over and over again. It skips a few bloodlines; cheekbones are different, eye colours change, bodies evolve. But then along comes an offspring who defies logic. Neither looking like their current parents, or taking on the traits of evolution. Oh, no. Out pops an exact imposter of someone who lived over a century ago.”
She looked me up and down, her nose wrinkling. “I don’t believe in reincarnation, but I do believe in anomalies, and you, my child are the exact image of Elisa, and I fear the exact temperament, too.”
A chill darted down my spine. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” My eyes returned to the image. She looked fierce but content—resigned but strong.
She chuckled. “It is if you know the history.”
Wrapping her seized fingers around my elbow, she pushed me onward, following a timeline of photos of Elisa and Jethro’s great, great grandfather.
Seeing Jethro’s doppelganger in images side by side with Elisa sent goosebumps scattering over my skin. “What was his name?”
“Owen.” She paused by a particular one of Elisa and Owen staring sternly into the camera, spring buds on rose bushes and apple blossoms in the orchard behind them. They both looked distraught, trapped, afraid. “Owen ‘Harrier’ Hawk.”
Did you have the same condition Jethro has, Owen? Were you the first to hate your family? Why didn’t you do anything to change your future?
Bonnie let me go. “I could rattle off tales and incidents of what befell those two, but I’ll let the images speak for themselves. After all, what is the common phrase? A picture tells a thousand words?” She laughed softly as I repelled away from her, drinking in image after image.
The copper and coffee tones led me from one end of the room to the other, following a wretched timeline of truth.
Bonnie was right. A picture did say a thousand words, and seeing it captured forever, imprisoned and immortalized, sank my heart further into despair.
Elisa slowly changed in each one.
I gasped as I stumbled onto the First Debt. An ochre image where blood wasn’t red but burnt bronze, trickling from lash marks on Elisa’s creamy back.
It was as if time played a horrible joke, slapping me with the knowledge that my life was on repeat—my very existence following in the footsteps of another, no matter how unique I felt.
Just like when Jethro came to collect me.
That night in Milan when I’d found out my life was never mine. That Jethro was just as indebted as me. That we were both prisoners of a tangled predetermined fate.
My limbs quaked as I moved to the next.
The tarnished image showed Owen, standing with the First Debt whip in his hand, a tortured expression on his face. He was more than just Jethro's ancestor—he could’ve been his identical twin. Seeing another man look so conflicted brought tears to my eyes. He tried to hide it, but regret and connection blazed through the grainy picture.
We weren’t the only ones to fall in love.
Owen and Elisa had defied the Weaver-Hawk boundary and fallen hard.
Photo after photo.
Trial after trial.
Their love deepened and blossomed, only to be slowly hacked away as time went on.
The Second Debt and the ducking stool. Elisa dangled on the same chair I’d been strapped to, the black lake glittering below her.
The Third Debt in the gaming den. Owen fisted crumpled playing cards, his mouth tight and unyielding, eyes begging for a reprieve.
Amongst the extracted debts were personal images. Photos of Elisa sewing, sitting in the gardens, trailing her fingers in the fountain, looking up at the cloud congested sky as if she could fly away. There were also secret images taken of Owen watching her, his fists in his pockets, his face transmitting apology, sorrow, anguish.
We’re living their history.
An exact replica of two people’s lifetimes that’d taken place decades ago.
Yet another example that I was no different from my ancestors. That I had no hope of changing my fate.
I jumped as Bonnie brushed aside my hair, her swollen knuckles hot against my throat. “See, child. You think you’re different. You think you’d won by claiming the heart of my grandson, but I had forewarning.” She waved at the timeline boldly placed on her walls like jewels. “I saw what happened with my ancestors before you even arrived. The day I saw the resemblance between Jethro and Owen, I studied the records. I armed myself years before you came to us. I knew you wouldn’t behave. I knew this generation wouldn’t be straightforward and I planned accordingly.” Her smile was priggish. “There is no winning, Nila. Both of our families are cursed to bear such a trial, and only the worthy are permitted to inherit.”
I couldn’t reply.
Taking my wrist, she guided me toward the last seven images all framed in one intricate gilded frame. “Study this well, child. This is what happened to Elisa once Owen was dealt with for his infractions. And this is what will happen to you.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth.
Owen was dealt with? He was killed, too?
My eyes burned as the sepia photos engraved themselves on my brain.
Torture after torture.
Misery after misery.
Methods I never knew existed.
Barbarous items I couldn’t even name.
Elisa faded in each image from a fierce, heartbroken woman into a ghost already departing the world.
She suffered horrendously, subjected to methods of persecution no one could endure for long.
My soul wept for her. My temper broiled for her.
Poor woman. Poor girl.
Was this my fate? Would I become her?
Will I break eventually?
Bonnie stabbed the bottom picture where the only visible part of Elisa was her head. A large barrel with spikes driven through the sides encased her body. “Each of those is...what shall we call it...an extra toll you must pay. Disobedience is never tolerated—from a Weaver or a Hawk. Elisa watched Owen die and tried to return the favour by killing his father.” She tapped my nose. “Just like I suspect you think you’ll do, too.”
I choked.
No...how could they...
“Are you planning on killing my remaining family, Nila?” Bonnie’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Because let me tell you, you’ll never achieve that. Not over my dead body.”
My pulse exploded into supersonic beats, gushing blood, preparing to bolt.
Run!
I needed to be far away. Far, far away where they could never touch me again.
Slapping my cheek, her strike brought heat and clarity. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, child.” Standing to her full height, she glared into my eyes. “I have news for you. Whatever plans you think you have, whatever backbone you think you’ve grown, and whatever revenge you think you’ll deliver—forget all of it. You’re done, you hear me? Jethro is dead. Kestrel is dead. There is no one here who will save you—including yourself. Starting tomorrow, you will pay for your sins. You will repent so your soul is pure enough to pay the Final Debt. You will lose, Ms. Weaver. Just like Elisa lost all those years ago.
“You’re already a corpse, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do about it.”
