I feel warm blood trickling down my forehead and close my eyes tightly as it floods over my eyelashes. I think of Iris to try and cope with the pain, and only open my eyes when he’s released me and I’ve fallen to the ground.
He’s breathing heavily as he gives me a satisfied smirk before leaving quickly. I listen for him to open the door, but the sound doesn’t come, so I stay where I am and do not fumble for the book. It proves a wise choice as he strolls back over, holding a large, ornate mirror in his steady arms.
I look in confusion as he wrests open the door and places it on the wall next to me. “And now you can see what a life with Satan has brought you.”
I stand and behold myself in the mirror. Blood and dirt stain my features and my hair is shorn raggedly, in some places taking my scalp with it. I am unrecognizable.
“Behold the great, beauteous whore of the woods.” He grins wickedly behind me in reflection. “Stripped of all that made her desirable. Not even Lucifer himself would want you now.”
“Thank you,” I manage to smile darkly at him, filling his expression with rage. “Being beautiful has been my biggest curse.”
He quickly slams me against the wall before glowering over me. “Your insolence will soon be wrenched from you in a noose.”
“And your house will be cursed for generations to come,” I draw out the words, delighting at the fear pooling across his features so quickly that he can’t conceal it completely. “I do not need the devil to accomplish this and you will turn in your grave knowing that you have brought this to their feet.”
“Then it shall be your progeny as well, Mary,” he growls, leaning forward. “You will be kept here until you deliver your child, and that child that will be raised in my home. A child that will not know his mother and father, but WILL know the fear of God.”
I do not respond and watch as he leaves abruptly, the clank of metal ringing through the cavernous cellar as he retreats up the stairs.
I feel stabs of pain in my abdomen and know that my baby is succumbing to the harsh treatment. The pain of it is searing, and I cry out in mourning that the only proof of the love between George and I would never flower. I cradle my stomach as I rip the book out from my dress and flip desperately through the pages, finding the one that had shocked me so many years before. My only relief comes from knowing that they will not have the privilege of seeing me hang. I will be gone long before, and it will vex the magistrate.
The page is smooth under my fingers as my unsteady voice warbles out the strange words written there as I stare into the mirror. This object that has been laid at my feet as a punishment that would actually serve as my conduit. I almost laugh at the irony, but instead chant steadily before tucking the book back in the secret compartment, hoping that it will go to the grave with me, where we may rot together.
I take a deep breath and dig in my bodice and pull out the small vile held there, warmed by my skin. With a final sob I drink the bitter contents and watch the world slowly gray and then blacken.
Chapter 21
Erik
I stand at the Bishop Heritage Society building, my body still against the howling wind that streaks through my hair and lifts the hem of my shirt with chilly disregard. The day has been a blur since Kayla called. I was almost relieved that the woman in the hotel room hadn’t really been Kat, but clearly the alleviation had been short lived when the situation had sunk completely in.
I see Ian round the corner and wave genially at him. He waves back and hurries over, head down against the gusts. Once he is at my side I open the door and we both slip inside, and I close the door behind me and look around with interest.
It’s an original building, and as such is laid out awkwardly by the standards of today. While my family home is large and ornate, this space was once a more modest home. The opening area is cramped, though warmed by the mahogany desk and the friendly looking woman behind it. She appears in her early 50s and the rounded apples of her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes affable. Her hair is swept up into a chignon with dots of gray at her temples.
“Hello, Kathy,” I greet with a smile, looking at her name tag. “I spoke with you earlier, I believe.”
“Yes, Erik Madison,” she says with a grin before looking over at Ian whose perpetually easy smile has rested on her. “And you must be Ian?”
“Yes, and it is lovely to meet you,” he drawls, shaking her hand.
“I can’t tell you how exciting it is to have the ancestor of our most richly recorded Bishop resident and such a successful blogger to help get our fascinating history out to the rest of the world.” She claps her hands in delight and I’m relieved that her exuberance likely means that no grifting will be required to get what we need.
“I have always meant to come in here and get acquainted with my family history,” I say enthusiastically, looking at Ian who nods.
“Well, you will not be disappointed. I’d say 70% of the early history that we have pertaining to this town comes from his meticulously kept documents.” Her excitement is infectious as I watch her fan
