I never do get my food, but I don’t really want it either. Sitting in bed, my back against the wrought-iron headboard, I stare straight ahead and wonder what will happen next.
It’s painfully obvious that I did exactly what I thought that I would by reading the diary. I have broken what little trust Colt and I had with one another.
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on home. I listen to the sounds around me. I can hear the crackling of the fire outside, I can hear the low hum of the men’s voices as they talk to one another. I can hear Jeremiah’s breathing from just beyond my door.
Then it happens.
All of my sisters are gone. This is not a coincidence.
I will not calm down.
Tell me where the hell they are, Mom.
I try to reach out to her, calling out her name in my head, hoping that this is a way to communicate with her. She can’t hear me, or I’m not doing it right, I’m not sure. I wish Florence were here with me, to try to help and guide me.
Dru. I’m here. Please, listen. I’m here. I want to come home.
Silence.
Birdie?
I hear my name, but it isn’t her who calls out, it’s someone else. A hand touches my shoulder and my eyes open as I sit straight up with a gasp. I don’t know who I expect to see standing across from me as I attempt to catch my breath, but it isn’t Jeremiah.
“Some men have arrived, Florence says you need to see them. I’m sorry to have come in here unannounced, but I tried knocking and you did not answer.”
Blinking, I nod my head a couple of times as I gasp for air. “I’ll be right out, let me grab my dressing gown.”
Jeremiah’s cheeks tint pink as his dimple appears. He turns his back to me and quickly walks out of the room, slipping through the door and gently closing it behind him.
Throwing back the covers, I slip my feet into a pair of warm slippers that I have yet to wear and almost moan at how soft and cozy they are. I decide right then and there that I’ll be wearing them more often.
I reach for the cornflower blue dressing gown that, again, I’ve yet to wear and quickly tie it around my waist, hiding my entire body that is pretty much on display from beneath the thin nightgown, from the world.
Opening the bedroom door, I look up to Jeremiah. He presses his lips together in a straight line as he looks down at me.
“Your hair is down,” he points out.
Lifting my hand, I touch my hair as if I’m not sure I believe him when I know without a doubt that my hair is indeed down.
“And?”
He shakes his head. “You’re a woman. It should be up. Nobody but your husband should see your beauty this way, Birdie.”
I almost, almost, laugh in his face. “I’m sure wives here are supposed to be virgins too?”
His eyes widen and his lips part, but he doesn’t say anything as he stares at me. “That ship sailed when I was seventeen in a hotel room on prom night. Sorry to disappoint, but there are a few men who have seen my beauty, Jeremiah. I mean not a lot, a lot, but a few,” I clarify semi-rambling.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else and starts to walk toward the staircase. I follow behind him, wondering what on earth is going on and why the hell I’m involved in it. Jeremiah guides me toward the dining room and I gasp at the sight in front of me.
Florence is there and so is Ernest, along with the other three personal guards and three more strange men wearing dark brown potato sack type dresses. Actually, they look like monks. When they start to speak, I realize that that’s exactly what they are—at least this world’s version of monks.
“We’re here because we had to see for ourselves, with our own eyes if it was true, if the prophecy was going to come to fruition in our lifetime.”
Tugging my robe closed a little tighter, I flick my gaze between the three strange men and wait for them to finish speaking. When they don’t right away, I clear my throat.
“And? What can you tell us about it?” I chance asking.
They exchange glances between one another, then they all focus on me. It’s a bit unnerving and I take a step back, unable to handle their intense gazes. Jeremiah’s hands wrap around my shoulders and he keeps me in my place, stopping me from running away.
“We only know what has been handed down from generation to generation by stories, nothing is concrete.”
“Before you tell her, shouldn’t you speak with Mr. James?” Ernest asks.
They put their heads together and if I were thinking, I would close my eyes and try to listen in on their conversation, but I’m shaking with nervous energy and don’t think that I can even walk right about now, let alone, try my supersonic listening skills.
“We’ll wait until the morning,” the head of the monks announces.
My breath hitches when he walks up to me, he extends his hand and touches the back of mine. He hisses, his breath catches, then he looks into my eyes. He nods his head once, his lips turn up into a grin and he lets out a chuckle.
“We have magic in play. Magic straight from the gods.”
COLT
Bessie Silks laughs as soon as I walk into the saloon and bordello. The girls onstage are dancing, the scent of smoke and booze fills the air and all around, girls work the room while men play poker or watch the stage.
I don’t know why I’m here. I could be back at my own house, inside of Birdie, but I ran. Sitting down at one of the card tables, I throw some money on the table. The dealer hands me some chips and cards.
Silently, I
