Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I leave the kitchen and make my way back down the foyer toward my office. My transmitter is on the desk where I left it, and I pick it up.
“Tell Maeve there is an emergency. Meet me when she can. Allow her to track my location.”
The transmitter blinks red, then neon blue, and I watch the screen load the words before sending my message off. I replace the transmitter, set my gun on the desk, and sit in the chair behind it.
Is he always so on edge? I hear the Willow woman’s voice, which is strange considering she’s probably near Della’s chambers a floor up. I shouldn’t be able to hear her, yet I do. How the hell does this mind-voice thing work exactly? Now that she’s closer, does that mean I’ll hear her conversations too? Can she hear mine? I pray for the person who has to suffer through my thoughts.
“Don’t you answer that, Della,” I grumble.
Ever since I’ve known him, yes.
I refrain from rolling my eyes and work my jaw instead.
It must suck working for him, the Willow woman says, huffing a laugh.
Not at all, actually. Mr. Harlow takes very good care of me.
I smirk. Take that, Willow Woman.
Is he angry sometimes? Yes. Della goes on, and I work my jaw again. But he’s not as horrible as you may think.
So, I was right. You are a jackass. Good to know.
“Right. That’s it.” I push out of my chair and march back to the kitchen, heading up the spiral iron staircase until I’m on the second floor. I make a left turn and stride toward the wide-open French doors. I’m in Della’s wing. It’s been a while since I’ve set foot here. She’s spruced the place up with Vanorian flowers, a few Blackwater plants, and mauve wallpaper.
“Are you about finished?” I ask as she wraps a bandage around Willow Woman’s leg.
“I am, sir. I would like to give her some new clothes—these are…unique. And filthy, might I add. Perhaps I can find some in Juniper’s closet?”
“I don’t think Juniper would approve,” I counter.
“Juniper will live. It’s either that, or you take this young woman to the village and let her pick out her own attire. You don’t want her walking around in dirty garments, do you?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My eyes move to Willow Woman’s and she’s smirking. Shit. I can’t let her stay in my head. I frown and envision a wall of rocks surrounding my brain. Then I cock a brow at her, and she narrows her eyes, confused.
“Fine. Borrow something from Juniper’s. When you’re done, send her to my office.”
“Understood, sir.”
I turn and leave the room, but not before hearing, Eww. Why is he walking around like something’s stuck up his pale ass?
I don’t bother looking back, despite my fists clenching at the remark.
Thirteen
WILLOW
Della leads me down the iron stairs, and I can’t help noticing how sharp the rods connected to the railings are. I have the urge to touch one of them but fear I might injure myself if I do, and I don’t think Della is in the mood to stitch me up again.
I’d already given her a hassle when we went to this Juniper person’s room. Della sifted through the closet, trying to find something that might fit me while telling me that Juniper and I are about the same size. She finally settled on a black and white two-piece tweed outfit with a white blouse to wear beneath.
The outfit, though a bit stretchy around the waist, is tight and ridiculously itchy and I told her that, to which she said it was either this outfit or a dress. We debated about the dress and two piece and, finally fed up, Della said, “Trust me, it’s this or he’ll have you walking around half naked until the clothes you have on right now are clean.” I finally decided to let it go, and she smiled triumphantly as she led me behind a steel room divider for privacy.
Afterward, she brought me a gray liquid in a vase and told me to drink it. “It will heal your leg,” she said, and sure enough it did. I no longer feel pain or limp when I walk. The scar is still there, raw beneath the bandage, but I feel almost back to normal. Almost because I still have no idea where the hell I am.
When Della rounds a corner and enters the kitchen, she stops at the middle of the wooden counter and plucks something out of a bowl. “Here. Eat this,” she commands lightly.
I take the charcoal gray object from her, frowning. It’s odd shaped, with deep grooves, like a dog toy. “What is this?”
“Fruit, dear,” she says. “You eat it.”
“Yes, I know you eat fruit, but what kind of fruit is this, exactly?”
“It’s a blackfruit. Fresh from the lake trees.”