Page 24 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

I raise my honey dripper from the glass jar and watch the sticky golden substance drip into his black tea. I can nah take honey. I’m allergic to the buggers, ye ken. A dose o’ honey goes straight to me chest. Tightens me lungs like those contraptions ye ladies wear under ye dresses. I recall him telling me.

I turn. “You can’t be serious—” The sight of him cuts my sentence short.

“Have I given you the impression that I’m not?” He may look like my Douglas, but his voice doesn’t match his face, not anymore. Deep and smooth as satin, it doesn’t carry so much as a hint of the accent I’d grown to love. He waves a pointed finger, directing it at the cup in my hand, then back at the table before him. The porcelain cup rattles on its saucer. My eyes widen. This isn’t Douglas. “You’re clever for such an old, decaying creature, are you not? Pity you weren’t clever enough to prevent this visit.” Dread chills my veins. He’s one of them. One of The Others.

Setting the cup on the table before him, I force a smile. I am clever. “Thank you for the compliment, Douglas dear.” Pretend. It’s my only option. Pretend and run as soon as an opportunity beckons.

He may have Douglas’ face, his mouth and clothes, but those eyes… are as black as ink without so much as a speck of white. A breeze blows through the room, and I remember the window behind me. I’m on the first floor, so jumping will hurt, but I’ll live. Once down, I can call for help… and live.

“Why don’t you tell me about your day?” I force sweetness into my voice, turning to my cup of tea on the counter behind me, the most natural thing to do. My legs tremble. My hands shake. But I remain upright, focussed.

Click, click, click, click…

Click, click, click, click…

The sound of drumming nails is sharp on the porcelain teacup in his grip. I swallow, forcing myself to meander. If I rush, it’ll be obvious.

“My day…” He laughs aloud. The sound holds no amusement but venom instead. I wince.

“Yes, your day.” Pretend like nothing is wrong. I turn to face him, bracing a smile on my face as I take a sip of my too-hot tea. Oh gods! Save me! Douglas’ short dark-brown hair transforms into a full head of shoulder-length strands, as silver as the spoon I used to stir the tea. Their roots are as black as his eyes.

Click, click, click, click…

Click, click, click, click…

Sharp black nails now tap against the cup. My eyes linger a second too long, blood roaring in my ears.

“Do you like the improvements I made? Dearest Douglas is far too dreary for my taste.” He’s mocking me and enjoying it. Confidence exudes from him in unequalled measure.

I take a step to my right, bracing against the counter at my back. I’m one step closer to the window. My actions are met with a disappointed cluck of his tongue.

“Why, Mhagdu darling, you wound me. Don’t you find my company desirable?”

My cup slips from my fingers, shattering at my feet. I turn to the window, my head spinning. My movements are swift, and my gown flies open. In one heartbeat, I’ve spun around. In another, I’m at the window, ready to leap through it.

The shutters slam shut with a deafening crash. My palms collide with the wooden structure with such force, it’s as though someone struck me with a cane. No! This can’t be real. This can’t be happening! But it is real. Very much so. The pounding pain in my palms confirms as much.

Fingers drum against my table, and I cry aloud. My sobbing sounds desperate, but I don’t care. I just want to be free.

“What do you want from me?” My voice quivers and cracks. I turn to face him, but there’s no sign of mercy in his icy expression, only a slyly curved smile bearing two sharply pointed cuspids. Nothing about him resembles my Douglas anymore. Not the clothes on his body or the features of his face. It’s Prince Odhran—or a faerie in his likeness.

“A little birdie told me you have a taste for bloodshed.” His tone is quiet, even, as if none of this bothers him, my terror just another conversation.

“No, no, I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I push back until my back is pressed against the wall, the pounding in my ears nearly deafening me. Every beat of my heart is like a stab to my chest.

He slowly drags one sharp black nail across my table, wood splintering beneath his touch. “Are you calling me a liar, Mhagdu darling?”

“No! That’s not what I said.” Oh gods. Oh gods. Please! The door is locked behind him, the latch secured in place. He sealed my windows behind closed shutters. I have nowhere to run.

“I never lie.” The words are almost a growl, and my stomach turns to water. He pushes his hand through his silver hair, kicking out his feet. Prince Odhran reclines in my simple dining chair as though it were his throne. “Come. Join me at the table.”

I shake my head as warm tears stream down my face. My legs are too weak to stand, but I won’t go to him.

“Sit!” he roars.

The air grows thick, the taste of ash filling my mouth, and I gag. My legs begin to move without my command, walking toward him and the chair opposite his. “What’s happening? What are you doing to me?” My hands shake. My heart races. I try to stop, but I can’t. My body isn’t my own. As if in a dream, I watch myself reach for the back of the chair, pull it out, and proceed to sit.

“It’s unfortunate that you broke your cup. How clumsy you are.” He pushes his empty cup to the centre of the small table. “Here, take mine.” My stomach resembles a rock—if rocks could turn liquid. I’m going to be sick.