Page 52 of Seas the Reckoning

“Never know. I bet I can make use of that phrase someho⁠—”

21

THE ENDER, BUT NOT THE END

When I step out of the portal, I can see through a window that I’m on the correct floor. I’m not in the same hall as the office, or the one where Starla and I are staying.

This hall has an opening at each end, and I turn right, walking fast enough that if someone sees me I can claim to still be running for a door.

“I got lost, I don’t know where I am,” I practice.

A voice breaks through my one-sided conversation. A man, his tone high and tense, followed by a whimper.

As I get to the edge of the hall, I peek around the corner and realize that I’m facing a dead end. An arced wall at the end of the hall clearly used to house a curved table with a vase. The table has been knocked on its side, and what I imagine was the vase is on the floor, its top and handles still largely in one piece but the bottom portion shattered. There’s also a pile that appears to be a downed set of curtains piled on the carpet.

The man on the floor has brown, curly hair with a few bits of what appear to be pottery sticking to the strands. Judging by the way he’s cowering and holding his hands up, I’m guessing the individual in front of him slammed it on top of him—a deliberate act rather than an accident.

The person standing over the man turns, grey eyes fixed on me.

“Hello again,” the mysterious woman from the ballroom greets.

I look between the two of them.

“What is going on her⁠—”

“Help me! She’s gone absolutely mad! Tell Councilman Taylor. I know he has event security. This is unacceptable! Do you have any idea who I am? He would never allow me to be treated this way. I’ll sue. If this fire stunt was just to get to me, I’ll find out who is responsible and bury them!”

His face grows red with the tirade, fist pumping into the air, but the effect is dampened since he’s still not on his feet.

Next to him, I hear a groan. Jumping, I realize the thing I mistook for a curtain is actually a deep green dress. It’s tangled around a woman with long blonde hair obscuring her face.

“One moment, please, Leena,” the grey-eyed woman says in a calm voice, turning back to the man with a bored expression as though the scene is entirely normal. Like I’ve walked in on nothing more than a staff member vacuuming the hall.

“You asked if I know who you are? Of course I do. I always do my homework before I go after a mark. You’re Kenneth Seymour, personal accountant to Councilman Taylor and several other noteworthy guests. But I’m not here about your more-than-questionable business dealings.”

Her grey eyes slide to the woman on the floor.

Seymour glares daggers at her, but when she lunges, he flinches back against the wall.

She rolls her eyes.

“Typical. This poor, unconscious woman is your fourth wife, isn’t she, Seymour? My, my, that is suspicious. No divorces, either. They all just die young. And with only your say-so as to how, along with the same doctor presiding over each autopsy.”

“Weak constitutions! Frail physiques!” Seymour insists, hands grasping the wall as he attempts to pull himself to his feet.

She goes on as if he hasn’t spoken.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get to the good doctor soon enough. I doubt you’re his only client. But the real question is, just what’s going on in that house of yours, hmm? Isolated country estate, much more remote than this manor. All the wives met on trips in other countries. Far away from their families, with no one able to ask you any questions in person until after people are cremated. Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

He sputters, and she turns back to me. I realize only after a few beats of silence that she’s giving me an opportunity to answer.

“That woman”—I point to the lady on the floor— “is his fourth wife?”

The steel-eyed mystery lady nods.

“She is indeed. American, as a matter of fact. Her family saw ol’ Seymour here as an opportunity, no doubt. And his need for a wife whose family wouldn’t ask questions took him all the way across the pond. He had more nefarious plans than just a potentially forced wedding, I’d say. Just as, I believe, he had some very, very bad intentions with his last three wives.”

“I didn’t! I never did! They were just weak. I need strong supernatural stock. I have to keep replacing them. I don’t have an heir.”