Page 34 of Mortdale

I dragged him back to me by his ratty tail when he tried to scurry away. “How did she know your name?”

Only a witch could hear fiends.

His little jaw nearly tore his skull in half as he shifted into a tar-like shapeless puddle with two deep sets of red eyes floating on it. “The child,” my familiar’s rattling voice croaked, its liquid body sliding off my bed and pooling on the floor, “smells odd.”

My attention shot up to the door when I heard what seemed like a gentler version of my husband’s voice saying, “Bunny, what’s wrong?”

I got up so fast that I got my right foot stuck right into the Thomas sludge. He was back. I hadn’t seen him more than in passing since that night in his smoke room.

Christof gave me a hand when I came out limping.

“What’s that?” I breathlessly asked, still limping.

One of his brows flew up. “A child.”

“You don’t say. What are we doing with it?”

The old man brushed his duster down my face. “Nourishing, educating, and loving it on most days.”

I sputtered out feathers. “That’s a lot of things to be doing to a random child.”

Logan was crouched to the ground, standing at her eye level as she animatedly told him something. I could only catch the tail end of it. “—she’s stupid, Bear.”

I presume she was talking about me. Because I might as well be.

What was a child doing here?

Wait.

A drench of cold sweat peeled down the back of my neck.

Was she…my husband’s love child?

Did he keep his lover in the mansion, too?

How many did he have?

And where was this bear?

My husband raised his eyes in my direction, then gently pressed his palm to her round cheek, whispering something only for her to hear before picking her up in his arms and heading downstairs. I’d tried my best to avoid him since that day in his smoke room. He seemed to be doing the same because he’d never stuck around the house for more than minutes, and mostly remained in his study.

She looked so small tucked against his side. Her tiny arms couldn’t even wrap all the way around his neck.

“Lady Piper Clemonte,” Christof said, materialising right behind me again, dusting a painting and pointing the end of his fluffy brush to a portrait down the corridor. “Daughter of Cassandra Duncan-Clemonte, his lordship’s sister.”

Piper. So this was Piper.

“I didn’t know he had a sister.”

“Her ladyship has passed away. Lord Duncan is Lady Piper’s legal guardian.”

“When did she die?” Piper looked tiny in size; she couldn’t be more than two or three. Potentially four if we discounted her funny talking.

Christof was quiet for a long while. I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. “A few weeks after wee Piper was born.”

When I opened my mouth to ask more questions, he added, “I am not at liberty to tell you more about Duncan family affairs. If you’re curious, inquire with your husband.” He bowed at the waist. “Some of your garments were delivered from the store. I shall iron them and have them brought to your room.”

“Sure,” I threw over my shoulder, leaning to peek over the balustrade at the uncle and niece who were still talking. “Just be careful not to step on Thomas.”