Page 69 of Mortdale

Even if there had been any sun, I wouldn’t have blamed it for what I said next. “I want you.”

His thumb paused over the top of my lips and his eyes lifted to mine.

I pulled back a little, letting his thumb slide off my lips. “You don’t have to want me back. Just let me want you.”

The dusty silence echoed about the nave, crashing against the narthex, begging to be set free from the torture we were inflicting upon it. “Why?”

Because I am dying and this might just be the last thing I do. “I might never get to do this again. I want to do it right. I want to have this. You, Piper—a family. Somewhere I belong. I want to know how that feels. At least once.” I looked away, lifting my face to the strings of light pouring from the tinted window overhead. “Never had one of those before. Even with Ethel, Agnes never let us have the chance to be closer than she allowed us to be. I want to care without having to be careful. I want to fuss over you and Piper without being afraid. I want to worry about you. I want to fight with you. I want to get angry at you. I want to forgive you. I want to listen to you. I cannot guarantee I will obey, but I will listen. I always listen. You know I do.” If a wound felt like something, it felt like I did. Especially now.

“I could get you a lover,” he said, sticking his fingers in that wound.

The back of my throat burned, growing heavy and swollen. Humiliation burned in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t asked him to want me, to love me, so why did I still feel sick with shame? Why did my teeth hurt, why were my lungs breathing in silt? “I would have asked for one if I wanted one,” I said, steeling my voice, refusing to show my shame. “It is not totally off the table, so keep an eye out for one anyway.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he turned to face ahead. “You won’t be getting a lover.”

The pressure released from the wound. Maybe because I was now bleeding out, maybe I hadn’t been bleeding at all to begin with. “You suggested it.”

He took out the silver tin from his pocket, bringing a cigarette to his lips. “I apologise,” he said, lighting it and blowing a cloud of smoke above us. “As long as you stay out of my bed, we have an agreement.”

Another thought crawled over and under the gyri and the sulci, and I had the urge to dig into my cranium and itch it away. Was I that repulsive to him? “You lock your room. How would I get into your bed?”

“I’m sure you’d find a way. And I don’t think I would stop you.”

The fabric of my dress has scrunched up in my tight fists shaking in my lap. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a beautiful woman, Willow. But I don’t fuck witches.”

My teeth dug hard on the corner of my bottom lip, drawing blood. “Heard you don’t feed on us either.”

There was a small pause, his cigarette burning in his hand before he took a long drag from it. “I will kill him the next time he opens his mouth around you. If you don’t want his blood on your hands, I’d stop asking him questions.”

“Why is it a secret?”

“It is not a secret. Just none of your business.”

“You’re my husband. That makes your business my business.”

“And you’re my wife. Yet…if I asked you about the burial plot and the funeral reception you have paid, would you tell me?”

I was sure colour had drained from my face entirely.

He reached for my necklace, taking the pendant between his fingers and turning it to read the inscription behind. “We all have things we don’t want other people to know about. I enjoy my privacy. And from what I remember, so do you.”

I swallowed. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I have nothing to hide.” He needed the right question to find out about my curse, and I knew he would never find it. He was free to know anything else about my wretched life. I’d embarrassed myself enough times in front of him. I’d kind of grown to enjoy the shame.

His thumb remained on top of the whitelock as he met my eyes. “Why so many paid mourners?”

“I have no family and I’ve never been good at making friends. Ethel was pure cosmic coincidence. Maybe chaos didn’t want for me to be alone. I never had the chance to find out why she even loved me.” I breathed out a slow exhale. “I also never planned on marrying, so I wanted to do something nice for myself anyway.”

He stood. “Write to the agency and get your money back.”

“What?”

“You will be buried in the Duncan family plot, right next to me. And you have a family.” He put another cigarette to his lips, lighting it and leveling a glare at Arthur, who stood at the church doors. “You also seem to be making friends just fine.” He shook his head. “You have him thinking he can stop me from hurting you if I’d wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t force this marriage on me,” I confessed. “I did it to protect Ethel.”

“From what?”