Page 49 of Marrying Bluebeard

For her.

The edges of my vision grow dark as the first hint of thirst crawls its way up my throat, and I stumble up the last few steps on shaky legs. I can smell Jacob’s blood pumping beneath thick skin, can scent the tangy-sweet pomegranate of Adelaide’s dwindling supply. It calls to the monster inside, like a siren luring drunken sailors to their icy deaths.

I surge past Jacob as he fumbles with the door, bolting into the dark room and tearing aside the heavy, braided rug spread out in front of the fireplace. I don’t wait for Jacob to leave as I normally would, giving away one of my secrets as I pry open the loose floorboard. To his credit, he doesn’t say a word as I pull out the dusty blue bottle and unstopper it, nor does he flinch when I raise it to my lips and gulp it down like a half-crazed addict. He simply walks to the bed tucked in the corner and lays Adelaide down before pulling a wool blanket over her shivering body.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as the monster slowly retreats. Driving the cork back into the bottle, I mutter, “Thank you, Jacob.”

The large beast of a man whom I’ve known since he was child—and I was more or less the same as I am now—crosses his arms, making no move to leave Adelaide’s side. “She’ll need dry clothes.”

I nod, my body thrumming from the feel of Celeste’s blood rushing through my veins. Already my head is clearer, the way more certain. There’s much to do and little time to do it in. “I keep a few sets of clothes here, they’ll do well enough for tonight. But she’ll need appropriate clothes for travel, enough to see her through to Calais and across the Channel to England. Nothing fancy but clean and respectable.” I draw a small pouch from beneath the floor and toss it toward Jacob, the coins inside jingling as he catches it in his meaty fist. “Can I count on you to fetch them for me?”

He turns the pouch over in his hand and glances over his shoulder at my sleeping wife. “Heading to England now, are ya?”

“Not me, just her. I have business to take care of at the castle that is long overdue.”

He nods. “When will she be needing ‘em by?”

I run over my to-do list in my head. I’ll need to meet with my solicitor, set up an account in her name. A carriage needs to be arranged and passage booked for both Adelaide and a companion across the Channel. Someone who’d be available at the last minute but also trustworthy. My gaze falls to the bottle, a quarter gone already. I’ll need to act fast. “Two days. Sooner if you can.”

“Aye, I can manage that.”

“Good.” I stand, strength fully restored, and cross the room to join him beside the bed. Adelaide stirs in her sleep, and I gently take her hand in mine, brushing my thumb over her fingers. “She’ll be hungry when she wakes. Thirsty too. If you could bring us up something warm, I’d appreciate it. I’ll tend to the rest.”

Jacob looks down at Adelaide’s and my hands and clears his throat. “You’ve done a lot for this town, Monsieur—done a lot for me—and we’ve always kept our mouths shut in return. Never asking questions or sticking our noses where they don’t belong, but seeing this lady here the way she is…” He lifts his gaze, eyes filled with the hard determination of someone who knows they’ll regret their words but has no choice but to voice them. “Those marks on her neck. Was it you that put them there?”

I return Adelaide’s hand to her side, carefully tucking the blanket back into place before meeting Jacob’s gaze with as much honesty as I can afford. “No. But I might as well have.”

He remains statue still, studying me intently. “And after that boat takes her to England and wherever it is she calls home, will you be finding yourself a new wife?”

Fear whispers in my ear, telling me that’s exactly what I should do. Return Adelaide to safety and wed another, someone without a hold on my heart. Someone who wouldn’t mind trading a lifetime of monotony for the decade or two of bliss Celeste’s thrall would trick them into feeling before she bled them dry. The wives never suffered, never fell ill. Never labored or grew bored from the lack of it. Their ever-present smiles spoke of a life of happiness, and yet their ghosts told a different story—one that deserved an ending. “Not this time, Jacob,” I reply, resolutely pushing the fear aside.

Never again.

32

ADELAIDE

What a strange and terrifying dream. Blood-sucking monsters, midnight escapes. Marguerite would laugh herself into stitches if I told her all the things my brain had conjured while I was asleep. Not that I’d tell her. It’d only add fuel to her non-believing fire. Still, I really ought to write her again, even if she has yet to respond. I imagine she’s terribly cross with me for running off and marrying Bertrand without confiding in her. Stretching my arms over my head with a yawn, I blink up at the ceiling as my eyes adjust to the light. The low ceiling that looks nothing like the one in my room.

What on Earth?

I look down at the heavy wool blanket. Definitely not the soft velvet and silk sheets I usually sleep under. My stomach lurches as I turn my head. This isn’t Bertrand’s and my room at all. Bare, windowless walls form a sizable box around me, with sunlight streaming in from a circular skylight above. A fire crackles in the fireplace, with a blue and yellow braided rug spread over the wood plank floor in front of it. The bed I’m currently stretched out in is tucked into the darkest corner, with the only other furniture in view being a faded settee in front of the fire and an open roll-top desk with a straight-backed chair on the opposite end of the room. The corner closest to the bed is sectioned off with a white sheet, and I hesitantly sit up and scoot to the end of the bed as I attempt to make out any shapes behind the fabric.

“Hello?” I whisper. “Is anyone here?” No response. I raise my voice. “Bertrand?” Silence is my answer, and I can only assume I’m alone in this strange room. My head aches as I try to remember how I got here. It doesn’t make sense, unless…

Oh god.

It wasn’t a dream at all.

Panic squeezes the air from my lungs, and I slide onto the floor, bracing my back against the bed as I struggle to catch my breath. I have to get up, have to run. It’s not safe here, it’s not⁠—

“Meow.”

The sound of Whisper’s plaintive mew is a balm on my frazzled nerves, and I release a shuddering breath as the feline appears in front of me, delicate white paws padding soundlessly across the floor as she approaches. My hands shake as I gather her into my arms, pressing my face into her cool fur. “Everything’s going to be all right.” I run my fingers along her back. “We just need to stay calm and assess the situation.”

Right. Starting with where in the name of Queen Victoria are we? I vaguely remember waking up on the shore with Bertrand hunched beside me in nothing but a pair of soaked trousers. The memory makes me think of another time I found Bertrand drenched and hovering over me, back at Madame Gossard’s. When he saved me from the specter in the lake. I had thought it heroic at the time, but now I can’t help but wonder—was he saving me for someone else?

Hypnotic eyes, teeth piercing my flesh…