Page 75 of The Devil

I can see that the bones of the room are ancient, however, like Jameson said, it’s been modernized while preserving all that history.

Warm gold light spills across cream-colored walls. Dark floors are softened by thick Persian rugs in muted jewel tones, but the focal point of the room is a massive bed with an intricately carved headboard that reaches almost to the ceiling. It’s a tangle of vines and roses and from here, I can see the tiny, sharp thorns. One in particular catches my eye. It’s the one where a small wooden bird, so small you could miss it entirely, has perched atop one of those sharp points.

Seeing it sends something cold down my spine. It’s beautiful and terrifying and familiar.

I tilt my head, taking it in. Although the design appears at first glance chaotic, there’s a pattern to it. One I know.

I’ve seen this before.

“Is it not to your liking?” Jameson asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I turn to him, having almost forgotten he was there. “Oh, no of course…” I clear my throat. “It’s beautiful.”

“Good.”

I glance at the headboard once more before surveying the rest of the room. Everything is subtly expensive in that way only old money can be.

In the center of the room is a round table and on it is a crystal vase holding fresh flowers. All of the furnishings are decorated with those same tangling vines of roses and thorns. I reach out to touch one on the dresser and I’m right. Sharp as the tip of a knife.

Jameson adjusts one of the heavy curtains at the arched windows before walking to another door. I cross the room to look out of that window wanting to get my bearings. Plot an escape, maybe. From what I saw a part of the castle was set against cliffs and it looks like that’s where my room is. The very back. Because all I can see is the raging Atlantic below.

Jameson clears his throat and I turn. “The ensuite.”

I glance inside to be polite. “It’s all very lovely,” I say, because it is, it’s all lovely. And creepy as fuck.

“I’m glad you find it so,” Jameson says, clearly pleased. “I will return for you in a half an hour to take you to the conservatory for lunch,” he says and walks toward the door.

“I’ll wait for my husband to have lunch together,” I say although I know he heard me the first time.

“The Blackstone brothers will have lunch with Master Robertson. They’ll be meeting until late, I’m afraid. Should you need anything in the meantime, ring this bell.” He points out the bell.

I see my bag on the luggage rack. It looks cheap and ridiculous in this place. “Wait, where are my husband’s things?”

“Oh, his room is in another part of the castle.”

“No, we’ll stay together.”

He smiles, nods in a way that says that’s not happening. “I will check on your lunch. Excuse me.”

Before I can say anything else, he’s gone and I half expect him to lock the door behind him, but when I go to check, it’s unlocked and Jameson either doesn’t hear me opening it or pretends not to. I close the door and would lock it myself but there’s no key. I expected a prison cell for what I did, certainly not this opulence. Why would they give me such a beautiful room? But then I take in the furnishings with all those vines and roses and thorns and shudder.

This is no grand welcome. This room for all its beauty is wrong. I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is, but it simply is wrong.

25

JET

Sev and I exchange a glance as we follow the old creep.

“So where does the Master come from?” I ask. “I don’t think we’ve heard quite that honorific used within The Society before.”

Robertson glances over his shoulder, an ugly curl to his lip before he forces that smile back into place. “Our ways here in Scotland are different than that of the Americans. Do remember, we have been in existence much longer than you… children.”

“Well, you are old, that’s true,” I say, the smile on my face momentarily genuine.

“Jethro,” Sev admonishes.

“Who’s watching Cotton by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask,” I ask Sev. “Don’t tell me you left her with mom.”