Chapter Eight: Blood Ties
The vase of roses from my dresser flew through the air. Christopher ducked and it crashed against the hallway wall behind him.
"You lied to me!" I hissed, picking up another vase.
Christopher held up his hands in defense, hoping I wouldn't throw the vase in my hand at his head. "Please, I can explain everything. Just…just put down the vase so we can talk."
"Why would I listen to a word you say? All you do is lie to me or give me half-truths, right?" I snarled. I threw the vase at him and it smashed onto the floor at his feet, narrowly missing his toes.
"Yes!" Christopher yelled. "I've lied to you, manipulated you, and kept secrets from you! I don't want to do that anymore! I don't!" He opened his arms up, giving me a clear shot at his chest. "I want to make this right, if you will only let me!"
I lowered my arms slowly, my whole body shuttering uncontrollably. I crumpled onto my floor in a pitiful heap. Tears poured down my face and I sniffled like a small child, unable to control it and the pain that was tearing into my heart. I had trusted him. I had thought that he was my friend, yet he had been lying to me this whole time, telling me only what he thought I wanted to hear. And now that I knew the truth, I'd be damned if I wasn't tempted to believe in him once more. Even if he had betrayed me, I cared too much for him to simply turn my back on him now.
Christopher knelt beside me and I felt his warm hand on my back. "Please, please forgive me. I will find a way to free you, whatever it takes."
"No more lies." I growled, wiping my face with the sleeve of my nightdress. "No more secrets. Promise me."
"I promise, no more lies, but there are still some things that I can never speak about." He said and I glowered unhappily at him. "Those things only surround the curse. Other than that, I will be as an open book to you."
He helped me to my feet and, holding my hand in one big paw-like hand, he led me out into the hallway. "First thing's first. Follow me and I will show you the third floor, the domain of all of the witch's secrets." We ascended the staircase hesitantly. He moved slowly, as if he had never been there himself while I trailed behind still trying not to cry. At the top of the staircase were two doors, opposite each other. One door was open. Through it, I could see a simple beast sized bed with a trunk for clothes at the foot. There was little else in the room besides a lonely vase of crimson roses on top of the trunk. The other door was closed to us. Christopher walked towards it and opened it, revealing a large room, filled with tall book cases and a strange sort of shrine of half melted red candles before an old silver mirror. We went inside and Christopher let me explore. The books in this library were different from any I had ever read. They were written in a foreign tongue, but judging by the illustrations and the few words I did recognize, they seemed to hold instructions for making poisons and potions. Some I feared were spell books. My chest ached at the prospect that Christopher could be more adept at magic than he let on. "Have you ever looked through these books? Perhaps the cure for your curse is in here somewhere. One you do not know about."
"I'm a simple gardener. Spells are far beyond my understanding. Only someone who has been taught in the mystic arts or someone who has a natural affinity for it could possibly even being to understand those spells. Besides, I doubt Rosalyn would be foolish enough to leave a possible cure here for me to find, whether I could understand the spell or not."
My attention left the book case and drifted to the painting that hung on the right side wall. It was obviously quite old, but whoever the artist was had done a marvelous job of rendering the people in the painting in a lifelike manner. Every detail had been included, right down to the slight wrinkles on the man's face and the graying hair at his temples. The man stared stoically back at me, looking extremely unhappy. By his side was his much younger looking wife. She was as beautiful as a sculpture of Aphrodite with pale gold curls and red lips that were stretched into a pleased expression. However, her eyes were a strangely dark black. The painter had neglected to include a reflection of light in her eyes, making them seem dead and spiritless. With the two adults were two young boys, around twelve years old. One boy with jet black hair that shone with a blue shimmer seemed to be a year or two older than the other. The raven haired boy smiled impishly out at me from the canvas, his sea blue eyes gleaming, looking like he might jump out at me and scare me just for the fun of it. The younger looked much too ordinary in this family portrait. He frowned at me, his thin lips pressed tightly together. Beneath the fringe of his shaggy brown hair peered a pair of sad eyes, the color of tree bark. I froze, staring at the younger child, unable to tear my eyes away from his. Something about the child was so familiar to me. "Christopher." I began my voice a soft croak. "Who are these people?" I asked, touching the dull boy's cheek with my fingertips, wishing that I could feel the real thing beneath my hand.
"The Crafts," He replied, taking his place beside me. He pointed to the aging man, "your great-uncle, Lionel." His finger moved towards the impish boy, "his son, Ashton." He touched the woman's face, "Rosalyn." He looked to me, with pity in his eyes as his finger moved to gesture towards the other child, "and Peter, your father." As the words left his throat, tears bubbled up in my eyes anew. Still Christopher could not be silent. He refused to stop until he had revealed every secret that he possibly could. "Their little nephew lived here under the witch's tutelage until the woman he loved was nearly taken from him forever by his own kin. Rosalyn wanted to teach him her ways, give him the power she had achieved, but when your mother's life was threatened, Peter disowned Rosalyn's gifts and fled this place, never to darken her doorway again."
"No! No! I can't! I can't be kin to that witch!" I wailed, pounding my fists against the painting, hoping that if I tore it to pieces it would make Christopher's words less true, but somehow I knew that every word was fact.
Christopher continued speaking, an endless flow of truth spewing from his lips as if he were now incapable of keeping it contained. "You are a part of a long line of witches and warlocks, those that use dark, evil power to take what they want most. This is what your father never wanted you to know, what I swore I'd never reveal. Taking part in witchcraft will only lead you down a dark path. Once that power gets ahold of you it will never let you go. You will lose yourself to it, as Rosalyn has been lost. She used to be such a sweet girl, naive and spoiled perhaps, but sweet. Once Lionel introduced her to the dark arts she became obsessed with it. She sold her her soul and now she is a mere desperate shadow of her past self." He attempted to comfort me by taking my hands and leading me away from the portrait. "I know that you wish this not to be true. I wish it weren't, but sadly it is."
I pulled my hands away from him and crossed my arms over my chest. I felt suddenly ill again, as if I would crumble and die there on my feet. "Is there more? Is there more unspeakable truths that I must know? A long lost twin perhaps or maybe a contract with the devil?"
He began to pace, his eyes watching the floor as he usually does when he's telling me something unpleasant. "I'm afraid that there is more and you may not be far from the truth with that last statement." I made a terrible retching noise as I fought not to let my nausea overcome me. Christopher, unfortunately, went on. "I've made sure that none of the Crafts know about you or what has become of Peter. I intercepted all of Mr. Bindley's letters so that your only option would be to come here."
"You planned all of it?" I growled.
"I did what I had to, to make sure that you remained your father's daughter and not Rosalyn and Ashton's play thing as I and so many other poor souls have." I coldness ran down my spine as I thought of the servants, their silent, lifeless masks. Were they truly only shadows or something far more terrifying and sad? "Do you remember that oath I made to your father, long ago?" I nodded wordlessly. "That day, he told me that he and Beatrix had secretly married and that a child was soon to come. He asked me to help him protect you from the Crafts. That's why he made me promise to find you and keep you hidden, should something happen to him and Beatrix. But when he died, that became nearly impossible due to my own curse, which has trapped me here. He never wanted you to know of your heritage and the darkness that courses through your bloodline. Now, you must know if you are ever to free yourself from this prison." He lifted his hand and pointed towards the mirror. "Go to the mirror. Tell me what you see." He ordered.
On shaky legs, I wobbled towards it and looked blankly into it. I saw nothing, only a blank silver mirror. I stared at it in confusion. "I don't see anything. There's no reflection."
"That's because it isn't a mirror…per say. It won't reflect this world. Instead, it shows you another." Christopher wet his lips, nervously shifting on his feet. "Through it, Rosalyn communicates with the…thing that gives the Crafts their sorcery. Each Craft has a mirror similar to this one. The mirrors are very important to them. They are carefully guarded with powerful magic that will kill anyone who tries to destroy them. If you don't mind, Isabel, I would like to test a theory."
"I'm not going to try and break it." I glared at him.
He looked at me like I'd punched him in the gut. "No, I won't ask you to throw your life away like that; it's bad enough that I'm asking you to attempt magic. I just want you to say a few words to see if the mirror will respond to you. Merely say, "Mirror, mirror on the wall and tell it what you wish to see. It can be anything at all. It can even show you the past or the future if you wish."
There was a long pause as I struggled with myself. If I did this, if I attempted magic, would I be welcoming the dark powers within my heritage? Would I call forth whatever dark spirit the Crafts had sold their souls to? Still, there was something that I needed to know, something that only the mirror could show me. "Mirror, mirror on the wall…how did my father die?"
The mirror sprung to life, it seemed. The surface of its silver glass lightened. It flickered like a stormy night sky, full of lightning. The flickering pulsed then settled on an ocean scene. I saw, clearly, the Beatrix, sailing on route to its intended destination. The sky was a clear blue and the ocean was calm. Where was the storm that had sunk the ship? I wondered. Suddenly the mirror shifted focus and the peaceful image was replaced by a turbulent one. Another ship had appeared. At its mast flew a pirate's flag, skull and crossbones over a sea of black. The pirates broadsided the Beatrix and quickly boarded it before my father's crew could do much of anything. A fight broke out. I could hear the clashing of swords and the boom of guns going off. Plumes of smoke covered the ship's deck. My father scrambled through the grey haze. He held no weapon in his hands and the pirates' captain was stalking after him, a curved sword raised. Abruptly, my father stopped running. He looked at the ugly pirate with a look of wild desperation, his teeth bared in a grimace. He closed his eyes as if he were resigning himself to his fate. His mouth moved quickly as he mumbled foreign words that sounded like little more than gibberish. As if in answer, waves of shadowy mist began to writhe around his old, wrinkled hands.
"I wouldn't play with my mother's things if I were you," said a velvety voice, it echoed through the room, not giving away its origin. The mirror suddenly blinked and its glassy surface became a pool of black oil. I screamed as a gloved hand protruded from it. The hand was swiftly followed by the rest of the finely dressed man. He broke free of the mirror, like a swimmer breaking through the surface of the ocean. He stood in front of me, his elegant black suit, unmarred by the oil, his shoes shining with new polish. I stared at him in awe; if I were passing him by on the street I would have thought that he was very handsome. He held himself with great pride and elegance, like a prince or a king. His short black hair was swept away from his forehead and his beard was kept neatly trimmed; his skin was a golden olive tone. However, when I saw that his eyes were the same as the oil he'd sprung from, I was reminded of why I should fear him, despite how pleasant he appeared. They were the same dark eyes as Rosalyn's in the painting, void of any spark of life. The man grinned at me, flashing pearly white teeth. "You never know what you could awaken."
Christopher roared fiercely as he sprung towards the stranger. He placed himself between us, as if he were shielding me from some terrible monster. "Don't you dare, harm her, Ashton!" He screamed, baring his fearsome teeth. I was taken aback by the rage I saw in him. He looked more like a lion than ever. Wait…Ashton? This was the same impish boy from the painting? But…wasn't his eyes blue?
"Settle down, Thorn." Ashton said, evenly, not at all impressed by Christopher's ferocity. "I won't tell Mother about your…little pet." He chuckled as his eyes slid over to me. "So, you are Peter and Beatrix's daughter?" He inquired, toying with the cuff of his coat absently. "I'm glad to see that you inherited your looks from your mother and not that dull, drab Peter. It would have been a terrible shame if your Mother's beauty had gone to such waste."
"What do you want?" Christopher growled, his silver eyes flashing murderously at the princely visitor.
Ashton looked almost offended by his question. "I was just coming by to borrow some of Mother's books. Imagine my surprise, when I realized that the portal was already wide open. Really, Thorn, if you want to keep her hidden from my mother, you should know better than to use her mirror."
"How do you know who I am?" I asked, my voice barely audible over Chritopher's angry hissing.
"I guessed." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "The Crafts are a dwindling bloodline. Your father and I are the last males to carry the name. You obviously must have Craft blood if you were able to use the mirror. Since I have no children of my own, there's only one person whose child you could possibly be."
"My father is dead." I stated matter-of-factly. There was no use denying it any longer.
"I figured, seeing that you're here. I doubt Peter would allow you to come here willingly." Ashton said, seemingly unmoved by the news of his cousin's early demise. He walked nonchalantly to one of the bookcases and started to look for the books he'd come to borrow. "I have to say, Thorn, I'm surprised at you, bringing my pretty cousin here and hiding her under my mother's nose." He laughed as he flipped through a book that I thought might be about poisons. "You're far craftier than I gave your credit for." He closed the book and slipped it under his arm. "Are you hoping that she can break your curse?" He said, giving Christopher a knowing smile.
"No." Christopher harrumphed like a displeased cat. "I promised her father that I'd look out for her, should something happen to him."
"You're doing a poor job of it, aren't you? By toying with the mirror, you'll only raise Rosalyn's suspicions."
"I was hoping that she could use the mirror to leave the house. She wants to be free and I don't want her to end up a prisoner, as I am."
Ashton's eyes narrowed, the dark orbs flashing suddenly with a dim light. "It's a good thing that I stopped you, then. Rosalyn and I can pass through the mirrors easily because we've made a pact with the spirit that dwells within it. My cousin has made no such pact. If she were to try to pass through it, the spirit would rip her soul away from her and my mother would have one more shadow to bend to her will. You're attempt to save her, would have only sent her to an early grave."
"I-I," Christopher stuttered with a shudder. His legs trembled as if all strength had been pulled out of them. He fell to his knees and hid his face in his hands. "I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know." He moaned.
Pity washing over me, I knelt beside him and touched his shaggy hair. I brushed some of his mane out of his face and saw, heartbreakingly, that tears were rolling down his face, splashing against his scarred hands. "It's okay, Christopher." I soothed.
"No! No, it's not!" He cried, his claws digging into the flesh of his face. When I went to wipe his tears away, he jerked away from me and jumped back to his feet. "I could have killed you, Isabel!" He shouted. His face was twisted with anger and sadness. The anger was aimed, not at me, but at himself.
I stared at him, at his troubled expression. His face was wet with tears of anger and regret, his teeth bared in a pain filled grimace. Trickles of blood ran from the small cuts on his face from his claws, matting his golden fur. An overwhelming need to hold him took hold of me. It was so strange. He could have very well, sent me to my death, but I was more upset about seeing him this way, so heavy hearted, disgusted with himself. I opened my mouth to speak, to somehow soothe him. "Christopher I…"
Ashton's laughter interrupted my train of thought. It was a bad mannered sort of laugh that reminded me a villain that was pleased with the outcome of his crime. For a moment, I saw a glimpse of the imp like child he used to be. "Isn't that sweet?" He teased, "A beauty comforting her ugly beast." He tousled Christopher's mane as if he were a little boy and not a seven foot tall beast. "Stop, you're giving me a toothache." He drew closer to me and snatched up my hand. His hands were hot. They burned my skin like the flames of a dying fire. "You needn't bother yourself with him, my dear. He's only a slave."
"Christopher is not a slave!" I hissed, yanking my hand free. I didn't like the feelings that Ashton's eyes seemed to stir up in me. A mere glance made my heart race with a feeling akin to desire. It was not a natural feeling, in the slightest. Somehow, I knew that he was trying to work a spell on me.
"Isn't he?" asked Ashton, an angular brow quirking upward with amusement. "He belongs to my mother, does he not?"
"She has no right to own anyone." I snapped, glaring at him.
"He is under one of her spells. It's a powerful one. One I doubt will ever be broken. As long as the spell holds, he is trapped here and he will belong to her for the rest of his life. Even in death, he'll still be hers. He'll simply become one of those faceless, nameless shadows that roam about this place, doing Rosalyn's bidding in silent agony, unable to refuse her whims."
I grit my teeth in horrified understanding as I thought of the servants. They went about their work so diligently. I never thought of how they were secretly feeling or if they could even feel at all. "They…aren't just the shadows of the dead, are they?" I asked, half knowing the truth.
"They are the shadows of the dead, for sure." Ashton smiled charmingly, while his eyes peered at me with cold cruelty. "They are the shadows of those who could not break the curses that Mother put on them. In the end, their curses killed them. The dark spirit we have allied ourselves with, ripped away their souls, leaving the shadows behind. They are shadows, but they still hold on to the identities of their owners. Imagine being trapped inside your own head. Your body goes about its daily life, while you huddle in a corner of your own mind, screaming to be heard. Yet, your body remains silent, oblivious to you. This is what those poor unfortunate souls experience now, because they were too weak to free themselves from Rosalyn's cruel grip."
I glanced at Christopher; feeling like the life was being choked out of me. That's the fate that awaits Christopher. My throat ached painfully. "Is this true? Are you going to die from this?"
Christopher stared down at the floor while blood ran down the bridge of his flat nose. Suddenly, his drunken ramblings from months before made some sense. He was in danger of dying…the very thought of it made fire prick at the back of my eyes. I fought back the tears, unwilling to let them go. I was tired of crying. I'd had enough for one day. "How do you break his curse?" I demanded, daring to meet Ashton's strangely hypnotic eyes. "You must know."
Ashton laughed at the serious look on my face. "You think that I'd betray my own mother by telling you?"
"Why not?" I shrugged. "It isn't your curse and he is just a slave, right? What does it matter if he's set free or not?"
"As a child, I was terrified of my mother. It's a fear that I have yet to outgrow. However, I suppose it won't hurt to give you a little hint. I do find this all very amusing." Ashton drew even closer to me, until we were little more than a breath apart. His eyes slithered over me and I suddenly became extremely aware that I was still in my nightdress. I had forgotten all about it in the turmoil of that morning. At Christopher's agitated growl, Ashton's eyes came back up to meet mine. "The answer you seek is right before your eyes. It's been here all along. You just refuse to see it. To return Christopher to his true form, you need only open your eyes…" A fiery finger came up to touch my chest where my heart was floundering with shock, "and your heart to the truth, Isabel." My name rolled off his tongue softly like a sigh.
"I don't understand." I said, ripping my gaze away from his so that its spell would stop its work. "Are you saying that the answer is obvious? How can it be? Nothing here is easy or plain."
Ashton laughed and his eyes glinted with amusement. "Believe me, once you've figured it out, you'll wonder why on earth it took you so long." A smirk transforming his face into that of a cunning viper, the young warlock turned away to retreat back through the mirror portal. As he passed one foot through the inky face of the mirror, he stopped and looked back at Christopher and I. "One more thing. My mother carries a small blue book of spells with her. It's always on her person. It contains the simpler spells, those that she uses most often, and those that she doesn't want others to find. I believe that the spell that locks and opens the gate is inside that book. If you find yourself truly desperate, you could try to get your hands on the book." He grinned at Christopher, who was glaring at him like he was considering mauling him. "I believe that your curse is detailed in the book as well, if Isabel proves too dimwitted to figure it out on her own."
Christopher roared at him angrily, his lips pulling away from jagged teeth. For a moment, I feared he may actually attack my strange cousin.
"Why are you telling us this? I thought you were too afraid of your mother to help us with anything more than a hint?" I asked, ignoring the insult.
"Oh, I'm not telling you this to help you. I want that book, possibly even more than you do. If you do manage to steal it, do send it my way. I believe that Christopher is already familiar with my mailing address, since he's clearly been commandeering my mail."
"What good will stealing the book do? Neither Christopher nor I can understand the spells enough to work them, and frankly I'd rather not delve into sorcery. I have no interest in continuing the family legacy."
"That's a pity." Ashton sighed dramatically. "You would have made a beautiful enchantress. Unfortunately, the gate will only open for the person who casts the spell. It won't work for you if I do it. Anyway, if you will send the book to me, I will explain the spell to you. It's a simple and benign spell. I don't think you run the risk of becoming corrupted by the black arts by unlocking a gate. Though, you should know that even if that spell opens the gate for you, it will not work for Christopher. His curse has to be broken before he can leave here."
"I understand." I said softly, crossing my arms over my chest. I would be very happy when he left and he was no longer staring at me. I felt as though he could see straight through my clothing.
"Thank you for your help, Ashton." Christopher grumbled, glowering at him unhappily. "Though I'm not sure I understand why you are being so kind all of a sudden. It is a trait that you are not known for."
"Alas, women are my weakness." He cackled devilishly. "Isabel, when you are free and have grown board of your furry friend here, you should come by and see me."
Christopher's patience finally broke and he shoved Ashton- none too gently- through the mirror.
"Look at what you've done to yourself." I sighed as I cleaned up the cuts on Christopher's face. We had quickly fled the third floor after Ashton's unceremonious departure. Neither of us wanted to linger there any longer, afraid that our meddling had awoken the mirror's spirit. We were sitting at the dining table while Foxy rolled around on the floor, begging to have her belly rubbed. Pieces of cotton and a jar of soothing salve were sitting on the table by my arm. I cleaned the blood from his fur and dabbed generous amounts of salve onto the wounds, hoping to fend off infection.
"I'm sorry…for all of this. I shouldn't have kept all those things from you. I should have just told you the truth from the start. I was just…afraid that you'd hate me if you knew the truth." Christopher said quietly, wincing slightly at my ministrations.
"I know the truth now and I still don't hate you. I'm still angry, but I can't hate you, Christopher."
"Why? I wouldn't blame you if you did."
"You're my friend." I replied. "That's what friends do, isn't it? They care about each other even if they fight sometimes."
"I guess." He muttered. "I really wouldn't know."
"Neither would I. I haven't had many friends either, but that is the way I feel. You're my friend and I still care about you. I've already forgiven you."
"Good." He smiled to himself. "I really didn't know that you would die by going through the mirror, Isabel. I wouldn't have suggested using it if I knew I was putting you in danger."
"I know. Don't worry about it anymore, okay? Thankfully, Ashton came and stopped us so it worked out for the best."
"Yes…Ashton." Christopher grumbled like an angry child. "There's a face I wish I never had to see again."
"You don't like him, do you?" I chuckled at the pouty look on his face.
"He is not my favorite person, no. He's more…cunning than his mother, stronger than her as well in many aspects. He has a way of getting you to trust him, even when you know better. He uses people, like men use tools to build houses. He isn't one to be trusted."
"I got a strange feeling from him as well. I think he was trying to cast a spell on me."
"I wouldn't doubt it. Ashton has a strange talent of luring women to him. They can't seem to think clearly around him. Most likely, the only reason you didn't leave with him today was because of your Craft blood. His magic must not be able to work as well on you."
I suppressed a little shiver. So that's what it was. He was casting some sort of love spell on me, using only his eyes. No wonder I had felt so uncomfortable with him looking at me. "I don't like him, but he was being oddly helpful."
"Oddly is a kind word for it. He never does anything if it doesn't benefit him in some way. All he wants is that book. It must have a spell in it that is very important to him."
"Do you think that we should do as he says? I mean…it may hold the answers to both our problems. Don't you think it's worth the risk of trying?" I asked as I laid a bloodied piece of cotton into the pile with the other soiled pieces.
Christopher pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I don't trust Ashton. He's used his magic for far more evil than Rosalyn ever has. He's been married several times and none of his wives are currently living. It is as it sounds. He's also the one that threatened your mother's life."
"What happened?" I asked, feeling a chill settle in my chest. Ashton had frightened me, but he hadn't seemed evil. He was actually charming, in a way, more mischievous than anything else.
"He and your father were both interested in Beatrix. When she chose Peter instead of him, Ashton went into a blind rage. He cast a spell on her that made her slip into a deathlike sleep, from which no one could wake her. Ashton visited her in her constant dreams. He tried to seduce her and persuade her to choose him instead. He told her that the only way to break the curse was to agree to marry him. However, your mother loved Peter more than Ashton could possibly understand. She refused to give in. She fought against his magic, willing herself to get back to the world of the waking. Her will proved to be stronger than Ashton's magic and she broke free of the curse on her own. As soon as she was awake, Peter took her and ran."
I smiled sadly to myself, thinking of the story my father had often told me, about the beautiful girl that slept for years on end until the love she felt for her fiancé freed her from the spell of a jealous warlock. It had all been true. My father had been telling me my mother's own fairy story and I had just met the villain. "My father often told me that story. I never thought that he was speaking about himself and my mother." I sighed heavily as I blinked away the vision of my father's smile. "Perhaps we should just forget about the book, then. Nothing good can come of Ashton getting his hands on it."
"No, we will steal it."
I gawked at Christopher in shocked surprise. "Christopher, it's way too dangerous."
He smirked at me, his silver eyes glimmering in the golden light of the chandelier above us. "I promised you I'd find a way to free you, no matter what it took and I meant it. Even if my world comes crashing down, you will be free again. I refuse to be your warden any longer."
"You have more problems than I do. If your curse isn't lifted, you'll die." I said to the jar of salve. I found it too difficult to speak about his imminent demise and look him in the face at the same time.
"I have made peace with my own fate. I already know how to break my curse, but even if I told you how to do it, it wouldn't help me. My curse cannot be lifted by the use of some incantation."
"You speak as if there is no hope for you." I muttered sadly.
Christopher smiled weakly. "I have a great deal of hope, actually. It's just that I have placed my fate into another's hands. Whether I live or die is entirely up to them."
"You've left it to God?"
Christopher grinned with a light laughter. "No, but it is something far greater than I." His words hung in the air, as he stood from his chair and called a servant over. I shivered at its approach. Now knowing what they were, my fear of them had been renewed, although it was now mixed with a deep pity. The servant bowed and for a second, I swore I could almost hear a young girl's high pitched scream. "Please send word to Madame Rosalyn. I'd like to invite her to dinner on New Year's Eve." Christopher instructed.
"You're inviting her here?" I asked in surprise. "I thought you hated her visits."
Christopher smiled at me slyly. "Oh, I loathe them, but it will give us a chance to take the book."
