Pocket of Posies, page 3
Without the pew, Jezebel wouldn’t have been able to get to her feet. She clawed at the chipped wood with her oil-slicked hands, letting it take her weight as she shifted. She pushed up onto her knees, resting her stomach against the back of the pew as she waited for the world to stop spinning. A large double door was fixed at the back of the aisle, just as decayed as the rest of the building. The sight of it filled her with a single-minded longing. A driving need to get out. There was no notion of where she would go, what she would do, and it didn’t matter. She just wanted to get outside.
Slowly, she slid one bare foot onto the stone floor. They oiled the soles of my feet, she realized as her foot began to slide. Pulling her knee up onto the seat again, she used the back of her tunic to scrub her feet. For all her efforts, she wasn’t able to remove every trace. With tiny, careful steps, she crossed to the door and plastered herself against it.
“Please open,” she whispered.
Clutching the dinted iron door handle with her greased hands, she steadily pulled, not wanting to make a sound. It opened with a soft pop. She froze, staring at it in utter confusion. Dread simmered in the back of her head. Who kidnaps someone but doesn’t lock the door? A warm breeze stirred the air, sweeping in through the gap and rustling some distant leaves. Taking a deep, sobering breath, she inched the door open. Just enough for her to poke her head outside.
Brilliant sunlight flared across her eyes. She squinted into the glare and found herself staring down the long, narrow corridor of a hedge maze. Lush green leaves clustered together. Their numbers enough to almost give the appearance of fur. Each side of the hallways rose up to touch the sky. Dark birds slipped across the limited view, lazy upon the breeze. Flowers draped down the sides in squirming tendrils, peacock blue and stark white, glistening with morning dew. Confusion steeled her nerve and she took her first step outside.
Each side of the hedge maze pressed against the curved sandstone walls of the church. Years had entwined the two. Exposed roots twisted through the mortar while centuries of pollen had stained the rock. Jezebel couldn’t check each wall of shrubbery without leaving the church steps. First, she pressed her hand at the join of leaves and wall, reasoning that would be the weakest point. Gnarled, coiled branches prevented her from sinking a single finger through. Her next option was to crouch low and search for the trunks for a gap between them. The space where branches would hang loose over the earth and offer her some wiggle room. There was no gap. She couldn’t even lift the branches enough to expose the trunks. The corridor was the only way out.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled as she looked down the long, narrow expanse. It was bright and peaceful. She couldn’t bring herself to set foot onto the path. Turning on her heel, she retreated back into the church and securely closed the door behind her.
Chapter 3
Annabel cowered under the shadows that washed over her. They passed, back and forth, feeling like ice as they blocked out the sunlight. Her brow furrowed as memory churned through her sleep-drenched thoughts. Then, like a shake emerging from the murky depths, the image of the red clad figure took shape.
She sat upright, a sharp gasp choking off her breath.
“Anna?”
She blinked rapidly, chest heaving, searching for the figure alone. Nothing else mattered.
“It is Anna, right?” the voice spoke again.
Twisting around, Annabel checked behind her. Above her. Regarding even the slightest shadow with suspicion. The red clad figure was gone.
“Anna.” It wasn’t a question anymore but a demand for attention.
She turned back, startled to find a man crouched down before her. A neatly trimmed beard covered his jaw. It was all that kept his rounded face from looking boyish. His dark eyebrows sat over deep-set eyes and he had a well-practiced smile. His features sparked some vague recollection in the back of her mind. She didn’t care enough to chase the thought. Every cell in her body ached and a storm was raging within her skull.
“There you are,” he grinned. “How are you feeling? You took quite a fall.”
Annabel recalled the drop. Toppling from the battlements as she fled from the red clad figures. The Plague Doctors. The town that had trapped them within a nightmare. But there were other things layered on top of that horror. New things. Dark hallways. Strong arms. She lifted one hand to her mouth as she recalled a slightly sweet taste. The smell of ether.
“Chloroform?” she mumbled.
The man chuckled. “What?”
Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her slick skin. “Someone chloroformed me.”
“No, they didn’t.”
Annabel’s mind cleared, washing away all uncertainty. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “It didn’t happen. You took a blow to your head and your brain’s all fuzzy.”
“It takes five minutes for chloroform to render someone unconscious. I struggled for every one of them. I remember that.”
“Okay, Anna, just calm down.”
He reached for her shoulder, surprised when she smacked his hand away.
“Who are you?” Annabel asked.
“Marcus.” He placed a hand against his chest, holding her gaze expectantly. An awkward silence followed. “Marcus, your tour guide.”
“Where’s Rocca?”
His smile remained locked in place as he answered, “She’s at the hospital. But they’re really hopeful for a full recovery. She’ll be okay.”
Annabel sputtered as images flashed across her mind’s eye. Everything she had just seen contradicted with what she already knew. “No. She was fine.”
“You’re confused,” Marcus said gently.
“She barely had a scratch on her,” Annabel insisted. “She was getting us off the island.”
“We’re still going to get home. Don’t worry.”
A primal fear bubbled within her confusion and panic. “I want my sister.”
“Okay, just take a breath.”
“Where’s Jez?” Annabel curled in on herself, a childlike action to couple her mounting fear. “I want my big sister.” She’ll make it better. Everything will be okay when she’s here.
“You’ve been through a lot. I need you to calm down and listen to me,” Marcus said in the same unwavering, overly cheerful tone.
“Where’s Jez!”
The intensity of her scream startled her. But there wasn’t anything approaching shame within her. Petulance raged within her, mixing with her raw fear, breaking apart all of her rational thought. Marcus reached for her again. She pulled back, bracing a hand behind her to keep from falling back onto the stones. A shriek ripped out of her chest as pain shot up her hand. Marcus grabbed her shoulders, repeating quickly for her to calm down. Crawling away from him required the use of her burned hands. The touch of the air alone was agonizing. Enough to make her eyes water and feed her feral frenzy. Struggling to regain control of her, Marcus tightened his grip and dragged her closer again.
Suddenly, the connection was broken. Annabel slammed against the ground as a black mass moved across her. Panting hard, she lifted her head to see Henry crouched before her, one hand outstretched to keep Marcus from coming any closer.
“I’ve got her,” Henry said firmly. “Let me talk to her. I’ll calm her down.”
The intervention left Marcus rattled, as if he hadn’t realized what he had been doing. Like he was stirring from a dream. His wide eyes flicked onto Annabel before quickly returning to Henry.
“She’s confused,” the tour guide’s calm tone returned. “She’s got this idea that someone attacked her.”
“I’ll sort her out. She knows me. She’ll listen.”
“Right. Yeah,” Marcus huffed, trying to forcibly drag the mood into something playful and pleasant. He smacked Henry on his shoulder. “Thanks, man. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I wouldn’t mind some cold water, if you have any. Maybe some breakfast for her?”
“I’ll get it for you.” Marcus hopped up onto his feet, clapping his hands together before gesturing to them both. “You two just relax here. I’ll be right back.”
Annabel watched Marcus leave, jogging up a set of stone stairs to disappear behind a towering wall. A mat of bright purple flowers flowed over the wall and pooled at its base. Glancing around, she discovered that the wall curled around the tiny open courtyard. A low stone fountain stood in the middle of the space, bubbling lazily and covered in moss. People sat upon the blanket of soft grass and clover, each relaxed and chatting. Picnicking in the growing heat of the morning. The realization that she had spent another night unconscious threw Annabel off and left her trembling and cold.
“Let me have a look at your hands,” Henry coaxed, voice as gentle as the fingers that locked around her wrists.
She didn’t fight him. She let him take the weight of her arms and hold them palms up for inspection. Another of the blisters had popped in her struggle. It sent spasms of pain shooting along her nerves. A fine tremble had taken hold of her digits. She couldn’t stop it.
“We should probably wash these out,” he mumbled.
“The blood’s gone.” The words left Annabel’s mouth before the realization had time to form. “And I’m covered in oil.”
“Yeah, we all are. Don’t think on it too much,” Henry said.
She was about to ask him why when a slight shift made it apparent. Every nerve ending felt the same tacky slide of the unknown oil. The dry tunic rubbed against her shoulders, making it impossible for her to squash the budding realization. Someone took my clothes off, anointed me, and brought me here. All while I was unconscious. Before she could voice her disgust, Henry shook his head slightly. A small movement. Just enough to lock the words behind her teeth.
“Thank God you have a good poker face,” he mumbled.
Annabel’s blood froze, her stomach churned, all of it heightened by the fear that Henry carried in his eyes. Not a bit of her inner torment showed on her expressionless features. Taking a deep breath, he continued in a whisper.
“You’re right. But you can’t say it. Not yet. Not until we know who to trust.”
“I didn’t get a good look at who attacked us,” she said carefully. “What I remember is jumbled.”
“It’s the same for me.” He aimlessly turned her hands back and forth, obviously not knowing what else to do but wanting to look busy. “But I do remember that Jez got a piece of one of them. Ripped their forearm open with her nails.”
“Have you seen anyone with bandages?”
With a crooked smile, he shook his arms slightly, sending the loose sleeve of his tunic swaying. A few quick glances and she saw that they were all wearing the same thing.
“I’ve been hoping someone will roll their sleeves up when the weather gets hot,” Henry confessed. “All else I can think of is to shake hands upon meeting people. Trouble is, I can’t remember if Jez got the right or left. There’s only so many times you can pretend you forgot what hand goes where.”
“Where is Jez?”
Henry shook his head again. “I haven’t seen her. But Marcus doesn’t let me wander too far from the group.” He squeezed the back of her hands, careful to avoid the blisters. “We’ll find her.”
“Why would they separate us?” she muttered to herself.
It took a concentrated effort to keep the voice in the back of her mind from whispering the answer. Revenge. Jez was the only one who hurt them. Desperate for a distraction, she glanced around again, this time paying more attention to each face. A few she recognized from their small group of survivors. The rest were a blur. In all, there was only a few of them, the small area making their numbers appear larger. They kept moving and she didn’t have the patience to take a proper head count.
“Some of the other survivors,” Henry answered the question she didn’t voice. “Near as I garnish, they came ashore in the harbor. The one we couldn’t get to because of the storm. The town’s folk found them. Next thing any of them knew, they woke up here. Covered in oil. Supplied with food. No explanation as to why.”
“And none of them are bothered by that?”
Henry shushed her as her voice climbed. “They’re in a very fragile state of denial. Threaten it and they get very angry. Mention ghosts and they think you’re insane. Even our people have stopped arguing the point.” Pulling her hands a little closer to his chest, she met his gaze. “The last time we stepped out of line, they tried to burn us alive. This place is a whole lot more flammable. We need to be careful, Anna.”
“I’ll follow your lead,” she responded readily.
The people Annabel trusted implicitly made a very small list. Henry had more than earned his place on it. His eyebrows jumped slightly.
“Really?”
“You’re better at blending in than I am,” she admitted.
A small smile and he nodded once. “That I am.”
Instantly, as if he had been obsessively waiting for it, he noticed Marcus rounding the corner.
“We keep our heads down and mouths shut. Find Jez and get the hell out of here,” he said in a rushed whisper. “We’ve got each other’s backs. Right?”
“Of course. You’re the only one here I like.”
An abrupt bubble of laughter worked its way out of his throat. Before the sound died, Marcus returned, overshadowing it with his own enthusiastic outburst.
“There we go. I see he’s got you in a better mood.”
“She just needed to see a familiar face, is all,” Henry said, meekly moving to the side and letting Marcus take his place. Grinning broadly, he popped the cork out of a glass bottle and held it out over her hands. It was easy to spot the exact second he got his first look at the damage. Color drained from his face as he instinctively pulled back.
“What happened to you?”
“I stuck my hands in a pot of boiling water,” Annabel said.
“Why would you do something so silly?” Marcus chastised, struggling to keep his good-natured tone.
“I was distracted.”
Marcus stared at her. It was an expression Annabel knew well. Her monotonous, unchanging expression was unnerving him. Having never mastered the art of hiding her natural disposition, she glanced to Henry.
“It’s okay to show that you’re in pain,” he said.
It was hard for her to pretend that she couldn’t hear them as Henry whispered, “She gets that weird look when she’s trying not to cry.”
“Oh,” Marcus hummed.
“Do you have any painkillers?”
“They gave us this local tea. It’s worked wonders on our cuts and scrapes.” The smile returned as he rose his voice to bring Annabel back into the conversation. “I’m sure this will have you feeling better in no time.”
He moved to pour it over Annabel’s hands. She pulled back, eyes snapping onto Henry.
“What’s in the tea?”
“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe,” Marcus said. “I’ve used it. See?” He pulled up the hem of his pants, displaying the slightly discolored patch of skin. “That was a hell of a twisted ankle just a few days ago. Now I’m running around. Everyone here’s used it.”
Annabel spoke directly to Henry, “Have you?”
He shook his head, oil slicked hair flopping slightly. A jerk of an eyebrow reminded her that they were supposed to be avoiding attention. She sucked in a deep breath and forced a weak smile.
“Sorry, Marcus. It’s just, well, has anyone tried it on burns?” Seeing that her attempt at socializing was failing, she lifted her hands into the tour guide’s line of sight. As before, the sight brought a green tinge to his cheeks and he quickly adverted his gaze. “My hands really hurt. It makes me fussy.”
With a bedside manner that left Annabel jealous, Marcus swallowed thickly and settled a pleasant smile back onto his features.
“I know they must hurt. This is what we’ve got to help. Can’t do much harm, can it?”
Pressing her lips into a firm line, Annabel struggled to keep her silence. She glanced to Henry.
“Come on, now, Anna.” Marcus soothed as if she were a child. “Look, I promise that, by the end of this, you and I are gonna feel like family. So why don’t you start trusting me now, hm? Save some time.”
Heads down, mouths shut, Annabel reminded herself. I can’t look for Jez while he’s still here fussing over me. She could be in trouble.
Instinct fought against her as she pushed her hands towards Marcus. Her muscles twitched and her arms shook. But she held still. The first droplets of the weak tea hit her tender skin, agonizing and cooling at once. She sucked a breath in through her teeth as Marcus increased the flow, pouring enough that the liquid began to stir the oil that covered her palms.
A split second changed the cool water into molten steel. It mixed with the oil, clinging to her hands in a vicelike grip. The inferno fell down to the marrow of her bones. Black smoke bellowed into the air. Thick puffs that blurred their vision and rolled up to the sky. Annabel longed to scream as she felt her flesh melt, but she choked on the smoke and the unmistakable stench of burning flesh.
Chapter 4
Jezebel jogged down the church aisle, scanning the building. There has to be a back exit, she reasoned. Approaching the alter, she spotted the iron candlestick holders that protruded from the wall. Time and neglect had loosened the large bolts from the stone, letting them dangle at odd angles.
“I really hope that doesn’t count as blasphemy,” she muttered to herself as she hopped up onto the low platform.
Quickly testing each in turn, she picked the weakest one and worked it free with hard jerks and shoves. It took time. Her arms quaked and her fingers cramped. The layer of oil contained her rising body heat, turning the pleasant warmth of the room into a stifling humidity. Sweat beaded over her skin, sweeping out from the grease instead of washing it away. Panting hard, she placed a foot against the wall, using it as leverage to work the iron candlestick out the last few inches. It burst free of the wall in a cloud of crumbling rock and airborne dust. The particles clung to her as she staggered back.
