Secrets in the Moon (Crescent City Werewolves #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Someone knocked on Cora's bedroom door just as she removed cucumber slices from her eyes, which were puffy from a night of crying. The vases of lilies and chrysanthemums on her dressing table gave the air a funereal quality, but arranging flowers had been the only thing keeping her sane since returning home with Father, and she stared at the white petals while Maisie entered with a quick curtsey.

"Good morning, miss. Your father wants to see you in his study once you're dressed."

"Thank you, Maisie."

A small frown at her reflection was the only sign of her struggle against her hands mechanically choosing clothing her father considered proper: a long-sleeved knit dress in a hideous shade of brown and sensible shoes with the lowest heel possible. She knew it was useless to fight the sigil but refused to simply accept how it could take control of her body over the slightest things.

The resistance left her with a headache by the time she reached her father's study. The sigil pulsed contentedly in his presence as she stopped in front of his desk. "Good morning, Father."

"Cora." Her father was in the middle of writing letters and didn't look up. He had gone grey early in life and now his hair was completely silver, glinting in the lamp light. With some surprise, she realized all the window curtains were drawn, as if the bright sunlight would be too much for him.

Without looking up from his work, he said, "You'll be going without me to all our social appointments. I'm not feeling well."

He did look sickly, she had to admit. Her father had always been an imposing, distinguished man, but now his skin had a grey pallor and the pen in his hand moved with less force than usual. Inwardly, in the small part of her mind that remained free to think however it wanted, she wondered if he had contracted an illness that might kill him. She hoped so. It was a shocking thought, but she wasn't sorry for it at all.

Just then, his gaze flickered up from the letters. "Did you hear me?"

The sigil pulsed painfully until she answered. "Yes, Father."

"And do you remember what the appointments are?"

"Yes. Visiting with Mrs. Crainshaw and her daughter, going to Mrs. Einhorn's luncheon, and finally the opera tonight."

"Good. Explain to them all my absence as needed. That's all." Then her father bent his head toward his work in silent dismissal.

There was nothing to do except return to her room. The sigil burned steadily against her urge to scream and throw things, and at last she sat on the bed, glaring at the flowers around her. Over a month of living like this, and it hadn't gotten any less infuriating. Her father was like a block of granite, slowly crushing her life into a model of his old-fashioned propriety.

Oh, she knew why she had to visit all the fuddy-duddy family connections today even without him. He wanted to build a good reputation for her with those willing to pretend that the recent scandals still shaking the city could be left in the past. Worse, it would possibly work.

She didn't know what the newspapers claimed and couldn't read them to find out. But she was very aware that out of the sprawling mess created by Freddy and his cult, she and her father were seen as the only innocent figures involved. It left her in a positive light with Father's old-money friends, all of them proud of being as stiff and unchanging as statues. And now she was forced to act like them, one command at a time.

Well. She had never given in easily, and wasn't about to start.

Her determination spurred her into fighting the sigil throughout her day despite a growing headache in response. As with all her previous attempts, it proved impossible to win against the nasty little thing, and by the time she was settled into her father's private box at the opera house, she was both furious and fuzzy-headed.