'Don't look, Lillian. Never look into the eyes of a Sin-Eater, you will be as cursed as he is and will forever languish in darkness.'
Lillian Elmes remembers the warning her mother gave her about the town's Sin-Eater only too well.
How could she n...
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The day draws on by the time I reach home and the rain has finally ceased its onslaught, but even the sun pushing through the gaps in the clouds is not enough to dry me out. I am wet through, my clothes sodden and heavy, but my soul feels on fire still, the journey home having done nothing to dampen my enthusiasm for the mighty task ahead.
It is only when I see Silas standing in the stable courtyard, with his arms folded across his broad chest and his scowl dark enough to sour the milk, do I feel the first tremors of trepidation. I bring the horse to a halt and do my very best to appear unperturbed by his stern expression. I am the young lady of the house, after all, and I have taken the trap before. Of course, that is usually with Papa's permission, but I am woman now and seeking my father's approval to take the trap that he himself taught me to master seems a ridiculous notion.
'Good day, Silas,' I say, attempting a smile even as rainwater drips from my drenched hair down my forehead.
'Good afternoon, Miss,' he replies, distinctly unimpressed, as he helps me step down.
My plan to sneak in through the kitchen – ignoring Aggy's wide-eyed stare and her clucks of disapproval as I pass – looks set to succeed until I spy William at the door to the study, his face stricken. His stare drifts down to where I appear to be dripping even more rainwater onto the floor.
'You're for it now,' he warns, his gaze snapping toward something over my shoulder.
Without having barely managed to step one foot onto the staircase, I turn to see Papa standing in the doorway of the parlour room. He fills the gap so completely today, or so it seems, does his rage, which balloons outwards as if it might consume everything within a ten-foot radius.
'If you will, Lillian,' he says, stepping to one side and gesturing for me to enter.
I glance back at my brother, who instead of mocking me with his usual irritating I-told-you-so remarks, continues to look as if someone has threatened to rid him of his whole collection of vests.
Something tells me this is not going to go well at all.
When I enter the parlour room, I find Mama there, and much to my astonishment and dismay, she is not alone, for there, on the occasional table next to Grand-Mama's armchair, is an object that I dearly wished I would never have to set eyes upon again.
