Tea, Lycanthropy and Other Virtues

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Constance awoke, Hugh Connor asleep beside her. She lay there for several minutes, the rise and fall of his chest against her back more wonderful than anything she'd ever dared hoped for. She wanted this to be real so badly it sent an ache through her chest.

She slipped out of bed and tiptoed around her brother. She grabbed the robe they had lent her and then stole out of the room.

It was early, the house quiet. She looked around. She hadn't had much time to notice last night, but this house differed from Greyfield. Instead of sinister, it was beautiful in a dignified way. She liked the rustic wooden beams holding up the ceiling, the windows with deep sills looking out over rolling green hills where mist rose into the air, obscuring a couple of deer. It smelled like pine, and cold wet grass. Hannah was right, you could breathe here.

She closed her eyes. She could almost hear the halls alive with the squeals of children, the traffic of family. No wonder Hannah wanted to come home so badly.

Yearning filled her as she walked through the house. She wanted to belong here, wanted to have a place where Simon could run free in the forest. She wanted to sit with Beatrice and Hannah and have tea in the afternoons and let Gran work her magic in these kitchens.

But it had to be real. It couldn't be because of her unintentional influence over Hugh. She couldn't live with herself otherwise. She took the servants' stair down and when she reached the kitchens, something beckoned her to keep going. It wasn't the dread of Greyfield, but there was an echo of it.

The staircase wound down until it let out in a cellar lined with a row of cells. It wasn't a cavernous room dug out for ceremony, more of a private jail. She imagined a lot of old mansions and keeps had something similar. A place to hold someone until the local constabulary could get there. It smelled like mildew and dirt and the echo of a little boy's fear.

She moved closer. One cell saw more use. There was no rust on its hinges and something or someone had worn the floor down by pacing for hours on end. The other two cells hadn't seen use in a long time. Cobwebs hung from the corners, mouse droppings littered the floor. One of them had a toy soldier and there was a wooden toy boat laying broken on the floor.

Her throat tightened.

"When you're first bitten, it's like a fever. You shift uncontrollably, lost in wolf madness."

Hugh came up beside her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. She hadn't heard him follow her down.

"Hannah and I were always together. She didn't understand why they'd separated us. They told her I was ill, and she wanted to cheer me up. She snuck down here with some of my favorite toys."

Constance's stomach knotted.

"You know what father said to mother while Hannah was bleeding and crying? I could hear him three floors above me. I told her not to go down there. As if it were nothing, she'd carry scars the rest of her life." His words hung heavy in the musty air. "And all so I could inherit some land, all so his wealth would stay in the family."

"Hannah loves you," she said finally. "I think you're hurting her more by keeping her away from here."

He was silent beside her.

"She wants to be with her people," she pressed, thinking she could at least do this one good thing for the two Connors who had been so kind.

"What about you?" He asked softly. "Could these be your people?"

Constance couldn't look at him. She had to tell him the truth. If she didn't do it now, she'd lose her nerve. She cared for him so much and the idea that she could just stay and he would never be the wiser haunted her.