RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 2

It wasn't working. I couldn't get the right angle!

I tried again—and failed.

The office door handle jiggled as it was grasped from the other side.

Oh my freaking gods!

Sending a prayer to the gods, I thrust my wooden spoon at the hook, and just went for it.

There came a raining sound of metal on metal as the master set of keys slipped into place.

The office door began to swing open. I jumped down from the chair, landing as silently as a cat, and kicked the chair back in front of the large desk, just as the Head Housekeeper stormed into the office.

He was a dour man whose expression appeared permanently pickled, with stern features in a heavily freckled face. He was a hard taskmaster, and worse, he didn't particularly like me very much. Despite how diligently I'd worked, it had taken an age to rise through the ranks to get to my current position as a Between Maid. And I was the best silverware polisher amongst the servants.

I stood at attention in front of his desk and covertly hid my wooden spoon behind my back. The Head Housekeeper's gaze narrowed with displeasure on mine, but for the time being he ignored me, scooped up the handset, and seated himself behind his neat, orderly desk. He drummed his slender fingers in irritation on the mahogany surface while he answered the phone. "Hello... What is it?"

Curiously, his demeanor changed straight away. His spine snapped ramrod straight. Pride and eagerness gleamed in his deep brown eyes. "Right now? Ah, I see..." He smoothed his hair back off his forehead, before quickly adjusting his tie as he replied, "And she's not answering her phone... Leave it with me."

He slammed the handset down and eyed me shrewdly.

For a moment silence reigned, filled only by the low hum emanating from his computer.

"Great House Wychthorn has arrived early," he informed me.

A different kind of anxiety spiked my pulse. We were expecting the heir to the Great House to arrive much later. I wasn't even dressed in my formal House uniform.

The Head Housekeeper carried on speaking. "Marissa isn't answering her phone so we need someone to go up to her bedroom and bring her downstairs immediately."

That would be me. "Yes, sir. I'll go up there, right this minute." I was about to spin around on my heel and march out the door when he stopped me.

He turned a cold, inquisitive look upon me. "What were you doing here, Miss Catt?"

"I was just,"—freaking hells, what was I doing here again?—"coming to report to you on the status of the room we're getting ready for tonight's guests, Mr. Volkov."

He raised an eyebrow, silently waiting.

I beamed a smile. "It's going splendidly, sir." A complete and utter lie. Right now the transformation of the casual drawing room into an elegant winter theme was a shambles and I was screwed.

"Good," he murmured, but it sounded thorny as if I'd displeased him. His thin lips curled downward. "Because if the Matriarch of the house is disappointed, then I will be too."

I gulped.

The last time I'd disappointed him, I'd been stuck for the entire week cleaning out all the hearths in the mansion. Something I'd rather not experience again. It was a brutal, thankless task, and every night I'd trudged wearily back to my bedroom covered in soot.

"Well, get to it," he snapped, with a vexed gesture of his hand toward the door.

"Yes, sir." I pivoted on my heel and scarpered from his office.