The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer

Chapter Three

The thought halted his approach and he curled his fingers into a tight fist. He couldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t.

Silence suspended over them for a moment where her eyes were all Marcus saw and his heartbeats the only sound he heard. Refusing to extend the agony, he dragged in a breath with which to speak, when—

“Is someone there?” Her gaze toured about the room as if trailing the echo of her words.

Marcus swallowed tightly as her words unearthed a bitter awareness within him. Unlike their previously shared night, she no longer saw him. Felt him, yes. But saw him, no.

He stood deathly still, not knowing how to feel. He could simply turn and leave the room. Abigail would never know he was there. Problem was, in knowing she no longer saw him, his chest tightened with a disappointment he didn’t understand.

She stabbed the blade of confusion deeper, asking “Are you here?”

You.

Marcus shut his eyes at the fragile, hopeful edge in her voice. She waited for him still. She wanted him to be there. Making matters worse was that in knowing she waited for him, the dull ache in his chest ceased. Maybe the Timekeeper was right, he forced himself to concede. Perhaps his reasons for not taking Abigail were the deliriums of centuries old loneliness. Marcus stepped back. He should leave. He was a complete and utter monster for denying her something as natural as death for his own selfish, manic reasons. Being there was no longer safe for her, for him, for Margaret.

He made to turn.

“You are here,” Abigail uttered with damning certainty, wholly unafraid. His heart pounded. He had to leave. Yet before he could think another thought, Abigail extended her hand into the air as if casting a spell of her own dark, fairy magic. Her fingers trembled as they reached into the open spaces between them, seeking him, wanting to feel him. “You are here.”

Rooted, Marcus lowered his eyes. Looking at her, it complicated things. He was supposed to have walked out. It was supposed to have been simple. He stiffened. Sadly, his body knew the lure of Abigail’s melody all too well, the singular song of temptation. It was the familiar tune that in his years of a normal, human existence, he hadn’t been able to resist. The same song that sent laudanum pulsing through his veins until he lost all awareness, the enticement that allured him into the smoky back rooms of countless brothels. It was that cursed tune that seduced him into trading sacramental wine for that of brandy and rum, communion bread for a taste of opium.

Weakened by past failures, Marcus lifted his gaze and surrendered. He took a step closer to her outstretched hand, and then another, until the silent pulse of his steps closed the distance between them.

Abigail stroked the air, and as if wishing to heighten her senses, she closed her eyes. she caressed the keys of this silent piano, her song that of a siren’s, urging Marcus closer and closer still, until if he were to dare a breath, her searching fingers would brush against the rhythm of his shallow breathing.

He was close. Too close. But he couldn’t step back.

Bewitched, he lifted a hand. It trembled, just barely, yet each quaver shook his soul. He caressed the air just beside her pale cheek in torturous longing, resisting the burn that bloomed in his palms. Duty seared him, warned that though her name was not on the list, touching her would end her life all the same. But furthering the anguish, Abigail leaned into his invisible touch, as if she knew he was there.

A slow exhale escaped her, and though incapable of blowing away a feather, it slammed into Marcus like a whirlwind, jolting him back to the present. Remembering where he was and why, he curled his fingers instantly, denying the bittersweet burn. He could not touch her. Heaven knows he wanted to. Yet, temptation was as cunning as it was swift, and it whispered an irrefutable truth. But she can touch you…