"How about you start at the beginning?" Vernon clicked his tongue and maneuvered his mount around a fallen tree that protruded into his path. When he was around the obstacle, he looked at Elsie. "I want to know who you really are, where you came from, and why the hell there was a necromancer among the McCreedys who nearly killed us all to get a hold of you two."
They had resumed their journey toward Buffalo Gulch ten minutes ago after wrapping up the other corpses. All three brothers and Nora looked at Vernon in surprise, but Ulric spoke the question evident in all their eyes, "A necromancer?"
Vernon clenched his jaw, causing the muscle to twitch for a few seconds before he took a deep breath and nodded.
"You mean the person who looked like they were on fire?" Esmund asked.
"It was a man, and yes."
"How do you know that's what he was?"
Vernon shook his head, "It isn't important right now."
"His name is Calvin Montclair," Piper whispered. "He works for The Matron."
"Actually, Theadora told me he doesn't just work for her; he's her husband as well."
Piper scowled, "How'd Theadora find that out?"
"I couldn't tell you," Elsie shrugged, "but Theadora never lies, so I've no reason not to believe it to be true, and when you think of it, it does make rather a lot of sense. Although, why anyone would want to marry such an evil person is beyond me. I'd never be able to sleep if I knew I was married to someone so evil, let alone eat anything they put in front of me. However, I doubt The Matron is one to cook—I wonder if they go hungry...perhaps that's what's driven them to be so evil?"
Esmund bit back a grin and shook his head.
"Who's The Matron?" Ulric asked.
"She runs Briarwood." Elsie looked at Ulric, "But more importantly, she's evil in the truest sense of the word."
Piper sighed, "Don't you think you're a little hard on her? I believe something happened to change her and made her into who she is now." Her voice softened, "In that regard, she and I are very much the same person."
Elsie gasped, "Oh, Piper...you're nothing like The Matron. You're good and kind."
"I'm not as good or kind as you believe me to be," Piper murmured, "there are things about me that you don't know, things that were you ever to learn, you'd most assuredly hate me for."
Vernon pursed his lips and glanced at Esmund, "What's Briarwood?"
"It's an asylum of sorts," Elsie said with a sad smile, "for lack of a better word."
Ulric frowned, "For the insane?"
Elsie shook her head, "No, but I'm sure it's driven many within its walls to insanity. It's known to outsiders as a home for those with special talents or abilities."
"You mean magical talents and abilities...such as being a Femina Feles or fairy godmother?" Esmund asked.
Elsie nodded.
Gunnar scratched his chin and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Where's it located? I don't believe I've heard of it until now."
Piper glanced at Elsie before saying, "It's about forty miles east of Coyote Hills."
"You mean the monstrosity that looks as though it's been abandoned for at least a century?" Ulric asked with a skeptical tone. "How'd the two of you end up in such a place?"
Elsie gave a heavy sigh and rubbed her brow, "Three months after my uncle was sent to jail for attempting to murder me, Montclair arrived at our home and convinced my aunt it was the only place a person like me would be safe. From the day my aunt and uncle took me in as a child, I knew she never cared for me, but it wasn't until she abandoned me at Briarwood that I knew just how much she truly hated me."
"How long were you there?" Esmund asked gently.
There was a long, drawn-out pause before Elsie murmured, "Two years, four months, three days, and seventeen hours—give or take a few minutes."
"I thought you said you were terrible at arithmetic?" Piper murmured with a lift of her brow.
"I am," Elsie shrugged and nodded, "That's why I said 'give or take a few minutes'..."
Vernon adjusted his seat, causing the leather saddle to creak. "And you, Piper?"
Piper closed her eyes as her shoulders slumped, "over ten years."
"How did you end up there?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but only a whimper emerged. She shook her head and swallowed, squaring her shoulders as she tried again, "M-my husband-" Her voice broke on a choked sob, and her shoulders began to shake with suppressed weeping. "I can't..."
Elsie turned and looked up at Esmund, clearly distressed, saying silently, "Please, don't make her tell them. Her husband had her committed after she inadvertently caused an accident."
"That seems a harsh punishment..." He frowned as his thoughts trailed off. Different scenarios of what might have occurred, forcing a husband to commit his wife into such a place, swirled within his mind. Esmund discarded many scenes for being too trivial. It would have to have been a grave situation where a punishment of banishment would feel warranted.
He quickly narrowed the possibilities down until only one made any sense. In his line of work over the past several years, he'd seen results of what people felt they'd been forced into doing after experiencing a loss from a sudden tragedy.
Death of a loved one was the most common motivator, driving people of any background to commit offenses ranging from murder to abandonment. The death of a loved one, as a direct result of an accident caused by a wife, would be a betrayal many men would be unable to forgive.
"Someone died, didn't they?"
Elsie gave a faint nod as her eyes filled with sorrow.
But who could it have been? Not just a simple someone had died. It would have to have been a cherished person both Piper and her husband had loved... Sudden clarity pierced his brain. Had it been a child? His stomach twisted and lurched, causing bile to burn the back of his throat, but he forced the question out, needing to know if his suspicion was correct. "Who was it?"
Tears gathered in Elsie's eyes and spilled down her cheeks when she averted her gaze and bowed her head, "Their son."
Esmund caught his father's gaze and shook his head, pleading with Vernon to choose a different line of questioning to pursue for the moment.
However, Piper interrupted Esmund's request when she wept, "I didn't mean to do it." She covered her face with her hands as heartrending sobs wracked her entire body, and she brokenly cried, "It was an accident, but he didn't believe me."
Minutes passed, filled only with the sounds of her grief. When she next spoke, her sorrow-filled voice sounded odd and disjointed. "Timothy was only seven months old and hadn't slept well the past several nights. On the day of the accident, I could only calm him by conjuring a flower or something silly like bubbles, just as I'd done hundreds of times before. When he finally fell asleep that afternoon, I wandered out to the garden—to take a breath and enjoy the quiet."
Piper wiped the tears on her face and continued, "I only wanted a moment of peace; I was so exhausted from all the sleepless nights...by the time I smelled the smoke, it was too late."
She rubbed her forehead and swallowed. "When my husband arrived and saw what I'd done, he didn't say a word. He loaded me into the carriage—the entire day's journey passed without him acknowledging my presence. He never yelled or cursed at me; he didn't need to...his silence was damning enough. Unlike Elsie, I deserved to be at Briarwood as penance for murdering my child."
No wonder Piper had been unwilling to speak of her past before today. They rode in silence, the squeaking of snow under hoof the only sound to fill the air for the next few miles. The mood of the whole group was solemn as Piper's confession touched upon the grief still raw from his mother's sudden death.
Ulric rubbed his bald head and asked, "So, does all of your magic end up in flames?"
Gunnar scowled at his twin, "You don't have to answer that, Piper. My brother is a bit of a jackass and often speaks without thinking."
"I am not a jackass."
"You were just now."
"That doesn't mean I'm always a jackass; I can think of several instances where I wasn't one."
"Enough, both of you," Vernon said with a weary shake of his head.
Piper took a deep breath and sighed. "Before that day, I'd never had an issue with it. Everything I conjured remained what it was and never altered."
Vernon tilted his head to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face, "And since then?"
She gave a pathetic shrug, heartbreak written clearly upon her face, "It's the only thing I seem capable of making with any kind of certainty now."
"I'm surprised you even still practice it after a tragedy such as that," Gunnar said softly.
Piper stared straight ahead over Nora's shoulder, "I didn't use magic when I first arrived at Briarwood, but after I met Elsie, I couldn't stop myself from trying again." She swallowed and asked in a brittle voice, "Can we please discuss a different topic for now?"
Gunnar nodded and nudged Wasp ahead when the path narrowed. Once the trail widened and allowed them to ride three abreast once more, he took up his previous position next to Nora and Piper. "What about Montclair? What exactly is his role at Briarwood?"
Elsie gripped the saddle pommel, fear evident in her tone when she answered the question. "He does whatever The Matron requires of him, whether obtaining new inmates or hunting down those who escape."
Piper brushed hair out of her face and met Elsie's gaze, "They're quite equal in their depravity; however, I believe he goads her into being more malevolent than she would be otherwise."
Elsie shivered, "Just thinking of them together makes my skin crawl."
Vernon frowned. "You make it sound as though these escapes happen regularly."
"Because they do, and the capture is another part of her game she plays to which he's a more than willing accomplice." Piper pressed a hand to her wounded shoulder and winced. "She's perpetually bored and uses Briarwood and those within as a diversion."
Elsie nodded. "Every month, selected cells in different wings are left unlocked. The first time it happened to me, I thought the orderly had been absent-minded, but after the third occurrence, I knew no one could be that stupid, so they must have done it on purpose. That and the fact the orderlies are dismissed to their own homes at seven each night."
Gunnar glanced at his father and brothers in disbelief. "Wait a minute; she allows you to escape?"
"Did I not make that obvious? I do tend to muddy the water, as it were." She glanced up at Esmund as though seeking his approval, and he couldn't help but smile.
Vernon squinted and stared straight ahead, "Does she have magical abilities as well?"
Ulric nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Elsie beat him to it, "She's a witch, a bad witch, but not in the same sense as Piper—she's evil down to her soul. The Matron, that is, not Piper."
"Thank you for clearing that up, Elsie," Piper murmured.
"You're welcome."
"What happens when you get caught?" Vernon turned to look directly at Elsie. "Is there a punishment?"
"Yes, although the torture she inflicts is just another part of her game and is designed specifically toward her prey. It took poor Marigold an entire month after her last recapture before she spoke again...she's never been the same since." Elsie bit her lip and bowed her head, "It's awful that boredom and loneliness can drive someone to be so cruel to another person."
Piper scoffed, "I doubt those are the only reasons behind her actions; she enjoys the power of it all, having those weaker than her at her mercy."
"Yes," Elsie swallowed, "except mercy isn't granted until you would welcome death if only for the freedom it would give if death were final, that is."
Esmund studied Elsie and watched the blood drain from her face with the admission. Her heart raced, and her hands clenched into tight fists, making her knuckles stand out in sharp relief against her skin. He adjusted the reins in one hand and covered her clenched fists with his free hand.
The mountain surroundings fell away in an instant, and a vision filled his mind. It differed from the others he'd experienced, tainted by darkness hovering at the edges, forcing him to only see what was directly before him and nothing else.
He stood alone in a stone-walled room with high ceilings and two small windows on the forward-facing wall. Flames burned brightly in medieval wall torches, but regardless of the bright flame, they cast more shadow than light in the darkness.
It reminded him of an illustration of ancient catacombs and dungeons he'd once seen several years ago. Evil permeated the entire space, threatening to darken the soul of anyone who stood within the room.
Cabinets full of corked jars and bottles lined one entire wall, drawing his eye to what appeared to be a tall, narrow wire cage, barely large enough for an average adult to fit in.
Barbed wire coated in dried blood and tattered pieces of cloth wrapped around every inch. His lips curled in disgust when, upon closer inspection, the fabric proved to be bits of torn flesh. He reached out to touch a blood-coated barb but stopped midway when he heard someone moaning in pain.
His nostrils flared as the air in the room grew thick with the smell of musty, wet stone and blood—a lot of blood. Fear paralyzed him, locking his feet where he stood. Every muscle in his body tensed as though preparing for an attack. Chills raced across his spine, and his skin grew clammy.
Against his will, he turned and found Elsie spread-eagled on a plank suspended from the ceiling. Her arms, abdomen, and legs were bare; wide leather bands latched closed with buckles, cut into her skin where they strapped both wrists and ankles to the plank. A wide, stained strip of cloth wrapped around her chest, and another wide length created a makeshift loincloth.
Long, bloody slashes covered her bare abdomen and shoulders, some wider and deeper than others, but it was the wound on her inner right thigh that caused the most alarm. The skin, flayed to the bone, spread open in a wide gash. Blood coated her leg and dripped from her foot to a massive puddle covering the floor.
It was a lethal wound no ordinary human could survive and one that most assuredly would have cost Elsie a life. Esmund stepped closer and found the wound was already beginning to mend back together, which only meant it had happened a few minutes ago. He turned, wanting to discover the person and tools used to cause the wounds, but there wasn't a weapon anywhere.
A heavy door creaked open to his right; a frisson of fear raced through him as a woman wearing a fashionable yellow frock and entirely out of place in her surroundings entered.
"The Matron," a voice whispered.
"Thanks," he mentally replied, "but I already figured that much out myself."
The flames grew brighter with each step The Matron took, illuminating her and the area immediately around her. Despite the increased brightness of the room, her face remained hidden in deep shadow.
Esmund recoiled when she reached out unnaturally long and claw-like fingers with razor-sharp nails and scraped across one of the deeper wounds on Elsie's stomach.
Elsie cried out in pain and struggled to lift her head as The Matron chanted a series of words and thrust her hand deeper into Elsie's abdomen. Her voice sounded disembodied and discordant when combined with Elsie's agonized screams.
Suddenly, the chanting ended, and in a silky tone, The Matron whispered, "Now the fun will begin."