Hemlock Veils (26 page)

***

Elizabeth crouched on her porch, over the azalea Mr. Clayton had issued a death sentence to only thirty minutes before. She thought it best to trust him on the subject, since his landscape was immaculate and beautiful. She tried picturing, again, Mr. Clayton gardening. The thought made her smile and she bit her lip, shaking her head. It was impossible to imagine, but at the same time, after seeing him on the floor fixing her pipe, his large hands strangely capable of manipulating small things, the thought came a little easier.

After sticking her finger in the moist soil she stood, planning to replant it tomorrow in the very place he’d suggested. In staring into the forest, darkening with the setting sun, her mind slipped thirty minutes back in time, to the moment he fixed that pipe. There was something alluring about it, even sensual—the way the fancy, wealthy Mr. Clayton, whose man servant protected him with an umbrella through town, lay on her bathroom floor in a snug white t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, not giving a second thought to the water leaking all over him. She found this side of him so appealing that she knew she would think about him on her bathroom floor for days to come, his shirt riding up his abdomen. She would think about his dark beard, short and in its beginning stage, with a faint trace of silver sprinkled within, and how it complimented the rest of his features.

But it wasn’t just the thought of him on her bathroom floor. It was the way she’d seen him in a startling new light since that morning. Since she’d fit the pieces together. She saw it now, what his eyes hid. He didn’t in fact hate her, or most the town he fought so hard to protect. That’s what it was: protection. He was protecting her from himself, from what he was. He was trying, with everything in him, to push her away. Regardless of the way he didn’t want to.

That was when she’d decided—tonight, after he admitted to liking her in his round-about way—she wouldn’t allow him to push her away. She might annoy him, the same way he annoyed her at times, but just like he’d given her a second chance, she would give him one. A second chance at acceptance. A chance at understanding. Something warm hid inside Mr. Clayton, something she had been too prideful to notice before. He deserved to be liked, deserved to be seen as the man he was—not the monster he thought himself.

The first mistake, however, would be revealing she knew his secret. She could see it now, the way all Hell would break loose. He’d kick her out of town for sure. And she didn’t want to lose this place or the being she saw at night, who seemed to share more of an understanding with her than anyone ever had, simply by looking her in the eyes.

She straightened when she sensed him coming from the side facing Mr. Clayton’s mansion. Yesterday, when standing on her tiptoes, she’d spotted a stone fence behind his mansion, and it made sense that he would approach from that direction. She wondered how it all worked, wondered if it was the setting of the sun that transformed him. She also wondered, when her skeptical side kicked in, how she could even be sure it was him.

But as the beast approached cautiously, that black ridge on his spine erect, and she met his rich brown eyes, all she could see was Henry. Henry. He
was
Henry. Not Mr. Clayton.

After she rested her hands on the railing, he took caution as he sat before her, his eyes at her level even while on his haunches. Perhaps she should go inside to honor their deal, but could he really expect her to honor it, coming out here every night?

He sniffed the air, right as a threatening chill scaled her arms. His eyes flitted about and whatever it was, she felt it too. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it mirrored the threatening wind from days ago.

Get inside.

She stopped short—thoughts, breath, everything. She stared at him, not sure what to make of the voice overtaking her mind. Not an actual human voice, but words, direct and unmistakable. She thought them, saw them, almost as though she read them, and they’d come from him.

He twisted, about to run. “Wait!” she called. He turned with a reluctance that had to be human, and more importantly, had to be Henry’s. “Please don’t go.” In the moment he stared, the threatening chill left, as quickly as it’d come. “You…can communicate with me?”

He didn’t move, and no words entered her mind. Then he sat and she descended the stairs. Only two feet away, she craned her neck to meet his eyes, and he didn’t back away this time.

He lowered his muzzle to her face, and his eyes turned from marbles to slits.
Your heart races, yet you don’t flee. Why aren’t you afraid?

With an exhalation and a swallow at the same time, the air caught in her throat. He could hear her heartbeat, too? These new revelations, however, didn’t repel her. In fact, they awed her. In all reality, she was relieved they finally had a way of conversing. “Why should I be?” she asked out loud, not sure if he could read her thoughts.

Everyone is afraid.

She couldn’t help the wonder in her tone when she said, “People are often afraid of a beauty they don’t understand.”

The beast recoiled.
Horror,
he corrected.

“Perspective is reality.”

He lay on all fours, allowing her neck relief. Now she could meet his eyes without straining.
Your perspective is unusual.

“What
is
usual?” She stepped closer, studying him the way he studied her. “Can you…hear my thoughts, too?”

No.

“What are you trying to protect everyone from? Not you, since you wouldn’t harm anyone.”

He rose, and a huff of large, angry breath clouded the air. Instinctively, she stepped back on her heels.
You know nothing.

“So I’ve been told.” Even with his animal expression and animal eyes, he seemed caught off guard. “Tell me then,
let
me know.”

His muzzle, zipped with fangs, neared again, his eyes threatening.
I’m vicious, blood-thirsty.

Taggart had once mentioned deer carcasses. She held his eyes, narrowing her own. “Maybe. But…you won’t hurt me.”

Her confidence sent a ripple down his spine, making his fur erect. She tried not to gulp. With hands on her hips, she stood her ground. “Well, you’ve elevated my heart rate like you wanted. Are you finished?”

The moment that passed was long, but after seeing she wouldn’t budge, he looked to the side; with a sigh that almost sounded human, he dropped the act.

She took a subtle step closer and asked again, “What are you protecting us from?”

It took him a moment.
I protect people from what they fear.

She didn’t understand. “And what do you protect me from, since I don’t fear you?”

It took him a moment to answer.
Something else has been here, something far more dangerous than me.

She knitted her brow, feeling another chill. Perhaps it would be best to take his advice and go inside. But she fought the urge, rubbing her arms. After all, she did have the best protection a man could get, sitting right before her. “Is it here…all the time?”

No, it comes and goes, and something has
…
angered it. It’s not here now, but it’s close.
Her shoulders relaxed and he seemed to notice.
But you
should
be afraid. You shouldn’t be out here alone.

She could almost hear Henry’s voice saying it. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”

It’s not safe
…
Elizabeth.

She blinked at the mention of her name. “I
feel
safe…” She took another step. “With you.” She closed in on him, and hesitantly reached her hand toward him. He withdrew quickly, and a low growl resonated from his throat. She didn’t know how she’d missed it before, how she didn’t see Henry. She wondered how hard he had to fight his feral, animal instincts when this close to her.

“It’s all right,” she said. He stayed in place, even with wary eyes. With less hesitancy, she felt the fur on his side, stroking it slowly. He shuddered beneath her hand. It was coarse and soft at the same time, silky really, and the heat from his mass warmed her hand. She slid it down, again exhaling in awe. She moved it to the ridge behind his long, strange ears, where the fur was thicker and stiffer. She ran her fingers through it, combing them down his spine: like horse hair, but not quite, since it was something all his own. His nose came close, sniffing her neck, and he wore the appealing scent of the forest.

She met his eyes. When he didn’t recoil, she brought both hands to his face, grasping his fur. His snout was long and narrow and his face gruesomely large, but his eyes held her.

You’re not repulsed.

“I’m amazed.”

No words entered her mind.

“What can I call you?”

Again silence, but this time she thought it was because he didn’t know. Then,
I’m a beast, am I not?

“You don’t have to be alone anymore, Beast.”

He blinked, lowering his head in some sort of surrender.
I
…
don’t want to be alone.
 

Chapter 16

Elizabeth closed the door behind her when she left, the time a quarter to seven. She loved the morning air, still crisp from damp nighttime but lit with fresh, low sunlight. Only the slightest chill plagued the warmth, one that refreshed her lungs when she inhaled. Lack of sleep left her a little sluggish, but not enough to spoil her outlook. She slung her purse over her shoulder and just as she began thinking of Henry, he appeared, as though her very thoughts could make him materialize. He seemed to be deep in thought when he walked by, and paused when noticing her, doing what could be classified as a double-take.

Smiling, she lifted her hand in a wave and met him on the street. He seemed only slightly more wary than usual, and even gave her a muted smile in return. He wore a suit, as was customary, but appeared much more casual—not just because of his beard, which he had trimmed very short, but because his hair wasn’t combed away from his face. It was still cropped and tidy around his ears but fell wherever it pleased—a look suggesting that all he’d done was run damp fingers through it. She imagined what it would be like to run her own through it.

“Ms. Ashton,” he greeted her. She detected a welcoming tone.

“Mr. Clayton,” she said, trying to keep her voice professional as it came through her smile.

She glanced up at him as they walked; when he returned the glance, they both looked away. They did this a few times, playing hide-and-seek with their eyes, and she bit her lip in an attempt to hide her smile. It was especially hard since he appeared to be doing the same thing. How much did he know, or did he know she knew anything at all?

Was he thinking about last night, as she was? It hadn’t been until after two a.m. when she returned home, and there hadn’t even been much conversation between them. They’d simply walked, probably miles. She liked to think he was giving her a tour of sorts, showing her the forest she’d been aching to see. She’d tried asking him questions about who he was, how long he’d been that way, and what the evil presence was that showed up from time to time; but he hardly answered and when he did, the answers were short and elusive. It was okay though, that he didn’t trust her enough yet. After all, he’d kept his life a secret for a long time, probably more years than she’d been alive.

“The cookies,” he finally said when they reached the corner of Alder and Clayton. “They’re fantastic.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like them.”

“Between Arne and me, we’ve nearly emptied the plate already.”

She chuckled. “Be careful. They have been known to cause belly aches.” After a smile on his end, she said, “So, Mr. Clayton, are you going to take me up on my other offer, about free coffee for life?”

“No.” She tried not to deflate, and he quickly corrected, “Not on the free part anyway.”

She studied him from a sidelong glance, and again they both smiled. In the beginning, she hadn’t thought he was capable of normal smiles, but the ones she’d begun to see were some of the most charming she’d seen on anyone. They left a feeling in her chest she could describe only as a sense of tiny, fluttering wings.

It came on then, a yawn—without her consent. She tilted her head away from him, covering her mouth.

“Tired?” His voice was quizzical.

“Everyone is these days, aren’t they?”

“Perhaps you’re not cut out for early mornings.”

“Early mornings and late nights.” He lifted a brow, no doubt testing her, and she quickly recovered, “I just couldn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

It seemed to have been enough to convince him; his shoulders relaxed and relief practically fell upon him in a wave. It only reaffirmed that he could never know she knew.

They neared Henry Street. “Mr. Clayton, is Arne…allowed to come in, too?” The question sounded silly, as though Arne was a child. He seemed to think so, too, since he gave a subtle harrumph.

“You think I keep him chained up at the car, do you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s okay. I expect people would think that, given…everything.” He seemed distant for a brief moment then looked down on her. “Arne doesn’t come in by choice, Ms. Ashton.
His
choice. He feels it would make his job more…difficult.”

She ached for him to elaborate, but she’d bombarded him with enough questions in the past twenty-four hours. “Maybe free coffee would entice him.”

His brow creased.

“Well, if you’re not going to take me up on the offer, maybe
he
will.”

She unlocked the door to Jean’s in the way he’d showed her a few days before. When she opened it, flipping the sign to an “open” position, she turned to him. A sweet doughy aroma wafted from the open door. “Are you coming?”

He hesitated, but followed her in. His eyes scanned the place, since it was the first time he’d seen it revived. Her vision followed his, which lingered on the framed photos that decorated the west wall. More precisely, his vision zeroed in on the middle one of him and his mother. It
had
to be his mother, since there was no question anymore that the boy was him, not his father. She’d spent the early hours of the morning in her bed aligning the pieces. It made more sense that way, with all he and Arne had told her, some of the information conflicting.