Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (16 page)

His dutiful smile failed to make it to his eyes. “Only for a minute,” he mimicked quietly.

Ireland placed a comforting hand over his, her face a mask of mock sincerity. “Ridley, for someone that seemed disgusted by the idea of being my boyfriend you’re coming off as really codependent in front of the good doctor.” 

The doctor stifled a snort of laughter behind his meaty hand, playing it off as a sudden coughing fit.

Her ill-timed jab succeeded in releasing a bit of the tension from Ridley’s shoulders. “Point taken. I’ll be right outside, but rest assured the second he’s done I
will
be back.”

“I’ll be counting the seconds
.” She couldn’t have blocked the snark from that rebuttal if she tried.

F
illing his lungs, as if the last remaining passenger going down with the Titanic, Ridley released his hold and bolted from the room, the curtain waving after his rather rash exit.

Injecting the syringe needle into the vial, the doctor pulled back the plunge
r and drew it back slowly. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think you’re wise to stay platonic with that one.”

There it was again. Something in that considerate tone
that tickled at a particular memory. Ireland’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

His gaze immediately snapped to her face. Was that alarm creasing his brow, or professional concentration? Whatever it was vanished before she could pin a label on it. “I have been tending to you since you came in, perhaps you weren’t quite as out of it as we believed?”

A low-lying fog was setting in from her injuries, clouding her already hazy mind. “No, it’s not from here.”

“Another life, maybe?” He chuckled
. Holding the syringe up, he tapped the bubbles from it as he approached her bedside. The liquid inside looked more mystical than medicinal. Its bright purple hue swirling with iridescent shades of blue and pink.

She opened her mouth to
ask what it was, when her sleep-weary gaze traveled to his face. The memory slammed into her, pinning her back against the bed. An extreme case of vertigo spun the room around her allowing only one image to catch and hold.
Those eyes
. Crystal blue, almost clear. She
had
seen them before.

“I remember,” she gasped, just as he injected his odd looking concoction into her I.V. port.

“What’s that, dear?” His tone was light, as if playing along to a delusional ranting. Even so, Ireland detected the sharp, tense edge that snuck into it.

The medication worked fast, surging an icy blast through her veins and coating her tongue with the taste of metal. Her lids grew heavy, each blink becoming a fight to maintain consciousness. “You came to my house when I first moved to the Hollow,” she slurred. “You were a cop.”

“A cop and a doctor? I’ve been very busy.” Reaching one hand to the opposite ear he released his surgical mask, letting it flutter to the floor.  Resting a hand on the bed rails on either side of her, he leaned in and stared her straight in the face to watch the realization seep through her dulled senses. “Haven’t I?”

“The museum … Mr. Mallark?” She forced the words out through what felt like a mouthful of molasses. “Wha-what do you want from me?”

His thick moustache twitched as a slow smile curled across his round face. “You will soon see, my dearly treasured Hessian,” he whispered.

14

Edgar

Blades of a windmill suffered the onslaught of ferocious gusts, whirring ever faster. The hum of their rotations drowned out all other sounds around them. Edgar’s pulse drummed that same tune in his ears, detaching him from this life he no longer recognized as his own. All around him activity flapped and fluttered, just as those murderous ravens had.

Flower
ed donations were carted in and positioned around the casket.

Sorrow filled faces
offered hushed condolences.

Bent knee prayers
were whispered beside Lenore’s mahogany pedestal.

Gleeful ghouls
wrung their eager hands at the prize they had claimed.

And the whispers—all muttered from
behind backs of hands.

“They were to be married.”

“Coming from a dress fitting, is what I heard.”

“He ran up and down the street shouting her name
, while she lay alone and heaved her last breath.”

“She
is one of us now, Eddie boy,” Douglas sneered, tap-tap-tapping one grey, bony finger against the edge of her coffin. “If you loved her enough you could see her. Yet, woefully, it seems even in death you were not deserving of that b-b-beauty.”

Through all this
Edgar sat. His stare fixed on the profile of the sleeping princess nestled against her white silk pillow.

His father’s face swam before him—stern and intense. “You are
not
to be alone with the body under any circumstances. Do you understand me, Edgar? I
know
what you are thinking. Quite honestly, if I were in your position, capable of what you are, I would be tempted as well. However, as your father, I cannot and will not allow it. I
will
save you from yourself, if that is what is required of me.”

Edgar simply peered back, his face a chalkboard wiped clear of all markings of expression.
“Yet, you are not truly my father at all.”

He had not meant that as an insult, had injected no malice behind it. Even so, h
e watched as his father’s face ripened from red to purple. With an indignant snort, the normally poised John Allen spun on his heel and stomped off.

Moments
later—or perhaps it was hours—his mother eased herself into the chair beside him, gathering his gloved hands in hers. “Your father and I are worried, Edgar. You have suffered one of the greatest losses a heart can endure.”

Edgar’s head cocked
. His wide and manic eyes scoured her face, searching for signs that she genuinely understood his anguish. Slumping in resignation, he realized meat molded into a mask of mourning was all that stared back at him.

“You must remember,
my sweet boy,” Francis leaned in close, her breath—smelling of strawberries and honey—warmed his cheek as she whispered, “your ailment is not to be exploited. It is an affront against God. One your soul would burn for if you dared dabble with. You mustn’t bring her back, son. If you truly loved Lenore, let her go. Grant her peace.”

Edgar blinked. Once. Again.

Mother’s gentle palm pressed to his cheek, perhaps under the misconception her message had gotten through. Then she was gone, lost in the sea of mourners coming in going in an incessant ebb and flow.

At some point the crowd dispersed.

At some point the casket, situated in the parlor of the Allen estate, was closed.

At some point t
he lamps were extinguished.

Only then did s
ervants come to collect Edgar. Wrapping his limp arms around their necks, they escorted him to his room and tucked him in like an exhausted child. The vacuum tube light fixture clicked off a moment before they eased the door shut behind them, their steps fading down the hall.

Edgar la
y there, staring into the darkness. His muscles rigid beneath the blanket drawn to his chin. There he waited until the entire house settled for the night. Sure he had heard the last of the scuffs and shuffles, he rose on legs made steady with conviction and slid the gloves from his hands. For her that now so lowly lies, he would return the light within her eyes.

The casket opened with little more than a creak. The spirits lingering around him sank silently into the shadows, their rotting lips curling with malicious eagerness. There she lay, his beautifully broken porcelain doll. The side of his hand gently brushed her dandelion yellow hair from her face, revealing the stitches that ran from the corner of her mouth to her cheekbone. A deeply bruised gash zigzagged over one of her closed lids. Both were remnants of injuries from the crash that had been covered by an excess of powder and carefully arranged hair. He would treasure those scars, because they were a part of her now and would forever act as a reminder that even death’s harsh hand could not extinguish the flame of their love.

Catching a lock of her hair between his fingers, Edgar’s hand slid
down the silky length of it. All the while envisioning the moment of her awakening, the same kind of pivotal romantic eloquence found in classic fables where the prince awakens the sleeping princess with a loving touch. Her eyes would flutter open to gaze adoringly upon her rescuer. Finding her legs too weak to stand, he would cradle her in his arms and carry her forth into their future of limitless bliss.

The tips of his fingers, tingling in anticipation, hovered over her skin. Heaven awaited, and it would be brought forth by a simple touch.

“Edgar, do not do this,” a hushed, yet urgent, voice directed from behind him.

Guilty hands s
lapped to his sides. Edgar spun to find his mother in the doorway, a cup of tea cradled in her grasp.

“Mother, I
—”

“Extend me the courtes
y of not lying to me, Edgar Allen,” her tone turned icy as she placed her cup down on a neighboring table. Standing ramrod straight, Francis folded her hands in front of her. An indignant flare lifted her chin. “Step away from the casket,
immediately
.”

His
trembling hands rose, palms out. “This is not as it appears, I assure you.”

“Oh, I know
exactly
what this is, which is why I insist you step away from her,
now
. Keep in mind that I
will
alert your father and the entire staff if need be.”

The idea of attempting a fabrication taxed Edgar’s already weary soul,
forcing his chin to his chest. For lack of a better alternative, he opted for the painfully ugly truth. “I-I cannot walk this earth without her. Cannot fill my constricted lungs knowing she is gone. My serenity has been stolen, casting me to the very bowels of hell. Even if she were to come back …
changed
, she would be here and she would be mine once more.” Tears he fought to keep at bay slipped over his lids, streaking down his cheeks.

Her stony exterior chipped away to reveal hints of the compassionate pity that lay beneath. “Edgar, I know
of your pain and more than anything in the world I wish I could take it from you and shoulder it myself. However, deep inside you have to know this is not the way. The road you are on leads only to further anguish.”

Francis took one
step forward, driving Edgar back protectively to the side of the casket. “We will go away together,” his words tumbled from his lips in a hurried pant. “I give you my word. Far from here, where—if there be any issues—they will not befall you or father.”

Tipping her chin to her shoulder, Francis
shouted up the stairs, “
John
! Can you come down here, please?” She turned back to Edgar with her lips pursed, regret creasing her brow. “We asked too much of you holding the wake here. We will remove the casket immediately. Until then, you should retire for the night.”