“She feels really bad about the phone call. She thinks you’re mad at her.”
“I'm not mad.”
“You're moody,” he offered.
“Yes. But not at Emily.”
“Well, she has this way of beating herself up for things that aren’t her fault. No matter what it is, she will trace a situation backward until she finds some way she can be to blame. You need to talk to her.”
“Okay. I’ll go now.”
“Wait.” Jason grabbed my wrist as I stood. “There's something else.”
“What?”
“I—I feel like I haven't seen you since you woke up from the mini coma the other day.”
“Jason?” I huffed. “That was four days ago.”
“I know, but four days is enough for me to feel like I haven't seen you in four years. Can we hang out this afternoon—maybe watch a movie or take a walk together?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Why?” Jason stood up as I walked away.
“Because it’s inappropriate.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm married.”
“You were married before,” he called.
I stopped and turned back to face him. “I know, but the people didn't know that.”
“So you're breaking up with me?”
“We were never together.”
He stood quietly for a second, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to react to this?”
“I don't care.” I turned away.
“Yes, you do. Don't do that.” He grabbed my wrist again. “Don't pretend you don't care.”
“Let go of me, Jason.”
“Please, Ara. I know this is hard. I know you’ve never had to deal with having David and I in the same world, but if you just cast me aside now he’s back, I…” He swallowed, his brow furrowing. “It hurts.”
“What did you expect, Jase?”
He dropped my wrist, closing his eyes. “I didn't think that far ahead. I guess…I just liked it better when David was faking dead.”
“Well, he still would be if I hadn’t gone diving off a lighthouse.”
“I know,” he said, exhaling. “I just wish I could rewind time.”
I sat down on the porch step, sweeping my skirt under my legs to hide my undies. “And what would you do differently, if time travel were possible?”
“I’d make sure I was standing in the street by that phone booth the night you called your mum.” He stepped closer and squatted down in front of me, the height of the manor shading us from the sun. “I’d take the phone from your hand and hold you close—tell you everything would be okay. Then I’d drive you home and see you every day until I asked you to marry me—and you’d say yes, because you love me.”
I let that play out in my mind—how different my life would be if I had never made that phone call. But my eyes snapped open again to the hot summer of reality. “You can't say that, Jase.”
“Say what?”
“Say that you think I love you. I can't let that be true. I'm sorry.”
He opened his mouth to speak, closing it at the sound of gravel crunching under tyres.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Post.” He stood up.
“That's not a postal van.”
“It’s unmarked. That’ll be official mail.”
“Oh.” I walked beside Jason to the van.
“Hey there.” The delivery guy jumped out and smiled. “Got some mail here from the First Order.”
“I’ll sign for that.” Jason reached for the clipboard, scribbled his name and took the sack from the man.
“Do they let just anyone sign for the mail?” I asked.
He shrugged and handed the clipboard back.
“Have a good one.” The driver tipped his baseball cap and jumped in the van.
“Was he…?”
“Human?” Jason grinned and set the sack down on the ground. “Yup.”
“Wow. Don't see those much anymore.”
“I see them at least every three days.” He threw the sack over his shoulder. “But they’re usually under my teeth, screaming for help.”
“Ew!” I whipped the back of my hand across his chest. “That is really poor humour, Jase.”
“Come on.” He laughed and stopped by the fountain to grab my book. “Let’s go sort this mail out. I’ll bet the letters your dad’s been sending are in here.”
I looked at the sack; that was a lot of mail to sort. “It’d be easier if we could just have them sent directly to Loslilian.”
“I know. But a part of keeping up a lie is putting up with inconveniences.”
“It sucks.”
“Not as much as being dumped because your girlfriend’s husband came back to life.”
Each letter from dad said the same things; Sam’s doing well, Vicki bought something new to fill the empty space that used to be my bedroom, constantly changing it to be a room for some other hobby she couldn't stick to, and also told me about ‘Conference Season’—his annual fly-home-and-leave again period, where he’d give History lectures all around the country. He’d stopped asking so much when I was coming home, or if I was coming home.
I dumped the pile of letters in my nightstand drawer and looked over at the dog sleeping on the settee across my room. He looked peaceful. I wasn't sure I’d ever actually seen Petey sleep before.
As my gaze moved from the sleeping fluff-ball to the edge of my bed, something caught my eye; a thick, leather-bound book stared back up at me; it was small, like a diary, the aged leather brown and soft, with words in the ancient language embossed on the front.
I sat on my dresser stool and thumbed the pages, looking up when Petey woke with a loud, whiney yawn. “Hey, boy.”
He jumped off the settee, ran straight to me and snatched the book up in his teeth, dropping it to the floor by my feet.
“What are you doing, Petey?”
He pawed at it, his thick, heavy nails scratching up the ancient paper; I bent down to take it from him, but he turned his head, eyes sharp, growling at me.
“Okay, fine. Do your thing.” I backed away, kneeling beside him.
He came to a page showing several figures of various body parts—marked with patterns and runes, and sat back on his hindquarters, air snuffing from his nose in gusts. I studied his heaving chest and the little slightly discoloured patches of fur above his eyes that looked like brows.
“You want me to see something on this page?” I said, knowing it was probably asking the obvious.
He snuffed again, sitting tall like an army general. I rested my hands down by my knees and peered over the page; there were English translations of several Marks. I read each one, saying them aloud to myself. “I don't get it, Petey. What are you trying to show me?”
He leaned across and nuzzled my ribs, biting at my top a little, making it soggy with his hot breath.
“My rash?”
After doing that sneeze thing that I’d come to conclude was a nod, he pressed his heavy paw to the page again, resting it over a picture of a torso. I shoved him off and leaned closer. “Now she wears the Mark of Betrayal; the Cursed Rune of one who will eternally suffer the consequences of her own undoing.” I looked into the dog’s eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He stared me down.
My brow scrunched, my eyes becoming small. “Petey, I don't get it.”
“Where’s that beautiful girl of mine?” David said, coming out of the bathroom. “Ara?”
“Down here,” I called, standing up. I went to grab the book, but Petey flicked it with his paw, sending it under the bed. “Enjoy your shower?”
“Thoroughly.” David ran up behind me, scooped me into his arms and threw me on the bed, landing between my legs in nothing but a wet towel.
“What are you doing?” I squealed.
“Making love to my wife.”
I giggled, pushing his hands off my ribs, trying to inch up the bed away from him. “Stop. That really tickles.”
“I know,” he said.
My body thrashed about under his, my face going tight with blood from all the laughing, and his fangs gleamed in the afternoon light, looking so white and sharp against those oh-so-kissable lips.
He stopped then, and we both panted heavily, his sweetly-scented breath coming down on the bridge of my nose. “My coronation’s tomorrow,” he said, still a little puffed. “I want to make love to you now in case all the extra power affects my manhood.”
I inclined my chin so my nose brushed along his, then kissed his soft, full lips once. “I want to, David, but I can't.”
“Can't?” he scoffed, his voice high. “Can't what?”
I rolled out from under him and jumped off the bed. “I…I can't have sex with you.”
“Why?” He got up, too.
“I'm just…not really in the mood.” I looked away from his eyes, worried he’d see I was lying. In truth, I just couldn’t risk falling pregnant to him until Arthur and I had done our deed with the turkey baster.
“Not in the mood?” He pressed the back of his hand to my brow. “Are you okay?”
I walked away and flopped back on the bed, huffing. “I'm just tired.”
“Well—” He grabbed me from under the arms and slid me up to the pillows, cocooning me in the covers from his side of the bed. “Sleep. I’ll go take care of Court this afternoon.”
“You can't. You haven’t been crowned.”
“Let’s see them argue that with me,” he said with a smirk and kissed my brow, sweeping my hair back as he stood up again. “Just rest. I’ll be back up in a few hours.”
I rolled over and snuggled into the pillow, smiling. “Thanks, David.”
“Don't mention it.” He disappeared, closing the wardrobe door a second later.
The afternoon ticked by. I laid on my bed, looking up at the dome, imagining Little Lili playing with her uncle. In my dreams of her—the labyrinth one and the Garden of Lilith one—she was different. I assumed the child with hair of gold, playing on the rope swing, was Little Lili, but Lilith’s hair was dark, like mine.
“Sleep well?” David asked, leaning on the doorframe, his arms folded, watching me get lost in thought.
“I dreamed of her again.”
“Who?”
I nodded at the dome.
He appeared beside me, angling his head to touch mine as well as look up at the glass. “Lilith?”
“Yeah. That was the third dream I’ve had about a little girl, except, this time, she was running through the passage Jason discovered.”
“What passage?”
“By the fireplace. I don't know—he just pushed on a few places, and a door opened in the wall.”
David appeared by the fireplace, rapping and tapping on several different spots.
“Other side of the fireplace,” I said.
“Oh.” He walked over and did his thing, then stopped midway down the panel and pushed. Sure enough, it popped out, and he opened it.
“How did you find that so fast?”
“I'm just that good.” He turned back to smile at me, holding out his hand. “Come on.”
“Where? Down there?” I asked, flying over to stand beside him.
“Yeah.”
“But—” I pulled back. “I promised Jase I’d go with him.”
David spun around to look at me, his lip lifting over his teeth. “He’s not your husband. You don't get to make promises to him.”
“But—”
“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me into the darkness. I didn't mind, though. I kind of wanted to go exploring with David.
“So, where do you think this leads?” I asked.
“Maybe to the village.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Quite often, in older buildings that housed the rich or important, they’d build these escape tunnels in case of invasion or robbery.”
“How come no one knows it’s here?”
“That’s the point. You can't escape out a secret passage if everyone knows you have one.”
“But, wouldn’t they be able to tell it’s here—I mean, there’d be a gap between the end of the manor outside and where the walls end inside.”
“You didn't notice a gap.”
“Touché.”
“Besides, I suspect all the rooms on this end of the manor end short to allow for this passage—no one would notice a few inches if it was consistent.”
“But, it’s not big enough to take up a whole room.” I reached out and touched both walls at the same time.
“It doesn't.”
“It does in Jason’s room—he only has one window, remember?”
“Right.” He rubbed his chin. “Clever girl. I didn't think of that.”
“Neither did I. Jase did.”
He stood taller. “Can you stop calling him that, please?”
“What?”
“Jase,” he said in a mock girl’s voice. “It’s immensely irritating.”
“Why? It’s just a name.”
“It’s not the name I have a problem with; it’s the affectionate undertone, the big dough eyes and the way your voice softens on the end, Ara.”