Chapter 4
The study smelled of old wood and dust, and the smell choked me.
This had been my study.
Once, Alaric and I had stood in here debating sightlines, arguing over every angle that would make a Ravenel hotel a landmark.
Now it was Delphine's trophy room.
"Wren."
Delphine walked in carrying a crocodile-skin bag.
She glanced at the stack of old sketches I hadn't finished clearing off the desk, and something like pure revulsion crossed her face.
She stepped up and lifted the top one — my drawing of the hotel's atrium.
That drawing was everything I had poured myself into.
"Sabine loved these worthless little things," she said, mocking, dragging one contemptuous finger across the paper. "Always fantasizing that a few lines could turn into something real. And look how that ended. She died in a ditch, and these scraps are just going to rot."
She took out a lighter and flicked it.
The flame jumped in the dim study. She didn't hesitate — she set the drawing alight and tossed it onto the expensive rug.
The fire ate greedily at the paper, the edges curling and blackening.
She didn't even glance at me. She ground the ashes under the point of her heel, the way you'd stamp out trash, until they were nothing.
"Clean it up," she said, casually adjusting her sleeve. "I don't want to see a single trace of that woman left in this house."
My heart burned as if the flame had touched it.
I stood there, blood already welling up where my nails had cut into my palms.
But I couldn't move. Couldn't rage. Couldn't explain.
I crouched down, slow and stiff.
I reached into the ruin of ash and picked up one scrap of drawing that hadn't fully burned, its edge still trailing a thread of smoke.
My structural notes were still on it, in my own hand.
I brushed the ash away with the pad of my thumb, gentle, the way you'd soothe a hurt child.
Delphine, a few steps off, had turned to leave — but she stopped.
She watched me gathering the ashes, and her brow creased.
I stood, not looking at her, my eyes on the scrap in my hand, and said, evenly:
"The things that are actually worth something. You can't burn those."
Delphine went still.
She turned her head, that cold gaze trying to bore straight through me.
She was silent for a long time. Long enough that I thought she might explode.
In the end, she only let out a low, spiteful little laugh, and strode out.
At that exact moment, the study door opened again.
Alaric came in.
He reeked of liquor, tripped over the threshold, cursed, and stumbled inside.
He looked at the scrap in my hand, and irritation flickered in his eyes.
"Who let you in here?" he shouted, and the malice in his eyes was thicker even than what he'd aimed at Delphine. "I told you to get out — can't you understand that? Everything that woman left behind is garbage! And so are you!"
He shoved me hard. I hit the bookshelf, and something on it fell and shattered.
He didn't spare me another look. He staggered off and locked himself in the little room behind the study.
I didn't cry.
I just walked quietly out.
It was deep in the night by the time I got back to the nanny's room.
Posy was curled at the edge of the bed, still awake.
When she saw me come in, she crept down, trembling, and pulled something out from under her pillow and pushed it into my hands.
Half a cookie. And a cold key.
"Aunt Wren…"
Her small voice was thick with tears. There was a fresh bruise on her arm.
"When Aunt Delphine was hitting me today, the key fell out of her pocket. It went under the bed."
"She was too mad. She didn't notice."
"I was so scared."
I held her tight.
I hid the key, gathered Posy into my arms, and hummed that lullaby again.
The night deepened.
I heard footsteps loitering in the corridor.
They stopped outside the nanny's door.
For a long, long time.
I didn't look up. I didn't look toward the gap under the door.
Outside, Delphine seemed to be watching for something.
After a while, she let out a soft, skin-crawling little laugh, and the footsteps started up again, slowly fading away.
I held Posy, and closed my eyes in the dark.
It's all right.
One step at a time.