The Story of the Steal-Me Book
A place to post the twistynesses.
My birthday: April 17
My anniversary: April 25
YIM: downbutterflylane
If I had a billion dollars, I'd give a million to each of my friends and family. I'd have an indoor gym and pool built at my college. I'd pay for teachers aides at my daughter's school. I'd buy every book Nora Roberts ever wrote, and I'd fly to her next book signing so I could tell her thank you for saving my sanity by giving me an escape from reality for a few hours at a time.
today
November 2006
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Neither of us has written in a very very long time. I think it's because a lot has happened in our lives. Like warm weather, breakdowns, breakups, moving, meds, family, friends....life, in general.
I read what we wrote, get half an idea, then lose the get-up-and-go to write it. Or start to write it, read what I've wrote and decide it's worse than stinky crap and delete it.
I want to do a spin-off or two in short story form about some of the characters, but it's just not coming together.
Maybe when it gets a bit colder out, we'll get some more written...
Until then.
We've decided to add another author to the mix in hopes of boosting the creative sparks. Unfortunately, Miz LaCor is a bit limited in her internet access. It's going to be slow going for a while, since the three of us are kinda bogged down here in the real world at present.
I think we should celebrate when we hit 10k of words. So far, we have just over 7k. Yeah, I know that's not much to a 'real' writer, but hey, we do what we can and take what we can get.
The brick wall's mortar is starting to decay, though. There are some holes there and I can see some of the story progressing. But it's hard to write a scene when all you can see is a little bit. I think we're all just using our writing pens to widen the keyholes we're looking through at the moment...
Bfly and I have both found this huuuge wall of brick where it comes to the story. So, we're just gonna let it simmer in our brains for a while, I think. The ideas are there, but the words won't line up.
Here's what we've gotten since the last post, for those of you who are curious...
Ree shook herself as the memory faded. She walked over to the mirror, trying to get used to the way the petticoats swished around her. Her dress was a deep green with exquisite beadwork across the bodice. It was beautiful, if you overlooked the fact that breathing wasn’t figured into the design of it. “Gwennie, how in the world can you be comfortable in this? How are you supposed to breathe? Or sit?”
Gwennie chuckled at her sister’s discomfort. “It’s a talent, dear sister. Now come on! We don’t want to be late. I should warn you, however, that there will be several girls I don’t know so be nice.”
“When am I not nice?”
“Do you really want me to answer that? Meet me at the door. I want to check the carriage before we leave.” Gwennie left the room with a grin.
“Well, at least I can nip down to the kitchens before we leave,” Ree muttered to herself as she maneuvered her way out.
When Ree walked into the kitchens, everything froze for a second as the cooks stared at her. A few snickered and returned to their work. The aromas alone made Ree’s stomach grumble. A woman with flour on her arms up to the elbows looked up from the dough she was kneading and said, “Why, Miss Rhianna, whatever in the world are you doing in here at this time of day? We’d heard Miss Gwendolyn had managed to get you to tea today.”
“Yes, that’s where we’re going now,” Ree said hurriedly. “But I’m just sure that the food there will be dreadful. Finger sandwiches and such. Please, I’m begging. Can you make me something to eat before I go?”
“But of course, Miss Rhianna.” The cook dusted her hands off and waved over one of the girls to continue with the dough. She hurried over to the pot hanging by the fire, dipped out a bowlful, and brought it to Ree. Just as Ree was lifting the spoon to her mouth she heard a voice in the doorway.
“Rhianna Elizabeth McAllister! What do you think you are you doing?” Gwennie cried from the doorway. “You’ll ruin your appetite, if not your dress!”
“Damn. I almost got to taste it too,” Ree mumbled, then louder said, “Oh, you mean they’re going to feed us at tea? I thought we’d just sit around sipping tea and talking embroidery and who’s the most handsome bachelor of the week.”
Gwennie glared at her, a glint of tears in her eyes. Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the kitchen.
“Oh blast! Now I’ve done it. Well, thanks for the effort anyway,” Ree said to the kitchen in general. “I have to go smooth her feathers before she does something I’ll regret.”
Gwennie was just walking through the front door when Ree caught up to her. The butler looked at Gwennie’s face, slightly puffed with unshed tears, then at Ree’s expression of grim determination and wisely decided to say nothing as they passed him on the way out. Normally, the girls were bickering good-naturedly and stopped to either thank him or try to draw him into their conversations. Only twice in the fifteen years he’d been here had he seen the girls pass with those expressions. The first was when they buried their . Their parents had passed on before he was hired. The second time, as this one, he wasn’t quite sure what had happened but there was a tense air to the house for days until the sisters made up. Or, more accurately, Ree went and apologized to Gwennie.
They climbed into the coach in tense silence. Ree looked at Gwennie and sighed.
“Look, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You know how often I speak first and think later. We’ve been through this, not two hours ago if I recall.”
Gwennie looked out at the passing houses. She wasn’t about to let Ree off the hook so easily this time. Didn’t Ree understand how important these events were, especially to Gwennie. It was hard enough to hear the whisperings and polite criticisms of the ladies in town.
“Gwennie, I said I was sorry. What can I do to make it right? Do you want me to cut out my own tongue? Stop thinking for myself? Wear one of these damned corsets every day? What? Talk to me. Please.” Ree saw the hint of a smile twitch her sister’s mouth. “Okay, I’ll wear a nice dress and do my hair up all fancy every day for a week if you’ll just forgive me. Is that enough? Will that make you smile and play nice with me again?”
“It would make me smile, but when have we ever played nice with each other? Unless you count my dragging you out of the Ash time and again as playing nice. I generally refer to it as saving your neck.”
“I never started those and you know it. It’s just that some of them are so laughably obvious. I’m just putting them in their place… mostly. Sometimes, it’s purely for the amusement value. You know how Lana loves a good show in her tavern.”
“Yes, but I would think that she also loves to have her tavern in one piece when she closes for the night. The way you provoke the men sometimes makes me despair of you ever finding, or should I say keeping, a man.” Gwennie giggled as Ree’s jaw dropped open. “You think I don’t hear things about you? Remember, Lana is my friend too. And since you won’t tell me what goes on in there and I think you would dig out Daddy’s old shotgun if I ever went in by myself, I have to get my information elsewhere.”
“I…ah…um…well, blast it,” Ree stuttered. “I think I should have a word or two with our Miss Lana next time I see her.”
“Oh, and Ree? Try not to swear with these ladies. I really do think they would faint of shock hearing some of the words you use coming out of a lady’s mouth. Better yet, just try not to talk too much at all.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?”
“Just try to be more like me, for once.”
“What? What do you mean by that, Gwendolyn Nicole?”
Gwennie tried not to laugh and looked out of the coach again. She saw the impressive house and ladies in elegant afternoon gowns outside before Ree did and gave a little sigh. “Looks like we’re here.”
***
While Gwennie and Ree were bickering in the coach, Demona was giving her daughter some last minute instructions.
“Melinda, don’t gorge yourself on the cakes. And sit up straight when you sit. It is unbecoming when you slouch. Oh, and be polite! If I’ve taught you anything, it should show today.” Demona barked at her. She turned to look out at the coaches that were coming up the road. Melinda rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back. “And don’t you dare roll your eyes at me again. It makes you look stupid.”
Melinda never could understand how her mother always knew what she was doing. It never occurred to her that there were mirrors everywhere in the house. She walked to one and checked her reflection in its surface.
“Are they here yet? I’m starving,” she whined while tugging on an errant curl.
Demona smoothed her skirts and shook her head. “Sometimes I despair of ever getting you married to someone worthy of our status. All you think about is food.” She sighed. “At least the spots are mostly cleared up on your face this time.”
“I thought we were planning on my marrying Evan, Mother,” Melinda said, a dreamy look replacing the scowl on her face.
“Yes, dear, we are,” Demona said slowly. “But we have to see what you’re going up against as well. Do you think I like having all these girls and their mothers in my house?”
“Oh, get over yourself, Mother. You know you love the attention. You love having all these people here gawking at all the things you’ve collected from your various husbands,” Melinda heard herself say.
Demona’s arm snaked out as she slapped Melinda across the face. The sharp sound of it echoed in the room. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again! I’m doing all of this for you, and I’ll not have you ruining it by opening your mouth. Now, go fix your make-up. I’ll make your excuses for a few moments.”
Melinda’s eyes were glassy with shock. She knew her mother had a sharp tongue, but this was the first time she’d ever been struck. She hurried from the room to patch up her make-up.
Demona turned and walked toward the front door. “Graves, open the doors. It’s time we started this tea,” she ordered and positioned herself in the archway.
***
Gwennie wandered around the house, a look of intense concentration on her pretty face. There was something different, she just couldn’t figure out what it was. As she walked from room to room, the look of concentration was replaced by a scowl. She hadn’t heard a peep out of Ree for over an hour. Normally, when she was home, Ree was stalking around the library, or chatting with the kitchen staff. Gwennie hadn’t seen or heard from her since they got home from tea at Mistress Summers’ house. None of the house staff seemed to know where she went, either. Finally, Gwennie ventured up to the third floor. This area was mainly used as an attic, and the girls hadn’t been up there since they were children. The musty smell of unaired rooms made Gwennie’s nose twitch as she looked around.
“Ree? Are you up here?” she called nervously. She never did like coming up here when she was little. All the sheet-covered furniture put her in mind of a graveyard. A place where the furniture came to die, or be forgotten.
Several muffled thumps had a scream clawing her throat. She swallowed it back and continued down the long hall, looking into the open doors as she passed them. The farther she walked, the louder the sounds became. Finally, she started hearing muttered curses and unintelligible phrases. A little less fearful, Gwennie walked faster toward the voice.
“Ree? What in the world are you doing up here?” she said as she came to the last open door in the hall.
“Bloody Hell! Don’t do that!” Ree jumped up, clutching her chest. “I remembered something when we were at that woman’s house. Granddad used to put things up here from the library sometimes. I think there might be another journal or two up here.”
Gwennie rolled her eyes at her sister’s bent head. “I thought you just wanted Grandfather’s book back. Had I known you were going to continue this madness, I wouldn’t have helped you get the blasted book back.”
“It isn’t madness and you know it.” Ree’s voice became muffled as her head disappeared into one of the many trunks in the room.
“Why do you insist on believing that fairy tale to be real, anyway?”
“Because there are too many details for it not to be. Granddad told us that same story for three years. If you think about it, he rarely changed it. My theory is that he only changed it when he had new information. I think he was making sure we knew the clues in case something happened to him.” Ree didn’t stop her searching while relaying this to Gwennie. Each time she delved into the trunk, her voice grew muffled, so Gwennie had to keep leaning forward and back to hear.
“Would you sit still for a moment, please. I am getting nauseated trying to keep up with your ramblings,” Gwennie complained.
“See, I remember Granddad telling me that sometimes he would put some of his ‘special journals’ up here for safe-keeping until we were older.” She picked up a doll Grandfather had given her on her eighth birthday. “He said he was going to show me the treasure map when I turned ten. Then, not two weeks later, those horrible men came and killed him…” Ree paused for a moment. “If I ever find out who they were, I’ll…”
Gwennie cleared her throat to stop Ree from finishing. Ree looked down at the doll clutched in her hands. She straightened its hair and dress, then laid it down gently beside the trunk with everything else she’d taken out so far.
Gwennie glanced into the nearly empty trunk and was about to suggest they go visit Lana when a glint caught her eye. “What’s this?” she asked, and pulled an ornate object that resembled a key out from where it was wedged into the corner of the trunk.
It didn’t look like any of the keys for the manor - they were all simple iron keys. This key looked as if it would open the world itself. It was as big as Gwennie’s hand and was surprisingly light for its size. Although it looked to be made of gold, silver and some other metal, it also had the appearance of pieces missing from it. As if it were a puzzle nearly completed.
“This doesn’t look like any key I’ve ever seen before,” Gwennie said as she held it up to the late afternoon sunlight. “It looks like it has been broken or something.”
“Let me see it.” Ree reached out to take it from Gwennie but was astonished when Gwennie pulled it out of reach.
“I shall let you examine it after we have gone to the party.” She tucked the key into a fold of her skirt as she got up to leave. “Now, we must get you dressed. Come on, dear sister.”
She gave me the updates to post a couple days ago... I was supposed to be writing a big sex scene but I forgot. Okay, not forgot, just didn't. Anyway, her additions follow.
“Gwennie, why am I doing this again?” Ree nearly whined the question as her sister finished tying her laces.
“Because you’re my sister and you love me. Also, because you promised me you would not miss this lunch like you have the last five. Now, let me do something with your hair,” Gwennie answered and pulled Ree to the vanity.
“My hair is fine. I always wear it like this. Besides, why do I have to do all this … this … whatever one calls this, for a bunch of old women and simpering girls who would go into shock if they had an original thought?”
Gwennie sighed and began to plait Ree’s wavy red hair. She was content with her own pin-straight, midnight hair, but wished it had some body. It took her maids hours to put even the slightest hint of a curl in her hair, and it always seemed to go flat within minutes.
“Is that what you really think of them? And me? That we sit around waiting for someone to arrange for us to marry some lord or other?”
Ree turned and looked at the expression on Gwennie’s face. “Oh, honey. Not you. Them, yes, but I know you better than that.”
“But they are who I am around all day, while you go trekking all over the place trying to find Grandfather’s book. Doesn’t that mean that, logically, they would rub off on me and, before you know it, I’m simpering and swooning and … and …whatever other horrid things you think of these people who just happen to be some of my friends. And by insulting them, you insult me. And why are you so intent on finding his book? I mean, wasn‘t it just a story he was telling us when we were little?” She yanked on the plaits in Ree’s hair and began to twist them into a fetching style.
“Ouch! Okay, okay. Point taken. I apologize. I don’t think you a simpering fool waiting around to be married off. And no, it was more than just a story. It was real. Gwennie, you weren’t in the library that day. You didn’t see those men, hear the way the one talked to Grandfather. No one would kill another human being for a simple fairy tale…” Ree trailed off, remembering that horrible day.
<Flashback to grandfather's death>
Ree shook herself as the memory faded. She walked over to the mirror, trying to get used to the way the petticoats swished around her. Her dress was a deep green with exquisite beadwork across the bodice. It was beautiful, if you overlooked the fact that breathing wasn’t figured into the design of it. “Gwennie, how in the world can you be comfortable in this? How are you supposed to breathe? Or sit?”
Gwennie chuckled at her sister’s discomfort. “It’s a talent, dear sister. Now come on! We don’t want to be late. I should warn you, however, that there will be several girls I don’t know so be nice.”
Yes, this is what I do in my free time, people. And, believe me, it may not look like much, but it takes time to figure some of this stuff out. I know the whole doesn't show you, the reader, what exactly the plot is yet. Just remember what Butterfly said a post or so back, we tend to write in scenes at the moment. So if it doesn't seem to fit just yet, don't worry, we just haven't got the thread done to tie it in.
We've had a few people ask where/when this takes place. Fictional place/world. I'm thinking something resembling England or Ireland or something like that. I'm sure Butterfly will contradict me give her own thoughts as to the setting. Time period is, well, what comes to mind is sometime before the burden luxury of electricity and automobiles.
Feel free to ask about whatever, as long as it relates to the tale, please.
Some general, possibly interesting facts so far:
Enjoy!
The sound of glass breaking made Ree turn and scan the tavern. The Ash was a fairly tranquil place, especially during the day. An incident shortly after Lana opened - involving a few drunkards, Lana, and a length of ash wood - helped keep the worst of the ruffians away. It was easy to spot the source of the commotion. The man who Lana referred to as Trevor was holding the remnant of a glass mug, with ale dripping off the table and a sheepish expression on his face.
Ree couldn’t help but smile a little at this poor man. She leaned over the bar, picked up a cloth and made her way over to Evan and Trevor’s table. A few of the regulars she knew caught her eye and grinned as she passed. She felt her foul temper beginning to fade.
“Thank you so much,” Trevor said as Ree started wiping up the glass shards and ale from the table. “Tell Lana I will pay for this one too. And smile upon thee for helping.”
Evan looked Ree over with a smirk. He noted that while her dress was rather plain, it was of good quality. “I didn’t know Lana hired on another barmaid. Are you new here?”
“No. Lana and I have known each other for a long time.” Ree avoided looking at Evan to hide her annoyance at him thinking her a barmaid.
“Obviously, you aren’t married as you haven’t a ring on your finger.” Evan motioned at Ree’s hand with his mug. “Do you have a man to take care of you?” He took a drink of ale as if the question were of no importance.
“Some women don’t want or need some man to ‘take care of’ them, as you put it,” Ree replied haughtily. She felt her temper flaring dangerously close to flash point. “Would you like another mug of ale, Mr. …” she looked at Trevor, who was trying to brush the worst of the froth off his shirt.
“Trevor. Just, um, Trevor. I would, yes. Like another ale, that is. But you don’t have to get it for me, I’ll go and, um, just get it myself. Then I can apologize to Lana…again.” Trevor flustered. He really, really didn’t want to be anywhere close when he saw the barely controlled violence in her eyes.
“Then I’ll just leave Mr. …, what was your name again? Oh, that’s right. I’ll just leave Mr. Boorish Lout here to his mindless drinking.”
“Now, just a minute, girl!” Evan grabbed Ree’s hand, which was holding the rag she’d used to clean up the mess on the table. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Ree leaned down until her nose was an inch from Evan’s. “If you don’t release me this second, you will sorely regret walking in here tonight,” she said. Her voice was like a honeyed blade.
Trevor, who was backing away slowly, stopped and stared at the two, mouth agape. He had never heard anyone talk to Evan like this fiery redhead was doing.
“Is that so? What can you, a woman, do to me?” Evan patronized, squeezing her hand lightly.
One moment, Evan was sitting upright at the table, gripping Ree’s hand. The next, he was flat on his back on the floor, dripping ale. Ree had twisted her hand out of his grasp, seized his mug of ale with the other and dumped it over his head while simultaneously hooking her foot under the front leg of his chair and yanking it up.
Evan sat up, spluttering, and wiped the ale from his face. His eyes focused in time to see Ree walking out the front door, calling an apology to Lana over her shoulder.
This ties together two scenes, as well as gives us some idea as to the evilness character of..well...the characters.
Desdemona seated herself more comfortably in the deeply cushioned chair. “So tell me, Breda , what has Evan been doing lately? I haven’t seen him in positively weeks!” She smiled appreciatively as Breda served her a cup of delicately scented tea.
“I really don’t know what he has been doing. He rarely tells me anything important. He and Trevor spend a fair portion of their time in the library, but for all I know they are playing billiards or napping. I long for the day when he settles down and provides me with a few grandchildren, but lately it seems as if that day may never come. He used to be so intent on making his way in the world- I suppose that is a result of his father dying when he was so young and leaving us in such straitened circumstances, but,“ she shrugged delicately, “well, it’s hardly an issue any longer. Now, though, he spends all of his time doing things I’m sure I wish to know nothing about.
“Would you like some more scones? I just baked them this morning.” Breda knew her friend was appalled that she cooked for herself, as was her son, but what neither of them seemed to understand was that she found cooking soothing. It didn’t matter to her that now Evan was wealthy enough to hire far more servants than she could possibly need, the rituals of the kitchen- the rhythmic kneading of bread dough, the beauty of a perfectly prepared roast, the fun of tasting the dough when baking cookies- these all had a calming effect on her soul. Of course, she wasn’t a fool- she graciously allowed Evan to hire several biddable young girls to handle the less pleasant aspects of the kitchen. Breda firmly believed that she had wrung enough chicken necks and shed enough tears over sliced onions already to last her the rest of her life. She found no sorrow in turning over the cleaning of the kitchen to the staff, either.
Demona might not have understood a wealthy woman who did her own cooking, but she wasn’t about to turn down Breda’s scones. Light, airy, melt-in-your-mouth pastry that far surpassed anything her resident French chef was capable of producing. “Of course, dear, you know I adore your scones. Trevor certainly never tells me anything. I only know he is with Evan because he makes sure to let Graves know where he will be in case Melinda gets into trouble again, the little ingrate. How I managed to birth such a child I will never know. She is so high-spirited that I feel quite unequal to the task of restraining her. She needs to be married soon, and to a strong man- one capable of handling her little fits and starts.” She started to reach for the proffered plate of scones, but stopped mid-motion. “Why, that’s it! The answer to both of our problems. What if...” she trailed off, looking excitedly at Breda.
“What if,” Breda continued, “we married them off to each other. It’s a brilliant idea. Evan needs a wife, and he is definitely has a strong enough character to keep Melinda under control. But how would we go about it? What about a house party? We could all do with a pleasant journey out of town, don’t you think? It has been so muggy lately, and we have only visited that lovely country house twice since Evan purchased it a year ago.”
“Do you suppose Evan would be willing to host a house party? How many people would we need to invite to hide our true intent? We will need to make the numbers up with some of the younger crowd. Perhaps I could enlist Melinda’s aid in creating a suitable guest list,” Demona offered, her mind dancing with the thought of her daughter marrying such a wealthy young man. “Confidentially, she has been sweet on Evan since Trevor first brought him home during school holidays years ago. She used to trail after the pair of them like a little puppy. It was quite adorable, to be honest.”
“I do wish I could have been here to see that. I’m sure it was a sight. But,” Breda sighed, “my dear mother, gods rest her soul, needed me near in her final days.” Her eyes dimmed for a moment as she remembered her mother’s long illness.
“Yes, I’m sure. Oh, look at the time!” Desdemona exclaimed when the hall clock started chiming. “Thank you for the lovely afternoon, and I’ll be in touch about the house party. The scones were delicious.”
Breda escorted her to the door. Desdemona rolled her eyes at the informality. She had only seen two servants in the entire house, and she had taken as long as she dared to snoop while claiming to visit the powder room.
As she climbed into her carriage for the short ride home, her thoughts were already turning to the many details that needed arranging. At the top of her mental list was the house party. She needed to be sure Melinda understood the importance of this event. She only hoped her daughter wouldn’t embarrass the entire bloodline in some horrific manner, which seemed to happen quite often, actually. By the time she arrived home, her plans were already taking form.
“Graves, fetch Miss Melinda at once.” Demona swept into the hall, skirts swishing violently around her ankles. She pulled the pin from her feather-bedecked monstrosity of a hat and thrust both into the hands of the nearest footman. She ignored his flinch and exclamation of pain as the jeweled pin stabbed through his glove and into his flesh. “Have some tea and scones brought to my parlor, as well.”
Melinda sidled into the parlor just as her mother was sitting down. Her fearful expression showed her terror of Demona’s wrath. “Yes, Mother?”
“Come now, hurry up and sit down. We have much to discuss. Melinda! Stop fidgeting, ‘tis not becoming of a lady who is about to be betrothed to one of the wealthiest young men in town.”
Melinda’s eyes lit up. “You talked her into it?”
“I thought Breda would never come around to the idea. In the end, though, I got her to suggest it herself. We are planning a house party in two weeks time. Now, we must find you a suitable dress. Find anything that will fetch a good price at market. And do try to eat less of that chocolate you seem so fond of. We don’t want you breaking out in spots at an inopportune time, do we.”
Melinda froze, a piece of fudge halfway to her mouth. Realizing her mother was not looking at her, she shoved the fudge defiantly into her mouth.
“I saw that, Melinda Summers. Obviously, you care more about food than marrying Evan. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into this for your sake. I’ve wasted positively hours, if not days, making nice with that woman. She is so common. More money than the gods, and she insists on doing her own cooking. It’s appalling!” Demona paused a moment, reflecting. “Although I must admit, she does make some fine pastries. Which is why I am unable to draw my laces together now.”
“Don’t worry, Mother dear. Once I am wed, I shall make Evan buy you a house in the center of town. You won’t have to waste any more of your time cozying up to her. And I shall have dresses made of silk, and maids, and footmen, and then the women of this town will look at me with envy.”
Well, what there is of it anyway... This will be the evolving tale, in which all of the pieces are in something approximating chronological order (I think) with the most recent updates. Yeah. Enough blathering... just read.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rhianna stalked through the door of the Ash Tree Tavern. Lana, the owner, glanced up, judged her friend's mood, and then poured a small glass of spirits. "Hello, Ree," Lana said. "In a bit of a mood, are we?" she set the glass on the bar as Ree sat down on a stool. "That bloody sister of mine. I swear, one day I'm going to strangle her in her sleep." "What kind of trouble did you get sweet little Gwennie into now?" Lana asked, trying to hide a smile. "Me?! I am completely and totally innocent!" Ree paused and thought for a moment. "This time," she added. She took a sip of the spirits, hoping it would calm her nerves and cool her anger. Lana poured two pints of ale for a customer, then pulled a rag from her apron to wipe the bar. "I'll bet. So what is it that has you so worked up, or do I have to faint from the suspense?" "The little wench is forcing me to go to some formal party thing tomorrow evening. She knows how much I hate doing all that girly junk! And then I have to stand there, because sitting is out of the question, and make small talk with some of the stupidest simpering idiots in the land!" Ree snarled into her glass. "If I'm lucky, I'll be able to nip out before they start that dreadful dancing." Cooling off, she turned and surveyed the tavern. "Not much business right now," she noted. "They tend to scatter when an angry redhead stamps in with murder in her eyes," Lana said drolly, refilling Ree's glass. "There's my darling little Lana! How about two pints and your fair hand in marriage?" said a tall man as he strolled up to the bar. Ree was surprised to see Lana blush faintly before bending her head to pour the drinks. "The drinks I think you can manage, Evan, but I shall have to refuse you my hand, fair or otherwise, yet again today." Lana replied with a smile as she passed the drinks over. “Lana, my love, let me take you away from all of this. Be my bride and you shall never have to work again,” Evan grasped her hand and winked. “If I were your bride, I would kill you within the first week. And if I did not have my tavern, I would probably die of boredom by the second.” “Then I shall just have to console myself with this cold mug of ale, I guess,” Evan sighed theatrically. “Looks like you shall. Tell Trevor not to break any more of my mugs or I shall beat him to within an inch of his life.” Lana chuckled as Evan carried the two mugs away. Ree watched the exchange and rolled her eyes as Evan left. “Who is he?” she asked Lana. “Oh, that’s just Evan.” “Just Evan? What in the bloody hell does that mean? You know what, never mind. I think I don’t want to know, do I? He’s probably some rich man who has more money than brains. Gods, I hate those kinds of men.” Ree growled. “Evan’s not so bad. He just takes some getting used to. I think you might even like him, if you gave him half a chance.” Lana grinned at the scowl Ree sent her. The sound of glass breaking made Ree turn and scan the tavern. The Ash was a fairly tranquil place, especially before dark. An incident shortly after Lana opened - involving a few drunkards, Lana, and a length of ash wood - helped keep the worst of the ruffians away. It was easy to spot the source of the commotion. The man who Lana referred to as Trevor was holding the remnant of a glass mug, with ale dripping off the table and a sheepish expression on his face. Ree couldn’t help but smile a little at this poor man. She leaned over the bar, picked up a cloth and made her way over to Evan and Trevor’s table. A few of the regulars she knew caught her eye and grinned as she passed. She felt her foul temper beginning to fade. “Thank you so much,” Trevor said as Ree started wiping up the glass shards and ale from the table. “Tell Lana I will pay for this one too. And smile upon thee for helping.” Evan looked Ree over with a smirk. He noted that while her dress was rather plain, it was of good quality. “I didn’t know Lana hired on another barmaid. Are you new here?” “No. Lana and I have known each other for a long time.” Ree avoided looking at Evan to hide her annoyance at him thinking her a barmaid. “Obviously, you aren’t married as you haven’t a ring on your finger.” Evan motioned at Ree’s hand with his mug. “Do you have a man to take care of you?” He took a drink of ale as if the question were of no importance. “Some women don’t want or need some man to ‘take care of’ them, as you put it,” Ree replied haughtily. She felt her temper flaring dangerously close to flash point. “Would you like another mug of ale, Mr. …” she looked at Trevor, who was trying to brush the worst of the froth off his shirt. “Trevor. Just, um, Trevor. I would, yes. Like another ale, that is. But you don’t have to get it for me, I’ll go and, um, just get it myself. Then I can apologize to Lana…again.” Trevor flustered. He really, really didn’t want to be anywhere close after he saw the barely controlled violence in her eyes. “Then I’ll just leave Mr. …, what was your name again? Oh, that’s right. I’ll just leave Mr. Boorish Lout here to his mindless drinking.” “Now, just a minute, girl!” Evan grabbed Ree’s hand, which was holding the rag she’d used to clean up the mess on the table. “There’s no need to be rude.” Ree leaned down until her nose was an inch from Evan’s. “If you don’t release me this second, you will sorely regret walking in here tonight,” she said. Her voice was like a honeyed blade. Trevor, who was backing away slowly, stopped and stared at the two, mouth agape. He had never heard anyone talk to Evan like this fiery redhead was doing. “Is that so? What can you, a woman, do to me?” Evan patronized, squeezing her hand lightly. One moment, Evan was sitting upright at the table, gripping Ree’s hand. The next, he was flat on his back on the floor, dripping ale. Ree had twisted her hand out of his grasp, seized his mug of ale with the other and dumped it over his head while simultaneously hooking her foot under the front leg of his chair and yanking it up. Evan sat up, spluttering, and wiped the ale from his face. His eyes focused in time to see Ree walking out the front door, calling an apology to Lana over her shoulder. *** “Gwennie, are you sure you can do this? I can go in and get it if you’re scared.” Ree tucked a stray lock of her baby sister’s midnight black hair under the cloak hood. “It’s no bother. You can stay here and keep watch.” Gwendolyn sighed. She was terrified, but she would rather chew glass shards than let Ree know this. “I can do this, Ree. I’ve snuck into and out of more places that you would think. This should be simple compared to the last time we did this together.” “Last time, you were eight years old and we were sneaking into Old Man Griffin’s apple orchard. You nearly got us skinned when you fell out of that tree, if I remember correctly.” Ree grinned in the moonlight at the memory. “This is a little more serious than that. If we get caught this time, we’ll be hanged for sure. And when have you snuck anywhere without me?” “That’s neither here nor there right now, dear sister of mine.” she twitched her hood just a little lower on her brow to hide her porcelain skin. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have your precious book back in your rightful hands.” “Fifteen. Any more and I’m coming in after you.” “Fine. I’ll be back in ten.” Gwennie looked down at the peasant garb she was wearing. “Then I’m burning this horrific excuse for a dress. I do have perfectly respectable dark gowns, you know.” “Yes, and they’re all made for a lady,” Ree spat the word. “We’re avoiding attention and suspicion this way.” “Yes, yes.” Gwennie waved a hand irritably. She took a deep breath and started walking down the alley. Ree worried too much, she thought. She glanced back one last time but Ree had already melted into the shadows. There were few people out at this time of night, it was nearing midnight. She saw two men stagger drunkenly into the far end of the alley and froze. The faint sounds of retching and laughter drifted through the night air. Slowly, she edged closer to the wall. The men were getting closer now. “Come on, Trevor. I know you can hold your drink better than that. I’m sure there’s a tavern we haven’t visited yet.” the taller of the two slurred. “Aye, there’s several, I think. But I think you made a wrong turn somewhere, Evan. This road’s a bit too…something or other. Let’s go back to the last one. Some of the wenches there were smiling at me.” Trevor hiccupped. “We can’t go back there. They tossed us out, didn’t they? But there’s one over there,” Evan waved vaguely toward the way they had come from. “Let’s see what more mischief we can make ‘fore this night is through..” “Okay.” They wandered back out of the alley and Gwennie breathed a sigh of relief. She hurried past two houses to the one she wanted and tried the latch half-heartedly. To her disbelief, it swung open a crack. “Smile upon thee, Gwennie.” she murmured and slipped inside. Since her eyes had already adjusted to the gloom outside, she did not have to wait long to see the shadows of the furniture in the dining room she had entered. Her booted feet made no noise as she padded past the chairs into the hall. From the hall, Gwennie quickly found the study and began scanning the volumes on the shelves. “Where is the bloody book?” she muttered. She opened the desk drawers and rummaged through them, trying to remember what it was Ree told her not ten minutes before. When she was about ready to give up, her fingers brushed against something in the back of the drawer. Quickly, she pulled the object out and glanced it over. “Thank the gods!” she sighed as she saw the familiar handwriting of her grandfather on the pages. “Now, to get out before Ree starts worrying even more.” Gwennie wrapped the book in the rags she had stashed under her skirts, and left the house as quietly as she entered. She walked boldly back down the alley, no longer worried about being seen. She still had a few minutes before Ree would be coming after her, so she enjoyed the night air as she strolled. “A lovely lass such as yourself shouldn’t be walking the alleys alone at this time of night.” said a voice in front of her. "I've no quarrel with you, please let me pass." she said, with downcast eyes. The man smirked, paused as if considering, and stepped aside. She noticed without moving her eyes that his breeches were of fine quality and his boots looked soft as butter. While she couldn’t make out the colors as it was darker here, she still filed this information away. “My thanks, lord, and smile upon thee.” She gave a small nod, slipped past him and hurried away, a package bundled in what looked to be rags clutched tightly to her chest. As he watched her go, he saw a piece of parchment fall from the rags to the cobbles, unseen by the girl. *** Demona seated herself more comfortably in the deeply cushioned chair. “So tell me, Breda , what has Evan been doing lately? I haven’t seen him in positively weeks!” She smiled appreciatively as Breda served her a cup of delicately scented tea. “I really don’t know what he has been doing. He rarely tells me anything important. He and Trevor spend a fair portion of their time in the library, but for all I know they are playing billiards or napping. I long for the day when he settles down and provides me with a few grandchildren, but lately it seems as if that day may never come. He used to be so intent on making his way in the world- I suppose that is a result of his father dying when he was so young and leaving us in such straitened circumstances, but,“ she shrugged delicately, “well, it’s hardly an issue any longer. Now, though, he spends all of his time doing things I’m sure I wish to know nothing about. “Would you like some more scones? I just baked them this morning.” Breda knew her friend was appalled that she cooked for herself, as was her son, but what neither of them seemed to understand was that she found cooking soothing. It didn’t matter to her that now Evan was wealthy enough to hire far more servants than she could possibly need, the rituals of the kitchen- the rhythmic kneading of bread dough, the beauty of a perfectly prepared roast, the fun of tasting the dough when baking cookies- these all had a calming effect on her soul. Of course, she wasn’t a fool- she graciously allowed Evan to hire several biddable young girls to handle the less pleasant aspects of the kitchen. Breda firmly believed that she had wrung enough chicken necks and shed enough tears over sliced onions already to last her the rest of her life. She found no sorrow in turning over the cleaning of the kitchen to the staff, either. Demona might not have understood a wealthy woman who did her own cooking, but she wasn’t about to turn down Breda’s scones. Light, airy, melt-in-your-mouth pastry that far surpassed anything her resident French chef was capable of producing. “Of course, dear, you know I adore your scones. Trevor certainly never tells me anything. I only know he is with Evan because he makes sure to let Graves know where he will be in case Melinda gets into trouble again, the little ingrate. How I managed to birth such a child I will never know. She is so high-spirited that I feel quite unequal to the task of restraining her. She needs to be married soon, and to a strong man- one capable of handling her little fits and starts.” She started to reach for the proffered plate of scones, but stopped mid-motion. “Why, that’s it! The answer to both of our problems. What if...” she trailed off, looking excitedly at Breda. “What if,” Breda continued, “we married them off to each other. It’s a brilliant idea. Evan needs a wife, and he is definitely has a strong enough character to keep Melinda under control. But how would we go about it? What about a house party? We could all do with a pleasant journey out of town, don’t you think? It has been so muggy lately, and we have only visited that lovely country house twice since Evan purchased it a year ago.” “Do you suppose Evan would be willing to host a house party? How many people would we need to invite to hide our true intent? We will need to make the numbers up with some of the younger crowd. Perhaps I could enlist Melinda’s aid in creating a suitable guest list,” Demona offered, her mind dancing with the thought of her daughter marrying such a wealthy young man. “Confidentially, she has been sweet on Evan since Trevor first brought him home during school holidays years ago. She used to trail after the pair of them like a little puppy. It was quite adorable, to be honest.” “I do wish I could have been here to see that. I’m sure it was a sight. But,” Breda sighed, “my dear mother, gods rest her soul, needed me near in her final days.” Her eyes dimmed for a moment as she remembered her mother’s long illness. “Yes, I’m sure. Oh, look at the time!” Demona exclaimed when the hall clock started chiming. “Thank you for the lovely afternoon, and I’ll be in touch about the house party. The scones were delicious.” Breda escorted her to the door. Demona rolled her eyes at the informality. She had only seen two servants in the entire house, and she had taken as long as she dared to snoop while claiming to visit the powder room. As she climbed into her carriage for the short ride home, her thoughts were already turning to the many details that needed arranging. At the top of her mental list was the house party. She needed to be sure Melinda understood the importance of this event. She only hoped her daughter wouldn’t embarrass the entire bloodline in some horrific manner, which seemed to happen quite often, actually. By the time she arrived home, her plans were already taking form. “Graves, fetch Miss Melinda at once.” Demona swept into the hall, skirts swishing violently around her ankles. She pulled the pin from her feather-bedecked monstrosity of a hat and thrust both into the hands of the nearest footman. She ignored his flinch and exclamation of pain as the jeweled pin stabbed through his glove and into his flesh. “Have some tea and scones brought to my parlor, as well.” Melinda sidled into the parlor just as her mother was sitting down. Her fearful expression showed her terror of Demona’s wrath. “Yes, Mother?” “Come now, hurry up and sit down. We have much to discuss. Melinda! Stop fidgeting, ‘tis not becoming of a lady who is about to be betrothed to one of the wealthiest young men in town.” Melinda’s eyes lit up. “You talked her into it?” “I thought Breda would never come around to the idea. In the end, though, I got her to suggest it herself. We are planning a house party in two weeks time. Now, we must find you a suitable dress. Find anything that will fetch a good price at market. And do try to eat less of that chocolate you seem so fond of. We don’t want you breaking out in spots at an inopportune time, do we.” Melinda froze, a piece of fudge halfway to her mouth. Realizing her mother was not looking at her, she shoved the fudge defiantly into her mouth. “I saw that, Melinda Summers. Obviously, you care more about food than marrying Evan. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into this for your sake. I’ve wasted positively hours, if not days, making nice with that woman. She is so common. More money than the gods, and she insists on doing her own cooking. It’s appalling!” Demona paused a moment, reflecting. “Although I must admit, she does make some fine pastries. Which is why I am unable to draw my laces together now.” “Don’t worry, Mother dear. Once I am wed, I shall make Evan buy you a house in the center of town. You won’t have to waste any more of your time cozying up to her. And I shall have dresses made of silk, and maids, and footmen, and then the women of this town will look at me with envy.” *** “Gwennie, why am I doing this again?” Ree nearly whined the question as her sister finished tying her laces. “Because you’re my sister and you love me. Also, because you promised me you would not miss this lunch like you have the last five. Now, let me do something with your hair,” Gwennie answered and pulled Ree to the vanity. “My hair is fine. I always wear it like this. Besides, why do I have to do all this … this … whatever one calls this, for a bunch of old women and simpering girls who would go into shock if they had an original thought?” Gwennie sighed and began to plait Ree’s wavy red hair. She was content with her own pin-straight, midnight hair, but wished it had some body. It took her maids hours to put even the slightest hint of a curl in her hair, and it always seemed to go flat within minutes. “Is that what you really think of them? And me? That we sit around waiting for someone to arrange for us to marry some lord or other?” Ree turned and looked at the expression on Gwennie’s face. “Oh, honey. Not you. Them, yes, but I know you better than that.” “But they are who I am around all day, while you go trekking all over the place trying to find Grandfather’s book. Doesn’t that mean that, logically, they would rub off on me and, before you know it, I’m simpering and swooning and … and …whatever other horrid things you think of these people who just happen to be some of my friends. And by insulting them, you insult me. And why are you so intent on finding his book? I mean, wasn‘t it just a story he was telling us when we were little?” She yanked on the plaits in Ree’s hair and began to twist them into a fetching style. “Ouch! Okay, okay. Point taken. I apologize. I don’t think you a simpering fool waiting around to be married off. And no, it was more than just a story. It was real. Gwennie, you weren’t in the library that day. You didn’t see those men, hear the way the one talked to Grandfather. No one would kill another human being for a simple fairy tale…” Ree trailed off, remembering that horrible day. *** Ree giggled, both hands over her mouth. Gwennie would never find her here. Even Grandfather didn’t know she was hiding in the balcony of his library. The library was large, with many shelves of books lining its walls. The balcony was only accessible from the rarely visited green parlor that had once been used as her grandmother’s private retreat. Draperies on the library walls also helped camouflage the tiny overhanging area. Suddenly she became aware of voices below. Grandfather only invited others into the library when he wished to conduct private business. The natural curiosity that had gotten Ree into so much trouble already in her eight years urged her forward to peek through the gap in the curtains guarding her hiding space. Grandfather was sitting in his favorite chair, as always. Many a happy time had been spent in that chair with him, curled on his lap as he read to her or told her stories of his own boyhood, or hanging over the chair’s arm when it was Gwennie’s turn to occupy the coveted place on his knee. What she saw this time struck her dumb with fear. A cloaked figure stood before him, while another figure stood behind the chair, a gleaming knife held to Grandfather’s throat. “Where is it, you old fool? Don’t pretend you know nothing. We know you have the book. Give it to us and we will allow you to live out your remaining years.” “Do you think I am that stupid? You will not leave me alive to hunt you down. Why should I give you what you seek? You will kill me either way.” Grandfather’s eyes sparked with temper, despite the thin trickle of blood on his neck, which gleamed darkly in the candlelight. The cloaked man laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Because if you give us the book, we won’t find it necessary to slaughter the remainder of your family as well. It has been made obvious that they know nothing of the tome, or of the secrets it contains. Resist us, and we will slay each of them before your eyes, starting with the youngest. Your littlest granddaughter has beautiful black hair, doesn’t she? It would be such a shame to end her life before she achieves the potential of her full beauty.” Grandfather looked steadily into the eyes of his would-be murderer. “Idle threats don’t scare me, you foolish child. Do you honestly think I believe your threats?” “Threats? I think not,” sneered the villain. “Dirk, fetch me the little brat. Then we’ll see who’s threatening whom.” Ree knelt, frozen by fear as the grim-faced Dirk started toward the library door. He had almost reached it when Grandfather spoke. “Wait! I’ll give you the damned book! Just don’t hurt my girls, you cursed spawn of darkness. Though you’ll not find the treasure you seek. It is far too complex for a simpleton such as yourself.” At the first word from Grandfather’s mouth, Dirk had halted. He turned, waiting for further instruction from the cloaked man. Personally, Dirk just wanted to get out of this musty old room with the musty looking old man. He had little hope of that happening any time soon, though, judging by the expression on his boss’ face. His expectations were fulfilled when his boss beckoned him back. “Glad you see things my way, old man. Now, where is the book?” Grandfather pointed at a far end of the room. “There, under the candle holder on the left.” “Dirk, keep him from getting any valiant ideas. I’ll just go get our prize and we can be out of here.” Dirk trudged toward the chair. He wasn’t looking forward to killing the old man. Some of the things he’d said to the boss had been so funny Dirk had nearly bit his tongue in two to keep from laughing. He held no real loyalty to the cloaked man, only to the goodly number of gold pieces that now weighed down his pocket, and to the promise of yet more gold when the job was completed. The cloaked man reached the candleholder. Nothing was visible below it but smooth wood. “Well? Now what?” Grandfather sighed. His shoulders slumped tiredly. “Turn the candleholder to the left and pull.” Metal squealed as the dark figure followed the directions. A section of the wall came with it, swinging on rusted hinges. The dust that billowed out made it apparent that the hidden space had not been opened in quite some time. Ree watched, entranced, her fear forgotten for a moment, as the wall screeched open. She waited, breathlessly, as the man reached into the darkness. When his hand emerged, it was empty. “You fool, do you dare trifle with me? Your family lives only by my mercy, and yet you defy me at every turn. I will ask you only once more, where is the book?” “If it is not in there, I have no idea. Many years ago I placed the cursed book into the hiding place and closed it, intending never to open it again. If it is gone it is through no fault of mine.” The words rang true, the voice shaking as the truly fearful are wont to do. “Perhaps it was stolen long ago. Perhaps another had beaten you to it. Perhaps even now the treasure has been found and spent.” “Liar! I know you possess the book. I will have it, if I must tear the entire manor to the ground in the search.” He seethed, a madman pushed to the edges of his endurance. “Dirk. Slit his throat. He is obviously of no further value to us.” Dirk hesitated just a second too long. He wasn’t sure the gold was worth it. The old man seemed harmless- what reason was there to kill him? He didn’t mind killing when it was a fair fight, but slitting the throat of a feeble old man just didn’t sit quite right with him. The choice was taken out of his hands. The cloaked man snatched a knife from his own belt and buried it to the hilt in the old man’s gullet. The death rattle covered the sound of the young girl’s horrified gasp. Ree quivered in terror as the knife was twisted and yanked out of her beloved grandfather’s throat, blood gushing freely behind it. The force of the retraction pulled the body forward and off of the chair. His body slumped face down on the rug, the only visible sign of the trauma an ever-widening pool of blood beneath him. The man with the knife calmly wiped the blade on the arm of the chair before returning it to his belt. “Well? Start looking,” he ordered Dirk. “We may not have much time left before a servant comes to stoke the fire.” The bang of books hitting the floor, the rattle of drawers as Grandfather’s desk was rifled through, the crash of a small figurine as it struck the fireplace after being thrown with great force, all conspired to hold Ree motionless in her spot. She could not move for fear of them seeing her. Even as a child of eight, she was aware that to be spotted meant certain death for not only herself, but most likely for the remainder of the family as well. *** Ree shook herself as the memory faded. She walked over to the mirror, trying to get used to the way the petticoats swished around her. Her dress was a deep green with exquisite beadwork across the bodice. It was beautiful, if you overlooked the fact that breathing wasn’t figured into the design of it. “Gwennie, how in the world can you be comfortable in this? How are you supposed to breathe? Or sit?” Gwennie chuckled at her sister’s discomfort. “It’s a talent, dear sister. Now come on! We don’t want to be late. I should warn you, however, that there will be several girls I don’t know so be nice.”
“Graves, fetch Miss Melinda at once.” Demona swept into the hall, skirts swishing violently around her ankles. She pulled the pin from her feather-bedecked monstrosity of a hat and thrust both into the hands of the nearest footman. She ignored his flinch and exclamation of pain as the jeweled pin stabbed through his glove and into his flesh. “Have some tea and scones brought to my parlor, as well.” Melinda sidled into the parlor just as her mother was sitting down. Her fearful expression showed her terror of Demona’s wrath. “Yes, Mother?” “Come now, hurry up and sit down. We have much to discuss. Melinda! Stop fidgeting, ‘tis not becoming of a lady who is about to be betrothed to one of the wealthiest young men in town.” Melinda’s eyes lit up. “You talked her into it?” “I thought Breda would never come around to the idea. In the end, though, I got her to suggest it herself. We are planning a house party in two weeks time. Now, we must find you a suitable dress. Find anything that will fetch a good price at market. And do try to eat less of that chocolate you seem so fond of. We don’t want you breaking out in spots at an inopportune time, do we.” Melinda froze, a piece of fudge halfway to her mouth. Realizing her mother was not looking at her, she shoved the fudge defiantly into her mouth. “I saw that, Melinda Summers. Obviously, you care more about food than marrying Evan. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into this for your sake. I’ve wasted positively hours, if not days, making nice with that woman. She is so common. More money than the gods, and she insists on doing her own cooking. It’s appalling!” Demona paused a moment, reflecting. “Although I must admit, she does make some fine pastries. Which is why I am unable to draw my laces together now.” “Don’t worry, Mother dear. Once I am wed, I shall make Evan buy you a house in the center of town. You won’t have to waste any more of your time cozying up to her. And I shall have dresses made of silk, and maids, and footmen, and then the women of this town will look at me with envy.”
