Read Online Dance of the Red Death (Masque of the Red Death) by Bethany Griffin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bethany Griffin
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prospect leaves me cold with dread. I stand beside Elliott and try to watch Will descend, without drawing Elliott’s attention. Elise froze when she was climbing to the airship as we escaped the city. And her terror masked Will’s fear then.
The ship veers to the right, and Will drops from dangerously high but lands on his feet. He gives a little laugh, but his bravado can’t disguise how pale he is.
The three of us quickly gather firewood, and Elliott hovers near me, as if he’s protecting me. From whatever is out there in the dark, or from Will?
Elliott wears his sword and carries a musket. The sword looks completely natural at his side, but the gun is unwieldy.
Will starts a fire, and Elliott sets about boiling water to brew some sort of bitter tea. “I don’t trust the water out here,” he explains. “Of course, I don’t trust the water in the city either.” I imagine the bloated dead bodies that might be lying upstream.
Elliott has taken charge, which leaves me and Will with nothing to do, but somehow it’s comforting that he’s his old irritatingly confident self. It helps me believe that he may be able to take control of the city as well.
The forest is so different from the swamp. For one thing, the ground beneath us is reassuringly solid. The crackle of the fire can’t mask the sound of the stream, or the wind whispering through the leaves. The scent of pine needles is sharp but fresh.
It was humid in the swamp, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is setting in. Tonight seems likely to be unseasonably cold, and I start to shiver and can’t seem to stop.
Elliott sets a cup of tea near Will’s feet, then settles down and pulls me into his arms. I should move away, but he’s so warm. So I give in and rest against his chest. His legs stretch on either side of me, and after I appropriate a blanket from the stack, my shivering stops. After a few moments, when he does nothing improper, I relax as much as I can in the wilderness at night.
Our fire casts only a small circle of light, and the moon overhead doesn’t penetrate the shadows beyond it. I’ve never slept outside. It’s more frightening than sleeping alone with Finn, in the basement. Elliott senses my nervousness and pulls me closer.
“We need to keep watches through the night,” he tells Will. “I’ll take the first.” He tosses Will a blanket.
As I turn my head slightly to watch the flight of the blanket, Elliott’s lips graze my cheek. So much for propriety.
“Wake me when it’s my turn.” Will wraps himself in his blanket, lying with his back to us.
Elliott and I sit in silence for what seems like a very long time.
Finally he says, “You should get some sleep.” His voice is intimate and low, but not a whisper. A whisper would be bereft of the actual timbre of his voice, and in the darkness, with my back pressing against him, the sound of it thrills me, despite myself.
“I’ve had plenty of rest, thanks to your drugs,” I say, more sharply than I meant to. I’m trembling again, even though I’m no longer cold.
“You’re scared,” he says. “Of returning to the city? It is what you wanted.”
Just because you know something is right doesn’t mean it isn’t terrifying. But I don’t say anything. After a moment, I nod. Though it’s dark, surely he can feel the movement.
“Is it your father?” he asks, but I’m not ready for that discussion.
“Can we not talk?” My voice is also low, and somehow much more intimate than I meant it to be.
“I’m not complaining,” he says. “It’s nice, sitting here with you. Much warmer.” I shift to see if his expression is as sincere as his voice sounds, and our faces are so close. I should turn away, but I don’t.
I kiss him.
An owl hoots somewhere in the trees above us. Elliott twists so that we’re lying on the ground. For a brief moment, all I can think is that it’s different than it’s been with him before. He raises my chin with his hand,
The ship veers to the right, and Will drops from dangerously high but lands on his feet. He gives a little laugh, but his bravado can’t disguise how pale he is.
The three of us quickly gather firewood, and Elliott hovers near me, as if he’s protecting me. From whatever is out there in the dark, or from Will?
Elliott wears his sword and carries a musket. The sword looks completely natural at his side, but the gun is unwieldy.
Will starts a fire, and Elliott sets about boiling water to brew some sort of bitter tea. “I don’t trust the water out here,” he explains. “Of course, I don’t trust the water in the city either.” I imagine the bloated dead bodies that might be lying upstream.
Elliott has taken charge, which leaves me and Will with nothing to do, but somehow it’s comforting that he’s his old irritatingly confident self. It helps me believe that he may be able to take control of the city as well.
The forest is so different from the swamp. For one thing, the ground beneath us is reassuringly solid. The crackle of the fire can’t mask the sound of the stream, or the wind whispering through the leaves. The scent of pine needles is sharp but fresh.
It was humid in the swamp, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is setting in. Tonight seems likely to be unseasonably cold, and I start to shiver and can’t seem to stop.
Elliott sets a cup of tea near Will’s feet, then settles down and pulls me into his arms. I should move away, but he’s so warm. So I give in and rest against his chest. His legs stretch on either side of me, and after I appropriate a blanket from the stack, my shivering stops. After a few moments, when he does nothing improper, I relax as much as I can in the wilderness at night.
Our fire casts only a small circle of light, and the moon overhead doesn’t penetrate the shadows beyond it. I’ve never slept outside. It’s more frightening than sleeping alone with Finn, in the basement. Elliott senses my nervousness and pulls me closer.
“We need to keep watches through the night,” he tells Will. “I’ll take the first.” He tosses Will a blanket.
As I turn my head slightly to watch the flight of the blanket, Elliott’s lips graze my cheek. So much for propriety.
“Wake me when it’s my turn.” Will wraps himself in his blanket, lying with his back to us.
Elliott and I sit in silence for what seems like a very long time.
Finally he says, “You should get some sleep.” His voice is intimate and low, but not a whisper. A whisper would be bereft of the actual timbre of his voice, and in the darkness, with my back pressing against him, the sound of it thrills me, despite myself.
“I’ve had plenty of rest, thanks to your drugs,” I say, more sharply than I meant to. I’m trembling again, even though I’m no longer cold.
“You’re scared,” he says. “Of returning to the city? It is what you wanted.”
Just because you know something is right doesn’t mean it isn’t terrifying. But I don’t say anything. After a moment, I nod. Though it’s dark, surely he can feel the movement.
“Is it your father?” he asks, but I’m not ready for that discussion.
“Can we not talk?” My voice is also low, and somehow much more intimate than I meant it to be.
“I’m not complaining,” he says. “It’s nice, sitting here with you. Much warmer.” I shift to see if his expression is as sincere as his voice sounds, and our faces are so close. I should turn away, but I don’t.
I kiss him.
An owl hoots somewhere in the trees above us. Elliott twists so that we’re lying on the ground. For a brief moment, all I can think is that it’s different than it’s been with him before. He raises my chin with his hand,
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