Read Online The Sweetest Dark by Shana Abe - Free Book Online
Authors: Shana Abe
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Historical, People & Places, Paranormal, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Europe, Love & Romance, School & Education
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yet. Wait.
The Atalanta jounced over a fresh rut. Like clockwork, Chloe and Lucille let out their little peep screams.
Then a tyre blew. He felt it, heard it, and held hard to the steering wheel as the automobile snarled into a spin, fighting to flip. The world blurred into a whirlwind of sunlight and grit and the girls screamed again, really screamed, full-throated. Armand himself might have been screaming. Or laughing. Both.
And for just an instantâwith his lips peeled back and his knuckles clenched white and Chloeâs voice a high, keening cry in his left earâthat sly thing within him welled up strong and demented, compelling his hands to let go.
But he didnât.
They came to rest not two inches from an ancient rowan tree growing bent in a meadow, one that surely would have smashed the chassis and maybe them as well into shiny tinfoil had they spun any farther.
It took more than three hours to change the tyre. Heâd discovered the jack broken and had to push the Atalanta across the meadow and over to a drainage ditch so that the wheel might hang free, but without anyone to helpâhis lady guests had withdrawn to the shade of the tree to dab at their foreheads with handkerchiefsâit was slow going.
It took nearly another hour to drive back; the girls insisted upon stopping at the nearest farmhouse to tidy up before returning to the school. The farmerâs wife had offered water and cider, and theyâd all accepted both.
By the time they reached Iverson again, tea was done.
He found out later from the housekeeper that Miss Eleanore Jones had attended after all.
Nuts.
Chapter Eight
Letter dictated and signed by Rue, M. of L., dated August 3, 1808
My darling girl,
Youâre sixteen. Iâve counted the years until this day, felt them pass in my marrow, each minute creeping, each second a fresh bleeding ache. How I long to be with you during this time. Youâve no idea whatâs to come, and those with you now have no real way to prepare you. Not as I could. I knew the moment I first cradled you in my arms how strong you were going to be. How different. Our blood is thinning, and there are not many born such as you. Perchance thatâs a blessing; I truly donât know. But what I do want you to know, the very first thing, is that itâs going to hurt. Itâs going to hurt so very much that you will wish you could die.
You must not die. Not yet.
When it first begins, youâll feel a sense of tearing within; I can think of no better word to describe it. Tearing. Renting, your skin from muscles, your muscles from bone. It will be a pain at once so exquisite and so horrifying that it will devour you whole. And it will be swift. You wonât even have the dubious relief of opening your mouth to scream.
You will no longer have a mouth.
Nor eyes, nor face, nor limbs. You will no longer have a human body. You will exist as nothing but smoke and pain.
I require that you hold on to one single, final thought during this agony: I will live.
Without it, every bit of you, every last lingering essence, will merely evaporate. Your parents will have nothing left to bury.
I wish I might be there for you when it happens. I wish I might be a better guide for you, my beloved girl. You are my great-great-grandchild. You have my husbandâs eyes. And yet I remain trapped, old and blind, at this miserable distance, countries away, mired in my worry.
The first Turn has destroyed so many of our kind. Do not become one more early death.
All my love,
âRue
Chapter Nine
I walked along the outer walls of Iverson, looking for other doors, a cracked window, anything that might let me slip back inside without having to brave the flock of girls that still jostled about the main entrance. I walked at first without really seeing where I was going. I just needed to get away. The memory of Armandâs cold, empty eyes followed me like a cloud above my head.
There were no
The Atalanta jounced over a fresh rut. Like clockwork, Chloe and Lucille let out their little peep screams.
Then a tyre blew. He felt it, heard it, and held hard to the steering wheel as the automobile snarled into a spin, fighting to flip. The world blurred into a whirlwind of sunlight and grit and the girls screamed again, really screamed, full-throated. Armand himself might have been screaming. Or laughing. Both.
And for just an instantâwith his lips peeled back and his knuckles clenched white and Chloeâs voice a high, keening cry in his left earâthat sly thing within him welled up strong and demented, compelling his hands to let go.
But he didnât.
They came to rest not two inches from an ancient rowan tree growing bent in a meadow, one that surely would have smashed the chassis and maybe them as well into shiny tinfoil had they spun any farther.
It took more than three hours to change the tyre. Heâd discovered the jack broken and had to push the Atalanta across the meadow and over to a drainage ditch so that the wheel might hang free, but without anyone to helpâhis lady guests had withdrawn to the shade of the tree to dab at their foreheads with handkerchiefsâit was slow going.
It took nearly another hour to drive back; the girls insisted upon stopping at the nearest farmhouse to tidy up before returning to the school. The farmerâs wife had offered water and cider, and theyâd all accepted both.
By the time they reached Iverson again, tea was done.
He found out later from the housekeeper that Miss Eleanore Jones had attended after all.
Nuts.
Chapter Eight
Letter dictated and signed by Rue, M. of L., dated August 3, 1808
My darling girl,
Youâre sixteen. Iâve counted the years until this day, felt them pass in my marrow, each minute creeping, each second a fresh bleeding ache. How I long to be with you during this time. Youâve no idea whatâs to come, and those with you now have no real way to prepare you. Not as I could. I knew the moment I first cradled you in my arms how strong you were going to be. How different. Our blood is thinning, and there are not many born such as you. Perchance thatâs a blessing; I truly donât know. But what I do want you to know, the very first thing, is that itâs going to hurt. Itâs going to hurt so very much that you will wish you could die.
You must not die. Not yet.
When it first begins, youâll feel a sense of tearing within; I can think of no better word to describe it. Tearing. Renting, your skin from muscles, your muscles from bone. It will be a pain at once so exquisite and so horrifying that it will devour you whole. And it will be swift. You wonât even have the dubious relief of opening your mouth to scream.
You will no longer have a mouth.
Nor eyes, nor face, nor limbs. You will no longer have a human body. You will exist as nothing but smoke and pain.
I require that you hold on to one single, final thought during this agony: I will live.
Without it, every bit of you, every last lingering essence, will merely evaporate. Your parents will have nothing left to bury.
I wish I might be there for you when it happens. I wish I might be a better guide for you, my beloved girl. You are my great-great-grandchild. You have my husbandâs eyes. And yet I remain trapped, old and blind, at this miserable distance, countries away, mired in my worry.
The first Turn has destroyed so many of our kind. Do not become one more early death.
All my love,
âRue
Chapter Nine
I walked along the outer walls of Iverson, looking for other doors, a cracked window, anything that might let me slip back inside without having to brave the flock of girls that still jostled about the main entrance. I walked at first without really seeing where I was going. I just needed to get away. The memory of Armandâs cold, empty eyes followed me like a cloud above my head.
There were no
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