My Reluctant Warden (6 page)

Or at least, not very much.

*

I returned to the guest suite and as I was reaching it, I came across Stephen.

“Miss Angelina. Is there anything special you would like for dinner?”

Mr. Ward on a platter, preferably with a gag over his mouth so he wouldn’t say something irritating again.

“Actually, yes,” I told him. “I’d like you to show me where the kitchen is. I can cook for myself, you know. And I’d really prefer if you called me Angelina.”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said with the faintest of smiles. I wasn’t sure which part he meant—both, probably—but I knew a lost cause when I saw it. “Soup, maybe, since the weather is so cold?”

I shrugged, defeated. “Sure,” I said halfheartedly. “Whatever is easiest.”

I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being catered to like this; it felt too strange.

Back into my gilded cell I went. I was taken aback when I entered the first room and all my shoes were gone. I found them again when I entered the bedroom: a shoe rack much like the one in Miss Delilah’s dressing room had been installed near the dresser, and the shoes were set on it. Only the high boots were missing, but I found them quickly enough: they were attached to a specially made hanger, I assume to preserve their shape, and hanging in the nearby open closet. The suitcase, which I’d left on the bed, was now on the chair by the door. Mr. Ward’s jacket was gone, as was my gown. The bed was pristine again.

I really needed to talk to Stephen about this. Sure, someone picking up after you can be nice, but the situation was already weird enough. I needed my own space.

I spent a little while putting my clothes away in the dresser and closet and placing the rest of my belongings around the room. By then, I had accepted I would be Mr. Ward’s ‘guest’ for at least a few days. I didn’t like it, but not liking it didn’t make it any less true.

When I was done, I took my netbook to the ancient-looking desk in the corner of the room and sat there. I found an open internet connection and checked my email. I ran through the list of names in my inbox twice before I realized I was looking for Miss Delilah. I could have kicked myself for it. What was I expecting from her? An apology? A description of what I had to do exactly for her to release me from this compulsion? I was just being silly.

I saw that my parents were on and tried to make up my mind. I’d been planning to go home for a couple of days at Christmas, but now those plans looked compromised, to say the least. Should I give them a call? I’d have to at some point. But what could I possibly say? If I told them the truth, they’d think I was crazy. Neither of them believes in supernatural things. Neither did I, in fact, not until the supernatural kind of took over my life.

Before I could decide whether to call or not, a knock on my door pulled me away. It was Stephen with the food he’d promised me on the same silver tray he’d brought for lunch. He’d set it on the low table in the sitting room. As I came out of my room, he asked if I needed anything else, and I steeled myself for what I wanted to say. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with information, but he was only doing his job. I didn’t want to offend him.

“Listen,” I started, “this is not an easy situation for me. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have much of a choice about it. I appreciate you cleaning up my room and all but… Could you stay out of the bedroom from now on? I mean… I kinda need a place that’s mine. I don’t want to be rude, I just—”

He raised a hand to interrupt me. “You’re not rude at all. I understand. I should have realized. And I’ll be sure to stay out from now on. Would you like me to serve your food in the dining room? That way I wouldn’t need to come into the suite at all.”

There was nothing in his voice or expression that indicated he was upset, but I was still worried I had insulted him without meaning to.

“Only if it’s easier for you,” I said. “Really. I’m not used to any of this. And I wasn’t joking when I said I’d just as well prepare my own meals. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

His expression softened a little. “It’s been a long while since Mr. Ward had a human guest and I had to prepare anyone’s meals other than my own. It’s no trouble. I enjoy it.”

“A human guest?” I repeated. “Who?”

Immediately he looked like he regretted his words. He stiffened a little.

“Unless you need anything else, I’ll leave you to your dinner before it gets cold.”

He left without another word. Yet again, I had more questions and no one to get answers from. I thought about writing down a list, and next time Mr. Ward asked if I needed something, I could shove it in his face.

I ate in the sitting room. The soup was a classic—tomato basil—but there was a twist to it, some ingredient that added heat without making it too spicy. It was delicious, as were the toasted triangles of brioche. Like at lunch, I had a glass of water and another one of wine, and dessert was more of that delicious chocolate cake. The thought fluttered through my mind that I’d need a few more minutes of exercise to make up for the cake… but it wasn’t like I could go for a run or to the gym.

It was a nice meal. It would have been even better with someone to share it with. I would have to try again. If Stephen really wanted to cook for me, then fine, I would let him, but maybe if I pushed enough he would take his meals with me. And maybe if he did, I could get more information from him about Mr. Ward.

I now knew he’d had a human guest in the past; had the circumstances been the same as mine? He had mentioned something about Miss Delilah’s gifts. Had she played this game before?

Call me crazy, but I felt a little miffed at the thought I wasn’t the first one. Or the only one.

And I was more than a little scared to learn how my predecessors’ stay in Mr. Ward’s care had ended.

When I was done, I returned to my computer, intending to call my parents. Instead, a flashing icon let me know that someone was trying to contact me. Someone whose nickname was ‘Lilah_1753.’

Later, I wondered about that screen name. Was ‘Lilah’ Miss Delilah’s actual name rather than the nickname I’d believed it to be? What did 1753 mean? Was it a date? January 7th 1953? Or was it just a year? The year of her birth, maybe? It was a while before I dared ask Mr. Ward those questions.

At that moment, though, I didn’t stop to think about anything. I only hoped.

I held my breath and clicked the flashing icon. Miss Delilah’s image came up.

“Hello, Lina dear. How is Morgan treating you?”

“Please let me go. Miss Delilah, please, I—”

“Let you go?” she cut in with an exaggerated look of surprise. “Oh, Lina, don’t tell me my brother hasn’t been taking good care of you. I know he can be a little prickly at times, but he’s really quite the charmer when you get to know him.”

“But I don’t
want
to get to know him. Please, you’ve had your fun, let me go.”

“My fun?” She laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh, we’re only starting.”

I should have known.

I should have realized that talking to her like this, watching her perfectly made-up lips and eyes on the screen could be dangerous. I’ve kicked myself mentally a thousand times about it. And even if I didn’t get it right away, when she leaned forward so that her eyes filled the screen, I should have guessed. I should have shut down the computer. Closed it. Muted her words.

Anything rather than let her say, “Listen closely, Lina. Tonight, you will share a bed with Morgan.”

“You can’t do that!”

I blurted out the words before I could even think.

“Excuse me?” Miss Delilah’s plucked eyebrows rose in surprise. “I thought you were questioning my orders, but that can’t be right. It wasn’t a suggestion. You will sleep in his bed, or something very bad will happen. Something like your heart beating faster and faster until it just gives up. Or your lungs suddenly failing to process air. Or your body being completely paralyzed until you do as you are told. It varies, but it’s never pleasant. So please, do be careful. We don’t want anything bad happening to you, do we?”

I gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. My heart was beating faster, and I wasn’t sure if that was an effect of the compulsion or simply my anger.

“Why would you care? You told him to kill me!”

Someone off screen said something I couldn’t make out, and her gaze briefly drifted to the side. She nodded once before looking back at me. Behind her, through a bay window, I could see lights. And not just any lights: the lights that line up the Eiffel Tower and make its shape as distinctive at night as it is during the day.

“No,” she said, drawing my attention back to her. “I did not tell him to kill you. I merely mentioned a few things he might do. It’s been a while since my brother killed anyone. I seriously doubt he’ll break his vow for you. Now be a good girl and remember what I said. You’ll be sleeping with him tonight.”

I recognized her tone of voice and the intensity of her gaze. She was compelling me again.

“No.”

Voicing that one word took every ounce of strength of will I had.

I didn’t know how I even managed to say that word. Was it because she was behind a computer screen rather than right in front of me? Did it diminish the power she had on me? Or maybe, having been under her compulsion already, I was building up a tolerance to it? Maybe I was even learning to fight it back, and with time I’d get beyond her order not to leave the Ward mansion. I liked that last option a lot.

What I liked a lot less, however, was how my breath suddenly hitched in my throat.

It wasn’t the same as the previous night when I had realized I had broken her order to be nice to her brother. That time, I simply couldn’t breathe, not any more than if I’d been under water. This time, there was air around me, and I could get to it, but I had to work hard for it. In seconds, I was breathing heavily, and sweat was already beading on my forehead.

“Don’t you get it?” Miss Delilah said with a small sigh. “You don’t have a choice. Come on, Lina. Don’t make this harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

If I could have replied, I’d have told her that, no, I wouldn’t go to anyone’s bed just because my boss was ordering me to. I’d have told her I quit. I’d have said… I don’t know. I’d have said no, again, that much was certain. But I couldn’t spare enough breath for words. I remembered all too well what it had felt like to slip into darkness from the lack of oxygen the previous night. I was terrified it would happen again. And this time, no one was there to save me. But I still refused to obey.

If Mr. Ward had been nicer to me when I’d gone to thank him, maybe…

No, not even then.

It’s not that I wanted to die, of course not. But what was my life worth if I didn’t have control over anything, from where I lived to whom I slept with? Call me stubborn. Call me crazy. I held on to the desk, struggled to breathe or even remain upright, but I didn’t yield.

Moments passed. An entire lifetime. My ears were buzzing a little, but I could hear Miss Delilah’s voice again. She wasn’t talking to me. I blinked a few times until I could focus on the screen again. She wasn’t in front of her computer anymore. Instead, she stood in front of the window in the back of the room, looking out at the night in Paris. She was talking into a phone.

“Hello, Morgan. Why do I have this feeling—”

She sighed into the phone.

“No, I can’t tell you that, and you should know better than to ask. Why can’t you just be thankful for my gift?”

After a brief pause, she laughed.

“You don’t give up, do you? Where I am is none of your concern. What should concern you is where Angelina is. And what’s happening to her right now.”

She came back to the computer then and did something so that the angle shifted, now straight up rather than horizontal. She looked at me as she said, “Well, since you’re asking, she’s turning a rather alarming shade of purple. I asked her to do one little thing for me, and she thought she’d say no. As you can imagine—”

Whatever he said to her, she shook her head. “Ask her yourself.”

She frowned, then shrugged. “Fine. I told her she’d sleep in your bed tonight. With you in it, or it’s cheating.”

She was still looking down at me, her frown deepening even more. “Of course I can’t force you,” she said, still talking into the phone. “It’s up to you what you decide to do. But decide soon because she looks like she’s about to pass out.”

Her image was becoming a little fuzzy on the screen as she hung up the call. Well, really, everything was becoming a little fuzzy. I closed my eyes for a second or two. When I opened them again, the video chat window was empty, showing only a gray ceiling. I was alone. Alone with the pounding in my ears, the cold sweat running down my back, and the fear gripping my heart.

Was this how I would die? Alone in a room I’d been forced to live in, trapped by orders coming from thousands of miles away?

When I heard a door open outside the bedroom and hurried steps, I knew at once who was coming. And even if he’d been rude, even if he scared me, even if I absolutely did not want to spend the night with him, part of me was overjoyed that Mr. Ward had come to help.