Other Lives(6)

“You shouldn’t think about morbid wives’ tales,” Nikolaos said.

“It’s the truth. My fiancé died days before our wedding.”

“The drunkard who fell off a horse?”

“Don’t make fun of me. It is real. The demon knew ... It does wicked things.”

“Aside from murder, can it do some mending? I’ve some shirts that…”

“Don’t joke about it. It could be here. I’m sure it’s here,” she said, pressing a hand against his mouth.

With Miranda so close to him it made thinking of demons rather difficult. As if reaching the same conclusion she drew away.

“There’s no one here except you and me,” he assured her with a smile. “There’s nothing supernatural in this room. Retha won’t say a word because I know some stories about her that she wouldn’t like told either. So everything will continue as normal.”

“I’m not sure I know the meaning of normal,” she whispered.

There was something heartbreakingly lovely in Miranda. It tugged at his heartstrings and without really wanting to he circled her shoulders with his arm and she rested her head against him.

He felt rather guilty. After all, she was nothing but a piece of bait. At the same time she was a very sad and lonely girl.

***

He was sick and he had asked her to visit him for a game of cards. He played all kinds of board and card games and fancied intricate puzzles. Miranda, having spent a lifetime trapped inside her uncle’s household had also become adept at puzzles and card games.

This pleased him.

“There, on the table,” he said as a greeting. “I’ve placed all the pieces already.”

Miranda nodded, glancing at the beautiful gold and silver board. Darius lay in the center of a massive bed, propped up by crimson cushions.

“This is lovely,” she said.

“It’s not so much when you have a cold.”

She walked around his spacious chamber in awe. There was too much of everything, excess as natural to Darius as breathing. Miranda paused before a small portrait of a young woman, half hidden behind an ornamental silver box.

“She’s pretty” she said turning towards him. “Who is she?”

When she showed him the little painting, Darius shifted irritably.

“That is an unpleasant memory that I keep tucked away,” Darius grimaced. “Only the idiotic maids must have been dusting and fidgeting with my things again.”

“Who is she?”

“She was my wife. She died three years ago. I would rather not discuss her,” he replied.

“Oh,” Miranda mumbled. “I didn’t know you’d been married. How did she die?”

“I said I did not want to discuss it.”

“I am curious, that is all. No one ever told—”

“She died, does it matter?,” he said, his voice growing harsh and loud. “Dead and buried.”

“I’m sorry,” was her response.

It was not enough. She had stirred the darkness in him. Now the darkness blazed back at her. Uncertain, she felt herself flush, mortified.

“Out,” he ordered.

She took a first weak step.

“Out!” he yelled.

For a brief moment she recalled the chorus of boys gathered outside their home at night. ‘Witch spawn’ they’d taunt and say other things she couldn’t make out. Sometimes, even in broad daylight on their way to the butcher’s or the shrine of Our Lady of Lilies she would catch hushed words.

Their smug faces, the same face Darius now sported, made her quiver with fury. She wanted them all to choke on their fat tongues.

For a second she wished Darius would choke and it was that thought that sent her spinning away. It was that thought which frightened her.

He spoke again, as she reached the door.

“Wait,” he said, and his voice was different.

She stopped and turned around. His bitterness was still there, although it seemed to have diluted a little.

“Sit down,” he muttered.

She edged closer to him but decided not to sit, instead stopping at the foot of his bed.

“She was unhappy. She killed herself. It’s a simple story,” he said.

Miranda looked down, her hands neatly hidden against the folds of her dress.

“When I was a child,” she said, hesitating for the briefest instant, “my mother jumped from a high window and killed herself. She was very unhappy, too.”

He did not say anything and she glanced up. He was staring at her in an odd way.

“When I met you, I knew there was something different about you. I guess I recognize in you the same tragedy in me.”

It was her turn to struggle for words, but thankfully he filled the void.

“Let’s play,” he suggested.

***

Outside it was a bitter winter that slashed at the windows and nipped the flesh. But inside there was fantasy and make-believe and it was any season they desired and any land that pleased them.

Darius showed her a pet leopard with a jeweled collar that he kept in an ornate cage. He organized a dinner where all the dishes were red and all guests wore crimson. He gave her a grand tour of the library and they peered over ancient tomes and he allowed her to look at some old books of magic incantations. Then he showed her an old book, a hidden treasure.