Within These Wicked Walls(24)

“No,” I said, stepping back. “I didn’t save you to be rewarded.”

“Call it a bonus for a job well done.”

“U-um…” It was stupid, really, for me not to take it. I had six cents to my name, and here I was refusing money on principle. It felt strange to acknowledge the money in front of him, but I only had to look at the different-colored bills to count it. It was more than I made in a week. There had to be a mistake. “I haven’t been paid my weekly salary yet. We could just say you paid me early.”

“For God’s sake, take it,” he said with a heavy sigh. “You’ll be paid your salary tomorrow, as agreed upon in the contract. Besides, I’m sure you could find something better to do with this than I could.”

Even touching the money felt shameful. He was paying me for the wrong reasons—I couldn’t stand the idea of being paid for doing the right thing. But at the same time, refusing such a generous gift was extremely rude. I hid the rolled bills in my fist. “Thank you … I should let you go to bed,” I added quickly, just as Magnus was about to speak, and stepped back toward the door.

“I can’t let you leave my room bleeding. What kind of host would that make me?” His voice was quiet, hopeful enough that all I did was nod. And then he went into his private bathroom. I heard a cabinet open, some things being shifted, and then he came back with a bottle of clear liquid.

He was in my space again, but I didn’t try to leave. My heart was pounding, but not from fear or adrenaline. His gaze was so direct, penetrating. It seemed impossible that his eyes were always downcast when guests were around, that maybe, secretly, he was scared to know people. Because now he was nearly pinning me with just a look, only a hint of shyness in his brown eyes.

But, as if reading my thoughts, he shifted his gaze to my throbbing forehead. He took the handkerchief—my muscles twitched when it left my hand, I’d forgotten it was clenched there—and wet it with the clear liquid from his medicine cabinet. Without warning he pressed it to my cut. I winced, closing my eyes briefly, my hand slapping on top of his to remove it from—

His hand … was at the back of my head. Cradling it. Me. I swallowed, taking a deep breath. His touch was comforting in a way I’d never felt before. Was I … allowed to like the feeling of my employer’s hand? Even if it didn’t mean anything—which it didn’t. He was just helping me. And he was only a year older. If he wasn’t my employer we would be peers.

He checked his work and then tore a small piece of gauze he’d brought out, applying a bit of sticky medicine to the back of it. I bit back a grin. His concentration face made him look sweet, like a young boy, as he laid the gauze over my cut, carefully smoothing it with his thumbs so that the medicine spread beneath it, making every corner stick in place. It was a nice change to his weary, annoyed countenance.

“Thank you,” I said.

He dabbed the edges with the handkerchief, removing excess medicine, and then his focus was on my eyes again. He blinked when I stepped back, as if waking from a trance. “Thank you for making me feel useful.”

A blush rose in his cheeks, extending through the tip of his nose. It made him look so sweet—God, stop, what was I thinking? I dropped my gaze quickly.

“Good night, sir,” I said, turning away.

“Magnus.”

I paused at the door to look at him, meeting his gaze. I should’ve told him to stop staring at me. It was socially rude. Odd, to be honest. But his look wasn’t invasive, wasn’t lewd. It was just a wordless request, a boy longing for connection.

And, after tonight, I think it was a connection I needed as much as he did.

“Good night…” I grabbed the doorknob, stepped out into the hall. “Magnus.”





CHAPTER 11


I awoke with a stomachache and a mind full of dread.

Not over the roomful of blood. No, I’d had hours to wrap my mind around the concept. Or the fact that my amulet had barely protected me from it. That was more concerning, but Jember was sure to know of a way to make my amulet stronger.

That is, if he was willing to help me.

I rolled out of bed and dressed in the clothes I’d arrived in that first day. If I hurried I could catch Jember before he left church for the day—he worked all night, and if I didn’t catch him before he went to sleep he would be twice as ornery. At least at church there was a chance he would marginally behave in front of the priests.

I took some money from my hiding place behind the wardrobe and tucked it into the hidden pocket in my satchel. Then it was time to pray that Tom or Emma would give me a ride.

The servants’ quarters had none of the wide-open doors like the rest of the house, none of the sun streaming through large windows like gossamer kissing wood. It was a narrow, low-ceilinged hall. Cold, in the figurative sense as well as literal. The doors of vacant rooms locked on either side of me, like tombs. I was thankful that voices drifted from the only open door—part of me had been afraid I’d have to search the whole house for them.

“Why can’t we just go?” Emma said. “We have enough money saved to get back to London, and there are plenty of friends we could stay with while we get settled with new jobs.”

“A few more weeks and we’ll have enough to make a life of our own.”