Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy 1)

The last step creaks, and I stop, holding my breath as I wait to see if anyone else heard. But there’s no one. The servants must be asleep, and Mercedes is probably out prowling the night for fresh blood.

She never did come to take me shopping or whatever it was she was going to do to ready me for the gala. Just sent word with Antonia that something had come up, and I was free for the day.

When my heart rate settles, I take the final step down, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floors. I hurry through the hall to duck into the corridor where Santiago’s office is. It’s dark here, too, but the sconces that line these walls are lit and I can see light under his closed door at the far end.

I’ll need to be quick. If he catches me here, I’ll have hell to pay, so I move as quickly as I can and quietly open the library door. I’m not stupid enough to listen at his door. I slip inside the dark room and close the door behind me, giving my eyes a minute to adjust. Once they have, I make my way through the aisles of bookshelves to the false wall. He never did ask me how I got into his office. He doesn’t know I know about this, and the thought makes me feel like I’ve got one win. One to his dozen.

Now that I know the cutout door exists, I can almost see a thin line of light coming from inside his office. I’m quiet as I approach, holding my breath because I’m too afraid to breathe. I press my ear to the wall.

“Why didn’t they see this before?” Santiago asks, voice raised, sounding angry.

The other man’s voice is muffled. Quieter. I hear mumblings and only a few words, but those words give me chills: “…Toxicology…Metabolized too quickly…Coma.”

Santiago speaks again, but it’s only the low timbre of his voice, not the actual words that I make out.

I think about what happened last night when he brought out the vial. How my thoughts had gone to those old stories of poisoning within The Society. How Santiago had sipped the contents to confirm it wasn’t poison as if guessing my thoughts. As if that were a real thing. A possibility.

Poison.

Who uses poison? What year is this?

No, that can’t be what they’re talking about.

But I keep going back to that last word. Coma. I think about my father lying in a coma in that hospital bed. He’d gone into cardiac arrest. It made sense, given his lifestyle.

I shake my head. This is stupid. They’re not talking about poison.

“Does anyone else know?” Santiago asks.

“No.”

“Good. If you find any more information,” he starts, but that’s my cue. I’m sure he’ll come check on me before he goes to bed, and I need to be back in my room if he does.

Without waiting to hear anything else, I hurry out of the library but knock my hip on a shelf in the dark. I don’t have time to wait to see if anyone heard the sound. I keep going, pausing only briefly to listen at the library door to make sure the hall is clear before hurrying back to the main part of the house, then up the stairs, slipping into my bedroom and closing the door, my heart in my throat as I throw off my robe and hurry into my bed.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up to cramps low in my belly.

I open my eyes to watch the soft orange glow of the rising sun coming through the sheer curtains. I left the heavier drapes open.

I push the blanket back and get up, seeing the smudge of red on the white sheets. Different than the blood on our wedding night. Abel came through. Santiago will be disappointed, though.

Good.

Walking into the bathroom, I open the cabinet beneath the sink to look for tampons. I hadn’t thought to look before, but a slow panic comes over me when I don’t find any. In fact, there’s nothing here I can use at all.

I go into the closet to look through the drawers there. Did he really miss this detail? He doesn’t seem like he’d miss any detail. I was joking about his potency, but did he really think I’d be pregnant instantly and not have the need?

Unbelievable.

I walk back into the bathroom and wad up toilet paper to absorb the flow, then wash my hands and put on my robe to find Antonia. I’m not asking Santiago for tampons. And I’m definitely not asking Mercedes.

The house is still quiet when I walk out into the hallway, but I hear voices when I get closer to the kitchen, and I see candles are being lit in the downstairs rooms. I’m about to push the door to the kitchen open when Antonia comes through, wiping her hands on a dish towel and giving someone instructions over her shoulder.