Enthralled: Paranormal Diversions (Wicked Lovely 5.50)

The duke’s shoulders lurched forward as if he might strike Frans, but then he carefully pulled them back. It was all that was needed, though, to send Frans scrambling onto his cart and whipping his mare into a frenzy down the road.

By the next day Pauline, the housemaid who helped bathe Giselle and tended the wound on her leg, reported there was no sign on the girl’s back of where wings had been cut away. “Her back is completely healed,” she told the duke.

“Of course it is,” the duke said, rising from his chair. “There never were any wings. She was only the victim of a greedy peddler. Do you understand, Pauline? That will be the story if there is to be one.”

Pauline nodded and curtsied. “Of course, sir.”

Under Pauline’s care, Giselle recovered quickly. When she was well enough, the duke gave her duties in the vegetable garden since there was no life that Giselle could remember to go back to. She settled into life at the château, thankful for the kindness of the many servants who watched over her, and grateful to the duke, who gave her a warm, comfortable room off the kitchen. But every day as she worked, she searched for memories, something from her past life, a trigger that would bring it all back. I’ll find a way, but even that thought seemed to have no root within her, just words rattling in her head like they belonged to someone else. An overwhelming longing grew inside her, and she tried to will a familiar face into her mind’s eye. But there was none. The garden became her solace.

She found that she loved her work, the sweet peas and the soil, the squash and the sun, and wished for the days to last longer than they did. At the end of the day she would stare out at the horizon long after the sun was gone, searching for something that never materialized, searching for something that had no name even in her own mind, but she watched with a bewildering anticipation until the last ray of light had vanished. She dreaded the nights the most because of the dreams that accompanied them. When she closed her eyes she saw twinkling stars, felt the rush of crisp air across her cheeks, felt the exhilaration of speed as she glided over the world, the tickle of forest tops on her fingertips, a soaring freedom that filled every breath with indescribable joy, but with the joy of the dreams came the inconsolable loss she felt on waking. Too many times she woke to tears already on her cheeks. And sometimes mixed with the tears was a name on the edge of her lips, and she would suck in a breath, trying to take hold of it again, but it always evaded her no matter how hard she tried to get it back.

At the end of one day, only a fortnight after she arrived, she paused to look down the road that had brought her here, longing to know what came before, when the duke walked up behind her, catching her by surprise.

“Waiting for someone?” he asked.

Giselle whirled around. “Of course not,” she answered quickly, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m not waiting for anyone. I’m just on my way to help Pauline with dinner.”

It was only the next day, standing in the same spot, that Giselle spotted a cart coming down the road. Children ran to meet it, shouting their excitement. Giselle hurried to the shadows of the stable to watch as it approached, fearful of the cart, which resembled the one she had arrived in. She could already hear the peddler boasting about his catch. “This one was easy. It practically fell right into my hands. The gargouilles may fly like the wind, but they are as dull as lead. I didn’t even have to unfurl my net. It only took two easy slashes to part this one from its wings.”

The creature thrashed in the cart. Like a beast, Giselle thought. Pauline came and stood beside Giselle, shaking her head. “What poor soul has been stolen away now?”

“But there are w

ings strapped to the cart,” Giselle replied.

“As there were when you came. Who knows where he really got them? The duke will not be pleased. He’ll send that poor excuse of a peddler on his way with the back of his hand.”

“No!” Giselle cried. “What would become of the one he’s imprisoned?”

Giselle’s tender heart endeared her to Pauline. “I’ll speak with the duke before he comes out to deal with the peddler. I don’t think you need to worry,” she told Giselle, and walked back to the house to find the duke.

It was as Pauline said. The duke was angry and sent the peddler on his way, but not before he forced him to unlock the cart and leave his victim behind. The peddler warily unlocked the cart and fled as soon as his prisoner jumped from it. The boy was stained with blood, as Giselle had been, but was stronger and had no arrow wound. He thrashed wildly at those who encircled him. The duke’s gardeners raised their hoes, ready to strike, but Giselle could see the fear and anger on the boy’s face. “Stop!” she yelled, and ran from the shadows to within feet of where he stood, in spite of Pauline and the duke shouting for her to stay back. The boy saw her and froze.

“No one’s going to harm you,” Giselle told him. “You’re safe now.” His gaze locked on to hers and his breathing calmed while Giselle’s heart raced faster. “My name is Giselle,” she said, and held her hand out to him. “Come with me. Please.”

His shoulders relaxed from their hunched position and he hesitantly took her hand. She walked him to the fountain, while all the servants and the duke followed, holding their breath at her boldness, but not wanting to break the spell she had cast over the boy. She held a pitcher under one of the streams of water and gave it to him. He greedily drank from it and then handed it back to her.

“Why am I here?” the boy asked.

It was the same question that had passed through her own mind in her first days at the château. She still had no answer. “I’m not sure why,” Giselle answered, “but you don’t have to fear anyone here. You’re among friends. Where are you from?”

The boy thought for a moment. “I—” He touched his hand to his temple, and his brows pulled together in worry. He looked back into Giselle’s eyes. “I’m not sure. I can’t—” His head shook in distress.

Giselle felt her heart aching for the boy. She couldn’t recall where she was from either and wondered at the dark magic the peddlers must have cast over them both. She heard a murmur flutter through the servants surrounding them and knew they noticed the similarity too. “Don’t worry about it now. Maybe after you’ve rested and eaten something—”

The duke stepped forward and the boy jumped at the sudden movement, ready to defend himself. Giselle noticed how agile and fit the boy was and, from the look of him, quite strong, and wondered how a bow-kneed peddler had managed to overpower him in the first place.

“It’s all right, boy,” the duke assured him, stepping back to give him more space. “It’s as Giselle told you. No one here means you harm. This is my estate. My valet can show you where to bathe and tend to your wounds. He’ll bring you food too. And then you may stay on if you like. I can use some help in the stables.”

The boy nodded slowly, as if he was still wary. He looked down at his filthy, bloodstained clothes. “Maybe I’ll stay for one day.” He glanced back to Giselle. “Or maybe two would be better.”

“As you wish,” the duke answered.

The duke’s valet led him away to bathe and to take care of the cuts on his hands and a gash on his head where the peddler had beaten him. She watched as he walked away and wondered at his past and who was waiting for him to return. Who was missing him already? What had he left behind? What made him wander from home in the first place?

That evening at supper she discovered that, just like her, the only thing he could remember from his past was his name. As soon as she heard the name, she repeated it quietly to herself. It was odd how easily it rolled off her tongue. After supper she went to the garden to gather some lemon balm and then took it to him in the stable.

“It will help your wounds heal more quickly,” she explained. He took the leaves from her hand and she didn’t realize she was staring into his eyes until she blushed and looked away, but even as she rattled on about the lemon balm, she couldn’t get his eyes out of her mind. There was something unusual about them. Their light gray was the color of a pale moon, surrounded by a circle of black sky. The kind of sky you could get lost in, and she already had. She dared not look into his eyes again.