Blood and Wine - Margot Scott Page 0,27

the house. Edward taking her hand. Mariah smiling at her father. Him watching her at dinner, at work, every chance he gets.

Watching and waiting for a sign that she can give him what he desires.

Money. Power. A future free of limitations.

“I can’t...” I retreat from her until my back slams against the wall.

Mariah hops off the table and rushes to take my hands. As we touch, I see another flash: Edward caressing Mariah’s face. Edward spreading her legs. Edward kissing her, touching her, in all the ways I’ve kissed and touched her.

There’s no difference between what Edward has done, what he intends to do, and my own plans for his daughter. In this moment, we are the same person, working toward the same end.

Our freedom in exchange for hers.

“Will,” she says. I evade her grasp faster than I mean to. She gasps. “How did you move so fast?”

She stares at me, incredulous, as I leave her—

I return to my physical body, gasping and coughing, a heap of bones barely holding together on the concrete floor.

My chains feel heavier than they did this morning. The braces around my neck and limbs burn.

“Sorry to intrude on your little date,” Katherine says, “but I thought you should know that Mariah’s boss told Edward about yesterday’s episode in the garden.”

I turn my head in the direction of Katherine’s voice. My night vision isn’t as good as it should be, so I can only discern her faint outline through the bars.

“You put those visions in my head,” I croak.

“I showed you what you already know,” she says. “The conclusions you’ve drawn are your own.”

“If you weren’t already dead, I’d fucking kill you.”

“You were never going to go through with it, William. You know why you can’t.” She whirls around and exits through the exterior door.

Alone in the darkness, I open my mouth to roar, but all that comes out of my dry, cracked throat is another hacking cough.

Chapter Twelve

Mariah

I slide to my knees in front of the place where Will disappeared, my sweat gone cold and clammy from fear. He told me once that I look like incense burning when I leave him, and that’s how he looked to me. I didn’t think ghosts had anywhere to disappear to. Maybe there’s a deeper level to this plane I don’t know about. One that I can’t reach.

I refuse to believe Will’s a demon. My mom thought she met a demon once. He tried talking to her from inside her head, and it scared her so much she was afraid to be alone in a room for weeks.

Will doesn’t scare me. He’s more like my guardian angel, watching over me. I hope he’s okay, wherever he’s gone. As far as I know, there isn’t anything that can permanently harm a spirit. Still, before he vanished, he looked like he was in a lot of pain.

I keep an eye out for Will on the property the next day, hoping I might spot him in the bleed-through. In my dreams, I search the house and the grounds and come up empty. I try to get down to the basement, but the door is locked, and I can’t find a key.

A week passes, and I still can’t find him.

It’s like he’s disappeared without a trace, not that Will has ever left much of a mark on the landscape. But on the map of my memory, he’s a bright, shining beacon guiding me through the darkness.

Now his light is missing, and I don’t know which way is north.

Where did you go, Will? Why won’t you come back to me?

Edward stops me on my way out the door one morning to invite me to join the family for breakfast. It’s Saturday, one of our busier days at the winery, and I’m finally running on time for a change, but he insists.

“I already told Keema I’d be keeping you this morning,” he says. “I promise, you’re going to want to see this.”

I’ve been successfully avoiding Chastity and her mystery cocktails for a few days now. Whatever she has for me this morning, I’m not sure I can stomach it.

Swallowing a sigh, I say, “Okay, just for a minute,” and follow Edward into the dining room where Chastity and Christopher are already seated.

“Look what I caught in the hall,” Edward says.

Chastity bares her teeth. “How good of you to join us, Miss Greyson.”

“Morning,” I say.

Christopher fills his mouth with soggy-looking Grape-Nuts and says nothing. He’s once again taken to glaring at me when he