A Captive of Wing and Feather A Retelling of Swan Lake - Melanie Cellier Page 0,66

Gabe waited patiently. When I finished, he nodded slowly, the gesture visible now that my eyes had adjusted. I could even make out something of his expression. He looked torn—half proud, half worried.

I looked away to hide a smile. It would no doubt do him good to be worrying about someone else’s bold actions for once.

Several hours later, my back was regretting my brief foray into recklessness. Sitting comfortably was difficult in such a cramped space, and the shelves on every wall made even finding a back rest difficult. After the first twenty minutes I had abandoned my efforts to keep from touching Gabe, and we were now positioned on opposite sides of the cupboard, our legs stretched out in varying positions, often against each other.

But even if I had wanted to do so, the chance to change my mind was long gone. Ash would be back in Brylee by now, and Leander had returned to the main room of his study quickly. He had lingered there ever since, moving around, throwing things, and muttering inaudibly. Gabe had spent some time pressed up against the door, trying to hear what he was saying to himself, but had eventually given up.

I tamped down on my mounting fear, forcing myself not to endlessly calculate how much time might have passed. Instead I tried to review everything I had seen in the room and consider what the godmother object might be and where Leander might be keeping it.

My mind kept reliving the first time I had stumbled onto the lake. I had been following a voice calling my name. I knew now it must have been Leander, although it hadn’t sounded like him. He had been waiting for me, however. The image formed behind my closed eyelids, made more real by the low murmur of his voice through the cupboard door.

He had been kneeling by the lake, although he had stood up as soon as I arrived, smiling a smile that did nothing to put me at ease. I wouldn’t have accepted a drink from him if I hadn’t been so thirsty, and if he hadn’t given me a small, empty glass bottle that I had filled myself from the lake.

The bottle stuck in my memory, catching on the images of all the items scattered around his study. There had been several glass receptacles, although none that were an exact match for the bottle he had offered me that day. What had happened to it? I strained to remember. I had handed it back to him, I was sure of that. And he had claimed to be thirsty as well, so I hadn’t drunk it all. But had I ever actually seen him drink from it?

I didn’t think so. And when I recalled the image of him strolling out of the clearing, my mind included a flash of light from something in his hand.

I straightened, the movement sudden enough to produce a similar response from Gabe.

“What is it?” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “Did you hear something?”

I shook my head. Pulling my paper back out, I flipped it over so I could write on the back.

I didn’t attempt to explain anything of that day by the lake—writing and reading in the low light was a strain, and I didn’t want to run out of space in case I needed it later.

Gabe read the words twice through and nodded. As if to punctuate our renewed enthusiasm for the search, we heard the sound of the main door opening. We waited while it closed again and the key scraped in the lock.

I stood nearest the door, so I pulled it open a fraction, peering out. I could see no sign of Leander, so I didn’t hesitate, moving out into the room and starting to scan the mess. My eyes latched onto any sign of glass or anything reflective, passing over both of the mirrors and a number of glass jars and bottles that were too large.

Gabe, however, had crossed directly to the window.

“Adelaide.” He sounded strangled.

I looked over and felt my face pale, then warm. Even more time had passed while we were in the cupboard than I had feared. Already the sun was setting,