Black Soul White Heart Page 2

  Sadly, I was best suited to the role of…girl.

  Which worked out rather well for me, considering the interest sparking in me over this boy.

  Every scrap of common sense cautioned me against him, yet every fiber of my being leaned toward him.

  “Amalthea,” he breathed, confusion softening the lines of his face. “I didn’t…” His gaze dipped down my outfit. “You’re…” He stepped back, stumbled, as if an unseen force had shoved him. “Pardon me.”

  Pivoting on his heel, he turned and left as if a pack of slavering wargs were chasing after him.

  “What did you do?” Meg eyed me with respect. “He all but sprinted out of here.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I worried a button on my coat. “He knew my name.”

  “He knew more than your name.” She scoffed. “He was fishing for information on you, on us.”

  “What does it mean?” I smoothed my hands down my pants, wishing for the ribbons and beads on my skirts to distract my fingers. “Who is he?”

  “A regular, as of a month ago,” John told me. “And a dangerous one at that.”

  Fingers twitching, I eyed the bag in his hand. “What is he?”

  “A witch.”

  “White witches aren’t dangerous.” I had never seen John so tense. “What is he really?”

  The air had vibrated around him, electric as a coming storm, and no white witch held that much power.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” John twisted to return the stock to its place. “Stay—”

  “Thanks.” I snatched the packet of herbs, rounded the stall, and darted after the boy. “Be right back.”

  John hollered behind me, and Meg laughed uproariously. She was always delighted when I was bad. It was one of the reasons why we were such good friends and terrible influences on one another.

  Ahead I caught sight of a tall silhouette wrapped in expensive black fabrics, striding as if he were on the verge of breaking into a sprint. Poor thing had no hope of escaping me. I ran with Meg’s pack each full moon. It was terribly unladylike, but it had given me stamina. Without cumbersome skirts, I was the wind itself in pursuit of him.

  “Sir.”

  I skidded through an intersection, avoiding a carriage and its great white horses by inches.

  “Sir.”

  The boy refused to turn. Either he hadn’t heard me, or he was determined to ignore me.

  Hard as I pursued him, he evaded with equal fervor, leaving me one choice that would tell me more than any conversation about his intentions toward me.

  “If you don’t stop,” I threatened, earning a few odd looks from passersby, “I’ll remove my hat.”

  The boy froze on the spot, heaved a sigh, then slowly turned to face me.

  To reveal myself as a woman running the streets in men’s clothing was to sign my own internment papers for the sanitorium. Perhaps a nunnery, but I preferred madness to piety.

  I was a heathen, after all.

  Ask either of my parents, or my siblings, or my best friend.

  Heathen or not, I would be ruined if my deceit were discovered by the townsfolk. I would be unmarriable in polite society. Though I was certain I could find a warg boy willing to take me on. Or, as I had been musing, Meg herself.

  Charles and I did make a striking couple, and wasn’t it said that you ought to marry your best friend?

  The boy held his ground as I caught up to him, and he was even more handsome in profile.

  “Who are you?”

  His lips pinched into a white line that caused my fingertips to itch with the urge to trace their bitter contour.

  “Hiram.”

  I waited, eyebrows raised in expectation, but he didn’t finish the introduction.

  “Hiram,” I prompted. “Hiram No Last Name?”

  “Why did you follow me?”

  Glad for the package in my hand, my hasty excuse, I thrust it out to him. “You forgot this.”

  Eyes riveted on the paper, he made no move to take it, and I caved long before him.

  “Here.” I shoved it into his coat pocket. “I’m in enough trouble as it is, without botching an order.”

  “Thank you.” He touched a hand to the paper. “I would have returned for it on my regular day.”

  “Oh?” Interest piqued, I leaned in. “What day would that be?”

  “Friday,” he breathed, skittish as a mouse before a hunting cat.

  “Friday,” I repeated, a bad idea already forming. “I’ll see you then, Saint.”

  The boy—Hiram—snapped his head toward me. “Saint?”

  “Your curls.” I reached up, tugged one straight, then released it to recoil against his scalp. “You look like an angel sent to walk the earth.” I scrunched up my face. “A fallen angel. Gilded hair, yes, but those eyes. There’s darkness in you, Saint.” I winked at him. “Lucky for you, I like a bit of mystery in a boy.”

  Saint caught my wrist before I could lower my arm. “Why do they call you Howl?”

  Thank all the gods and goddesses, I wasn’t a Christian, despite my weekly dose of church services.

  “I strip naked,” I whispered behind my free hand, “and run with the Kornegay pack on full moons.”

  Saint swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his gaze sweeping over my face. “There’s a full moon in two days’ time.”

  Any witch worth their salt tracked the lunar calendar to cast spells requiring a bit of celestial aid.

  “Oh?” I pretended innocence, not my best performance. “Is there?”

  “You are…” he wet his lips, “…an unexpected complication.”

  “You say the sweetest things.” I broke his hold with ease that told me he never meant me any harm. “Honey simply pours from your lips.”

  Saint grimaced at the taunt, but he kept drinking me in as if he were parched for the sight of me.

  “I’m not a good man,” he warned me, his voice rough and low. “You ought to keep your distance.”

  “I’m not a good girl,” I stated the obvious. “Perhaps it’s you who ought to keep their distance.” I inched into his personal space. “Or have you already tried? Do you come to market to watch me?”

  What little color lingered in his cheeks fled. “I…”

  “I was only jesting.” I studied him, thrilled to have hit the target by accident. Papa always did caution my aim was excellent. “Do you fancy me, Saint?” I took another step closer. “Is that why you approached today? You saw I was absent and worried?” I grinned. “Did you hear rumors of me and Charlie, or did you invent them as an excuse to pry?”

  “I must go.”

  With that, he angled down an alley, disappearing as if he were never there. Before I decided whether to chase after him, John caught me by the upper arm and hauled me back to the market, where he sat me on a hay bale to contemplate my reckless behavior. But the only thought circling my head was how soft Saint’s hair was between my fingers and when—not if—I would feel his curls again.

  4

  Punishment in the Winterbourne household came swiftly that afternoon. I wished I could blame John, but he was a good brother. Or a bad one, depending on your perspective. He wouldn’t tattle on me, preferring to babysit me himself rather than burden our parents with my latest scandal.

  No, I had betrayed myself. That stolen moment on the street, the spring of Saint’s hair against his scalp, had been noticed. And reported. To Papa. That type of intimate gesture between two boys was frowned upon in mortal society, and since we were playing at being human, the scales required balance.

  To stop tongues from wagging, Papa fired Howl and renounced him.

  Sadly, that didn’t mean he fired me.

  No, I was locked in my room and banned from the market for seven whole days.

  The next week promised nothing but dreary lessons on how to use magic we weren’t actually allowed to use. As well as how to grow and harvest herbs, mix tonics, prepare tinctures. Dull instructions on how to blend with hu
mans, how to lessen ourselves. And that was before you factored in the misery of etiquette lessons and the other dreadful requirements of being a well-bred girl born into a respectable family who was expected to hide her rebellious streak long enough to land a suitable husband.

  Viewed in that light, marriage to Charles grew more appealing by the hour.

  Two days later, still confined to my room, I startled when a note slipped under my door.

  Happy for any distraction, I lunged for it, peeking under the gap to lock gazes with John.

  “This was left at our stall,” he whispered. “I found it when I opened this morning.”

  Friday, I realized. It was Friday evening, and I had missed my chance to steal a moment with Saint.

  “Oh?” I shoved my thumb under the black wax seal. “Do tell.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. It was there, waiting when I arrived. I didn’t see who left it.”

  But he suspected it was his Friday customer, and I hoped against hope it was indeed Saint.

  “Thank you.” I rolled onto my back. “You may go now.”

  “Yes, your highness.” He hesitated. “Be careful, Howl. I can’t shake the feeling this is a bad idea.”

  “You’re my brother.” I opened the flap. “Of course you think a boy is a bad idea.”

  With a sigh that promised we would revisit the topic, he stood and left me sprawled on the floor on my side of the door with a note in hand.

  Howl, the moon is full. Come run with me?

  A giddy thrill swept through my chest as I pushed myself upright.

  The message could be mistaken as one from Meg, but the handwriting wasn’t hers.

  Sharp lines, hard slashes with a quill, violent in its delivery. Or urgent. Or both.

  “Saint,” I whispered, tapping the paper against my palm. “You naughty boy.”

  A hungry moon hung in the sky outside my bedroom window, heavy with portent…and potential.

  5

  A brown wolf with black points trotted beside me on my way to meet Saint. I was reckless, but I wasn’t a total fool. I brought a protector in case he had dishonorable intentions. Meg, always up for an adventure, wasn’t put out to miss the hunt. Not when there was a secret rendezvous to be had.

  The note didn’t spell out a meeting place, but the market would be deserted this time of night.

  Dressed in borrowed servants’ clothes, this time a simple dress, I was as anonymous as a lady could get.

  “Howl,” Saint whispered from behind me. “You came.”

  With a warning growl for him, Meg trotted off a few yards to sit and glare at him for the duration.

  “How could I resist a clandestine meeting?” I waltzed up to him, a sway in my hips. “Or you?”

  “You’re bold.”

  “This from the boy who sent me a message to meet him at night, unchaperoned.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  The change of topic tipped me off balance, and my thoughts spilled out. “Why?”

  “Dangerous people are following me, and I can’t be here when they arrive.”

  “I can keep you safe.” I clasped his hands in mine as if that would hold him. “My family will protect you.”

  An entire network existed for this very reason, to hide witches who required a fresh start to escape their pursuers. Black witches, once engaged in a hunt, didn’t stop until their prey was run to ground. A white witch in their crosshairs had only one hope for survival. An alias and a fresh start in a new town far from their home.

  “You can’t. They can’t.” He shook his head then peered down at me. “Why would you want to?”

  “You’re in trouble.” I squeezed his calloused fingers. “What kind of friend do you take me for?”

  “We only just met,” he protested. “You have no idea how reckless it was of you to come.”

  “Oh, but I do.” I rolled my thumbs over his knuckles. “Reckless ideas are my specialty.”

  “You should have run the first time our eyes met and never looked back.”

  A chill skittered down my spine, but I shrugged it off. “You won’t scare me off so easily.”

  “You don’t know me.” He honed his voice to a razor’s edge. “You don’t know who I am.”

  “You must want to tell me.” I gestured to the empty stalls. “Why else bring me here?”

  Naughty ideas circled my thoughts, most involving his lips, but his grim mood warned me he had other plans.

  “As I said, I’m leaving.” He flexed his jaw. “I wanted to see you one last time before I go.”

  The fantasy of stolen kisses evaporated as his meaning sank in. Silly to let it hurt, to let him hurt me, but it did. He did. This was what I got for climbing out windows and risking Papa’s eternal wrath over a boy.

  “Well, you’ve seen me.” I spun a circle. “Look your fill.” I struck a pose for him. “Done?”

  “Howl…”

  With a tip of my chin, I aimed for the exit. “Goodbye, Saint.”

  Meg fell in step with me, snarling over her shoulder at Saint, who let me walk away.

  “One more week.” He might as well have whispered his compromise. “I can stay one more week, but only if you’ll see me.”

  The words more than the offer coaxed me to turn and face him. “Have you tried to call on me?”

  “I left my card with your father, several times.” His stare bored into mine. “He told me you weren’t accepting visitors.”

  “Only because he refuses to let them in.” I huffed. “I’m in trouble.” Again. “I have most of a week’s penance left before I’m allowed out of my room.” I bit my lip. “Officially.”

  A coldness seeped into Saint’s features, bringing out the darkness in him. “He locked you in.”

  “No.” I didn’t trust the calculations running behind his eyes. “I mean, yes, but it’s not as if I can’t amuse myself with books or painting or embroidery.” Goddess, I hated embroidery the most. “I’m fed and kept watered, Saint. I’m not a prisoner. I’m just an unruly daughter who has trouble staying out of trouble.”

  Before his temper got the best of him, he must have decided I was telling him the truth and let it go.

  “Howl suits you.” A smile ticked in his cheek. “You’re wild.” He admired me. “Untamed.”

  “And you, my Saint, are the worst sort of temptation for a rogue such as myself.”

  His eyes flared when I dared to call him mine, and even Meg whined for caution.

  “Don’t call me yours unless you’re willing to be mine,” he warned, “and neither of us wants that.”

  “How can you know?” I cocked my head at him. “From minute to minute, I barely do.”

  Some might call me fickle, but I suspected it was boredom dulling the shine of each new hobby, draining the joy from the simple things I once enjoyed, exhausting me before each day had begun. I had so little control over my life that I spent most of it acting contrary to exert my will when, in truth, I had no say. About anything.

  Well, I wanted a say. I wanted a thing that belonged to me and me alone. I wanted excitement. A thrill.

  And since he was leaving, I decided on the spot that Saint could be those things for me.

  “The moon is full, as you so eloquently wrote, and I’m in a mood to run.”

  “Run?” His gaze flicked to Meg, who trotted over to us. “You actually…?”

  “Come on.” I slid my hand into his and tugged. “We’ll be called out if we stay here much longer.”

  A servant girl tugging a boy dressed better than the local gentry into the dark guaranteed to spark gossip. I could ill afford to be mistaken as a lady of the night if I ever wanted to see the light of day again.

  A yip from Meg signaled she was taking the lead, and we followed close. Nose in the air, head angled to one side, she located her pack and lunged in the direction guaranteed to reach them quickest.

  “Your legs are miles long.” I yanked on Saint again. “Keep up, or word your future letters
with more care.”

  “Future letters?”

  “You promised me one more week.” Laughter spilled out of me, the night freeing the tightness that coiled in my chest as the hours ticked past in my room. “How could you not want to see me again after this?”

  Saint’s answer was a smile. Not a large one. But a true one.

  The soft edge of it sent a pang through my chest, knowing our time was short.

  With Meg as our guide, we reached the Passel family farm and disappeared into the wheat stalks.

  A cold nose brushed the back of my hand, then sharp teeth nipped my skirt. A chubby wolf as black as pitch hit me in the knees and bowled me over while Saint grasped for me and caught air.

  For a three-year-old, Elliot had a lot of heft.

  “Get back, you beast.” I laughed as I pushed myself into a sitting position. “Don’t kiss me.” I spluttered as he licked my face. “Who knows where your mouth has been?”

  Light on her paws, Meg trotted over and lifted her little cousin off me with her teeth in his ruff.

  Elliot squirmed and whined, drawing the attention of other wolves.

  Four, five, six.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Half the pack ringed us, their golden eyes fixed on Saint, their upper lips curled from their teeth.

  “He’s my guest.” I frowned at their open hostility. “He won’t harm you. He’s a witch, like me.”

  “He’s nothing like you, Vonny.”

  A tall boy emerged from the stalks, naked as the day he was born.

  Phillip.

  The alpha’s son.

  The use of another nickname, a more intimate one, caused Saint’s jaw to set in a hard line.

  “He’s my friend.” I got to my feet. “Phillip, please don’t make a fuss.”

  “Vonny.” His eyes softened. “You have the largest heart of anyone I have ever met, and you’ll let anyone walk right into it.”

  “I’ll go.” Saint touched my arm. “Stay.” He glanced around the gathering. “Enjoy yourself.”

  “Wait.” I latched on to his arm. “Don’t leave.”

  “Let him.” Phillip stared down Saint. “He’s poison, Vonny. I can smell it.”