Alone with the letter, Remi pulled away the unmarked wax seal and withdrew a crisp sheet of paper. The writing was neater than its predecessor—each letter and word written with care. The blood in her veins went cold. She gripped at her chest as she read.
Dearest Remi,
My love...my pearl, my single white rose...you have stolen my breath, my very heart, and so I have stolen yours.
“My heart?” Remi sucked in a breath, her fingers tightening around the parcel still in her grip. “They mean my locket.”
Fear not, for I have sent it back to you as if new. My Remi, I have bled for you now...all so that a part of me will always be inside your heart. Keep me close, my dearest love.
The letter fell from Remi’s hands as she tore open the package. She dropped the contents to the floor, startled by a red-stained handkerchief with her initials hastily sewn into it. From the fabric, her locket loosened itself. It lay open on the ground, her own face staring back at her.
FLESH
REMI
Remi turned her nose up at the tea Sylvie brought for her.
She couldn’t stomach a single thing, and every time she tried, she emptied her stomach again. The bile at the back of her throat burned sour.
“When did this note first arrive?” Ben asked. He’d just returned from a trip into town, and as much as she wanted to ask him about it, she couldn’t get him to change subjects.
“The first one? Edgar’s wake,” she admitted.
They had remained in the parlor, though Remi would have preferred to sit in any other room. It was the last place she had seen Edgar. With moths crawling out of his mouth. A trick of her imagination, but terrifying nonetheless.
“And the locket, with the handkerchief, arrived today?” Ben glanced at Sylvie, who shied away at his attention. “Who delivered it, Sylvie?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
“Was it left with you?”
Sylvie shook her head. “No.”
Ben let out a sound of frustration, causing both women to flinch. He mumbled an apology and took a deep breath, finally kneeling beside the arm of Remi’s chair. Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze to coax her to look at him.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That these notes are disconcerting,” Ben said, frowning. “And that the person who wrote them is deranged. You’re sure you have no idea who the author might be?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea who might be sending them,” Remi said, her stomach turning again at the mild scent of chamomile.
Ben noticed. “No tea, then?”
Remi nodded, her hand on her stomach.
Sylvie took the tray and left without another word, leaving Ben and Remi to their privacy.
“You should rest,” he said, his tone soothing.
“I don’t think that I could right now.” Remi bit back a sob. The safety of her room was violated. Every inch of it felt unfamiliar now, tainted by her unseen admirer. Returning to her room to sleep in her bed would be difficult.
Even the house, once quiet, had come to life in the last few days. Its spirit—or spirits—suddenly restless. Everything wanted her attention, and she felt like her mind was unraveling from the visions and notes.
“You might sleep with me,” Ben suggested.
Remi’s eyes widened.
Ben, flustered, hurried to correct himself. “I meant you could sleep in my room. I’m happy to sacrifice my bed if it means that you are able to sleep soundly.”
“There are other rooms,” Remi said.
“There are,” he agreed.
“And it would be inappropriate.” A blush spread across her cheeks, and she caught him staring.
“You make an excellent point.” Ben chuckled with a slight shake of his head, loosing a strand of his black hair from behind his ear.
Remi, without thinking, reached for it and gently tucked it back into place. The tips of her fingers lingered on the soft curve of his ear. Touching him was like sitting under the sun on a summer day after a brisk spring. For too long, she’d felt colorless, another dull penny among the people on their Isle. But not with Ben—not as a child, and certainly not now. The first time she laid eyes on him, she could feel the sunshine rolling off of him.
He was a sunspot in the gloom again.
Remi’s fingers brushed along his cheekbone, stirring him. He closed his eyes and turned his lips to her palm. She felt his breath against her skin and shuddered. The notes, the locket—all were momentarily forgotten when his eyes fluttered open again. She found a strangeness to them, an unfamiliar darkness that had swallowed his eyes whole. Remi felt herself lean in closer, smelling wool and salty sea air. She wondered if his lips would also taste like the brackish morning air.
“Did you go into town this morning?” she asked, trying to refocus.
“I did.” The curled smile he’d been wearing faded quickly into a frown. “I met briefly with Lamotte.”
“How was he?”
