On the morning of her sixteenth birthday Charlotte had awoken to a rippling melody, but not the one she’d grown so familiar with. All four of them were standing beside the resurrected wardrobe, waiting for her reaction.
Charlotte took in the scene and promptly burst into tears, horrifying them all. But her tears were happy ones, and they were reassured when she leapt from her bed and grabbed Birch, who blushed like a rose when Charlotte made him waltz around the room with her. Ash then asked Meg to dance, and the four of them spun around the room like the wooden dancers twirling in the door. Jack simply watched them and smiled.
Now several months gone, her birthday was the last truly happy day Charlotte remembered. Relative peace with Jack had given way to ongoing conflicts with Ash. Their fights had grown more frequent and gained intensity. And they both knew why, but neither was willing to speak of the matter.
Charlotte’s sixteenth birthday had passed. That meant Ash’s eighteenth birthday was approaching.
Charlotte sighed at the thought and left the wardrobe doors open so the music would continue. Taking a soft cloth from one of the shelves, she returned to the basin and turned off the taps. Her chest was tight with thoughts of Ash coming of age. When he turned eighteen, he would leave the Catacombs. Leave her. And no matter how often or how vehemently she pleaded, he wouldn’t agree to let her go with him.
She moved the warm, damp cloth over her shoulders and down her arms, wishing that the soothing motion would wash away her anxious thoughts along with the grime of the day. Charlotte splashed water on her face, blotted away the moisture, and unbound her hair from its usual twist. Her russet hair reached to the middle of her back, and she used her fingers to work out the tangles.
Deciding that was all the effort her weary self was willing to put into grooming for the day, she reached around for the laces of the corset that bound her soft, sleeveless blouse to her torso. She loosened the stays and began the tedious process of freeing herself from the embrace of boning and leather.
Still working at the laces with her fingers, Charlotte walked back to the wardrobe and pulled open a wide drawer so she could return the corset to its place among its sisters. She ran her fingers over the varied textures of leathers that ranged in hue from the tawny shade of a fawn to embossed leather as dark as obsidian.
A sudden voice behind her made Charlotte give a yelp of surprise.
“Getting ready for bed, are we?”
4.
CHARLOTTE WHIRLED AROUND to catch Jack staring at her from where he stood in the doorway.
Charlotte’s hands froze on the laces of her corset.
“What are you doing here, Jack?”
He gazed at her for a moment and then said, “Your brother sent me.”
She waited for the polite reaction, which would have been for Jack to apologize and leave or at least turn his back. Instead, he chose simply to lean against the door frame and let his eyes roam over her.
“Do you mind?” Charlotte straightened up.
“No, not at all.”
She scowled at him. “I’m trying to get undressed.”
“You know I’m quite good with knots.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Need a hand?”
“No, not at all,” she parroted. Charlotte stared him down and carefully worked out the tangle of lacing at her back.
Jack didn’t balk, but remained perfectly still. A smile twitched at one corner of his mouth.
“I see you’re good with knots too.”
Unwilling to lose this dare, Charlotte pulled the corset away from her body and dropped it. The stiff boning clattered against the stone floor. When Jack still didn’t move, Charlotte glared at him but determinedly moved her fingers to the buttons of her blouse. A ripple of satisfaction passed through her veins when his eyes widened ever so slightly. She knew it was hotheaded of her, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of outdoing Jack. Though she wanted to laugh, it would ruin the moment, so Charlotte held her breath and slipped one button free, then a second. Jack’s skin began to pale, then his cheeks started to go pink. His changing expression made her hesitate. His face was no longer full of mirth, but instead was fighting shock . . . or maybe horror. The thrill Charlotte had been feeling boiled up into anger.
How dare he! Thinking he could spend every other moment teasing her and making suggestive remarks, but when she took up the gauntlet, he looked at her as though she’d done something awful.
Her cheeks were hot, and likely redder than his, which made her angrier still. She opened her mouth, ready to box his ears with her indignation.
“Holy Hephaestus!” Ash appeared behind Jack, who jumped at the sound of Ash’s voice and knocked his head on the top of the door frame.
“Bloody hell.” Jack rubbed the top of his head. “Can’t we make the doors any taller? This happens to me at least once a day. I’m going to have a permanent lump.”
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “Bring the falls down on us so poor Jack doesn’t bump his head? Don’t you listen to anything Birch says?”
“Only when he’s telling me how not to blow myself up,” Jack quipped. “Or suggesting that he’s going to teach that bat of his to scout for us during night patrols.”
“I think you should keep up the head injuries. Horns would be a natural look for you.”
Ash shoved Jack back from the door. “Why are you standing in front of Jack with only half of your clothes on?”
She blushed but said, “This is more than half. You can’t see anything.”
“And that’s a good thing,” Ash told her. “I’d hate to have to gouge Jack’s eyes out. He’d be much less helpful in a fight if he were blind.”
“Eye gouging? Really, Ash?” Jack laughed. “You know eventually someone’s going to peruse the goods Charlotte has to offer.”
“Peruse my what?” Charlotte began to look around for something to throw at Jack’s head, giving him a second bump to match the first.
“Jack—” Ash’s voice made her stop her search for projectiles and gaze at her brother instead. She hadn’t known Ash could growl his words, but apparently he could. And very well.
Jack continued without heeding Ash’s tone. “You might want to rethink your position, because I’m sure it will be someone she likes, and if you blind the poor fool, she’ll be cross with you.”
“I will most definitely like him, and he will not be a fool.” Charlotte rose on her tiptoes so she could glare at Jack over Ash’s shoulder. “Which means it will not be you.”