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Chapter Eight: Checking Out - Part One
Larkspur Plant: (Delphinium) This fragile, complex plant grows colorful, star-shaped flowers grouped together in a raceme pattern atop a tall stalk. Though highly poisonous, it’s used in herbal medicine to treat asthma, dropsy, and parasites. It’s also used during the Feast of St. John to stave off lightning and, in Transylvania, to ward off witches.
Also called Knight’s Spur and often represents an open heart.
Lenten
Lenten looked at his watch again as he sat at his desk, piles of undone work in front of him.
It’d been five hours and thirty-two minutes since the Drury boy had cast his spell, or whatever it was. Lenten had been watching the proceedings in the sunlit dining room—hiding like some snooping child—from the second floor overhang.
He’d watched with bated breath as Mei’s features gently reappeared, as if an invisible artist were painting her with divine brushstrokes.
First her lips, so pink and soft as their delicate shape had swept across her face.
Then the sweet blush of her cheeks as they’d touched the silken surface of her skin.
He’d almost laughed with tickled relief when her nose twitched as she’d smelled the strong, mentholated scent of the pennyroyal tea, her eyebrows raising at the sudden sensory awareness.
Even after everything he’d seen at the hotel—perhaps because of it—Lenten had always hated magic. It was irrational, inexplicable, and uncontrollable. And it always had implications.
There was always a price to pay.
But watching Mei reappear from the nothingness she’d been all but banished to had felt like a fairytale.
But this wasn’t their happily ever after.
He knew that.
Rowan had explained everything to him that morning, before he’d given his concoction to Mei.
Nine hours.
More than he’d thought; less than he’d hoped.
Rowan had asked if Lenten would allow Mei to say goodbye to Olive. If he would allow Olive to say goodbye to Mei.
“You’re asking me?” Lenten had replied.
“You’re her uncle,” the boy had said with a shrug. “Her guardian. Family. Of course, I’d ask.” He’d averted his gaze. “You’re just trying to protect her. Trying to act in her best interest, I know that.” His voice had hitched with hesitation. “It’s just that,” he’d added, taking a step back, “sometimes even protection can hurt.”
Hours later, Lenten was still arguing with himself over the decision he’d made.
Mei had been a mother to Olive for thirty years; they both deserved the right to pay a last respect to that relationship. It would be heartless of him to deny them that and he wasn’t a heartless man. He tried very hard not to be.
He’d only had two requests when he’d agreed to the boy. The first was that—if the enchantment worked—Olive would be the first person Mei said goodbye to and Mei would only be allowed to stay until the first signs of the spell fading.
He wouldn’t have Olive seeing Mei vanish twice.
After nodding, the boy had asked, “What’s the second request?”
“I’ll be in my office all day;” he’d told the young man, “please inform everyone that I’m not to be disturbed. For any reason.”
Lenten looked at his watch again. Five hours and forty-three minutes. And not so much as one pen mark of work to show for it.
He groaned and leaned back in his chair. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his hand against his tired eyes. He needed to leave. To sleep. By the time morning came, this would all be over and his life—such as it was now—would go on again.
Lenten stood, straightening his tie and suit coat as he readied himself to leave. Shuffling his papers, he lingered a bit, trying to imagine his life without Mei but finding it impossible. With a sigh, he closed the door to his office, hearing the lock slide into place.
A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he stared at the door, the sweet scent flooding his senses even before his mind could put it all together. His hand moved slowly, unsurely, as he reached for the sprig of heather hung on his door.
He wanted to rip it off his office. He wanted to toss it away, fling it far from him.
Instead, he found himself bringing the delicate flowers to his nose, inhaling deeply as he walked aimlessly through the hotel.
It was funny how a scent could take you back. How it could dig inside your mind and dredge up every memory, every emotion. He wondered if he’d always think of her when he smelled that scent.
He was afraid that he already knew it would.
Lenten was surprised—though he supposed he shouldn’t have been—when he found himself on the second floor. He sighed, tucking the sprig inside his coat’s inner pocket, and headed for Suite 206.
He stopped just as he turned the corner, the sight of Olive curled on the carpet in front of Mei’s door stalling him.
It shouldn’t have surprised him.
He nodded and went to the young girl. She was sweet in her pink and white pajama set with her little Daisy held tight in her arms. She was all lace and starlight, like a pixie come to life. She was so small, so fragile, yet here she was standing watch. Protecting the woman she loved with a strength so much older than her years. A strength that—despite the difference in their age—he just didn’t have.
He bent down to anchor a stray strand of her soft, red hair behind her ear. He loved her so much.
She was his world.
She was his home.
Sliding his arms around her, he scooped her up into his secure embrace. He cradled her small weight against him as he carried her up to her own bed. He tucked her in, pulling the blankets up around her small form.
She cooed softly and curled into her pillow with a slight snuffle. He smiled as he bent low to kiss her forehead and lay the sprig of heather beside her on her pillow, hoping the scent could comfort her and fill her dreams with good memories.
He stood next to her, staring as the moonlight sifted through the curtains to shine on his niece’s sweet, sleeping face. She was so young.
Never mind that she’d been eight for more than thirty years; she was just too damn young.
She’d already lost her mother at birth, then her father. Now this. How could fate be so cruel? How much more could she bear before that indomitable spirit he so envied broke beneath the weight of loss?
Kissing her goodnight again, he vowed that he would never let it happen. Never. She was all he had left of his brother. The only family he had. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage, but he wouldn’t let her lose anyone or anything else. He just couldn’t bear it. He pulled the covers more tightly over her, shielding her from the night’s chill, before making his way quietly out of her room.
Instead of heading next door to his own quarters—as he should have—Lenten kept walking. He knew exactly where he was headed, even if he’d have liked to pretend otherwise. For all his intentions to rest and sleep the night away, there was never another destination.
Lenten sighed as he knocked softly on Suite 206’s door.
Forcing himself not to flee, he waited for Mei to open the door.
He was just about to leave—in spite of how cowardly it made him feel—when the door creaked open a bit and a hand peeked out to curl around the door. “Mei?”
He saw her fingers tense before sneaking back inside as the door swiftly moved to close.
“Mei.” He lay a reflexive hand to the door, keeping it open. “Mei, please,” he pled softly. “I just,” he paused, “wanted to say that I’m sorry. For running out on you.”
Still the door remained closed.
“I didn’t want to leave things this way.” He didn’t want the last thing he said to her to be that he didn’t have time for her. “Please, let me in.”
Reluctantly, the door opened a bit, so he could see her shoulder and side, but still she hid behind door.
“I am so sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Can we talk?” He tried to push the door open more. “Mei, please.”
There was a long pause before she pulled the door wider, stepping out from behind the door.
He inhaled sharply as she faced him. Just as quickly, she turned her face away again.
It had been six hours.
Six hours and already her features had all but faded, making them difficult to distinguish. Her face was a smooth, unvaryingly cream-colored surface, broken only by the dark depths of her eyes. They looked huge and wide set in the expanse of beige and they shone with sadness and shame as he stared.
“Oh Mei.” He reached up to cup her face. She turned away from his touch.
He had waited too long. Their time was up. His chance to talk—to explain—was gone and was never coming back.
He was such a fool.
He let his hand drop as he bowed his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” His voice broke as he shook his head. He swallowed hard. “I should go.”
Lenten turned to leave, but stopped when he felt her hand on his arm, halting him. He turned back, surprised. He watched as her hand drifted down his arm meaningfully to clutch his hand. “Mei?”
He looked into her eyes, full of worry and expectation. He could only imagine, knowing her as he did, that she would have bit her bottom lip with such nervousness—if she could have.
He sighed with disappointment as he let his gaze wander to the place where her lips should have been.
He’d never kissed her.
That was all he could think. In thirty years, he’d never once known the feel of her lips against his. He shook his head, feeling his throat tense with regret. “God, I’ve been such a fool.”
As she tightened her grasp, he saw her gaze deepen with what he thought—what he hoped—was forgiveness.
And, possibly, love.
He didn’t deserve her—as fate knew all too well.
She stepped back into the darkness of her room, her arm straightening as she kept hold of his hand. She looked at him questioningly as she turned her head to invite him inside.
Six hours gone.
Three left.
By the time the sun came up, it would be over.
And she would be gone.
As she waited for him to enter, her grip on his hand loosened, pulling him back into the moment as she let him go. The questioning look in her eyes had turned anxious.
She was letting him off easy.
He knew her too well; she wouldn’t force him to stay no matter what she wished.
Even as she was, she was strong enough to let him be weak.
He couldn’t stand it, seeing such uncertainty and doubt in her gaze.
Grabbing her hand before she could pull away, he shook his head as if the action could banish those worries from her. “Mei,” he said softly as he touched her face, stepping closer to her and into her room.
Though her skin was still soft, pliant beneath his fingers, the shape and the texture of it was off. Though his mind knew it was Mei he was touching, his hands could tell a vital part of her was already gone.
Her eyes fluttered shut and he almost panicked. Watching the lids shield her eyes—erasing that last bit of her—was too much.
“Don’t,” he begged, sliding his thumb beneath her lashes. “Don’t. Not…Not yet.”
He breathed easier as he saw her eyes open, melting with delighted relief when he walked her back into the shadows.
Fate may have decided to take everything else from them, but—he was determined—they would have this night.
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