Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 21

S tanding in the foyer, I fumble with the paper and envelope in my hand. I’m slightly overwhelmed by what is to be my new house. Our new house.

Looking around, I find a small sitting corner in a wider open space on my right, with a built-in closet, presumably for coats and shoes. There’s an armchair and a side table made of dark-brown wood and forest-green leather, and a window that shows the street outside. It looks cozy.

My eyes go from the foyer to the hallway and the white walls that have a subtle beige sheen, so different from what I’ve grown accustomed to in our prison. The floor is dark-brown hardwood with matching skirting boards, and on top of it lies an L-shaped, forest-green rug that stretches through the foyer all the way to the end of the hallway.

My attention momentarily drifts back to the foyer. Just like the street outside, something seems oddly familiar about the place, as if I’ve been here before. I search through my memories, but nothing comes to mind.

Going by the outside of the house and what little I’ve seen from the inside, it’s clear this is the kind of house the rich and members of high society used to live in. Perhaps they still do. Which means that, even though I wasn’t poor before, it seems very unlikely I was ever here. Henry didn’t have friends in high society, at least none that I knew of. The same goes for my family; we were higher middle class, but definitely not that high. I realize that it’s going to keep gnawing at me for a while until I figure it out. Until I do, I decide to just ignore the feeling of recognition and have a look around.

Putting the key, paper, and envelope on the side table, I step into the hallway and cast a glance around to get a general feel for the layout of the house. There’s a door directly on my left and one further down. On the right are also two doors, and stairs peek from behind the corner along the same wall all the way at the end of the hallway. Then, there is the set of tall double doors across from the front door, all of them in the same wood as the flooring and the skirting boards.

I open the first door on the left side of the hallway and step inside a large dining room that expands into a living room, separated by an arch. The walls here are the same white with beige, and the floor is the same hardwood. The forest-green theme from the foyer is repeated in here with a thick rug under a dark-brown dining table. Matching chairs complete the dining room. In front of me are tall windows that look out onto the side of the yard, that I now conclude could use some work as it’s nothing but grass. The windows are framed by long curtains in the same green, but the fabric also has a flower pattern in a slightly darker shade.

As I walk over to the living room, I notice that—despite the place clearly being well-kept—it feels a bit cold. There are no traces at all to indicate someone has ever lived here, not a single personal touch to be found. It’s like a house and nothing more… I look over to the living room at the two large, dark-gray leather sofas, and I can at least imagine myself curling up on them with a book and a cup of tea. In the middle of the forest-green rug stands a delicate-looking glass coffee ta ble, and I already know it won’t take me long before I somehow manage to damage it.

There’s a fireplace on the right-hand side wall, and on the wall in front of me—between the windows on the left and the fireplace on the right—hangs a large rectangular contraption in black glass. I have no clue what it is, but it looks as delicate as the coffee table, so I stay clear of it. The corner on the right, between the black glass thing and the fireplace, holds another door that brings me back to the hallway. Stepping out and emerging in front of the stairs in the hallway, I decide to go to the second floor upstairs and look around there.

There is more green carpet upstairs and a door on my right-hand side, roughly ten, maybe fifteen feet away from where I came up the stairs. The hallway is another L-shape with two doors again on either side, mimicking the layout of the ground floor. Peeking inside, I find a bathroom done in white and dark gray behind the first door on the left. Just like downstairs, it all looks a little bit too clean and picture perfect, but I guess all this place needs is someone to actually live in it.

I find a door in a corner of the bathroom that leads to what I assume to be a guest bedroom. The bed is made and ready to be used, but the closet in the corner is empty, as if waiting for someone to move in.

Exiting the room through what appears to be the main door to the guest bedroom, I make my way to the door across the hall, where I find a small office, as void of life as every other room. There’s barely any furniture in it, save for a desk, a chair, and an empty bookcase. Compared to the study he had in our prison—before we trashed it, anyway—this is almost sad looking. Feeling quite underwhelmed, I decide to explore the penultimate door in the upstairs hallway I haven’t opened yet. As soon as I turn the doorknob and push, I’m stepping into what is clearly the primary bedroom. Not only because it’s the bigger room, but mostly because this one looks as if someone might actually be using it. There are no personal items that I can spot at first sight, but the atmosphere is somehow warmer, more welcoming.

The floor is all carpet, so I carefully slip out of my shoes and hold them in my hand so as not to dirty it. The carpet feels soft and warm under my bare feet, and I take a moment to dig my toes into it. I let out a breath and close my eyes for a second, enjoying this small, simple thing.

Contrary to the greens from before, the carpet here is beige to match the ongoing color from the walls. There is a vanity against the wall on the left from where I’m standing in the doorway, and a large built-in closet next to it. On my right is a chaise in the same brown wood and green leather as before. Against the right-hand wall stands a large, four-poster bed, neatly made up with black sheets and a black comforter with beautiful dark-green embroidery. There are nightstands on both sides of the bed, and the wall in front of me has more tall windows with dark-green curtains. There’s a door that leads to an ensuite bathroom in the far right corner against the same wall as the headboard of the bed.

The bathroom is decorated in the same white and dark gray as the other, smaller bathroom. It holds a shower and a separate bathtub large enough to comfortably fit two people. There’s also a washbasin with two sinks and a few matching cabinets. Opening a few cabinets, I find towels, soaps, and a whole assortment of toiletries, ready to be used. The space is still lacking a personal touch, but at least it’s something.

I head back into the primary bedroom, and while staring at the bed, the realization sinks in that we’ll be sharing it. It’s a strange idea to consider. Does he even sleep?

Then, there is a different kind of curiosity, and I step over to the large built-in closet and open it up. It’s already filled to the brim with clothes, mine on one side and his on the other—dresses, skirts, pants, blouses, shirts, suits, and ties, down to socks and underwear, it’s all there.

When, how, has he been setting all of this up? The only plausible explanation is that he has connections here, people that do this kind of thing for him. It makes me feel slightly uncomfortable to know that someone else went out and purchased all of this. In my exact sizes, I conclude upon further inspection of some of the dresses. Opening a drawer filled with lacy bras and underwear has me blushing with the idea that a stranger picked them out for me. I practically slam the drawer shut, unable to think about it for a moment longer.

Returning to the hallway, I feel like something is missing. The house is wonderful, but too normal. Too human. From the corner of my left eye, I look at the door next to the stairs at the end of the hallway, located a floor above the double doors from the ground floor. Something shimmers, barely visible even to my green eye. Curiosity peaked, I head toward it. When I place my hand on the handle, something stirs inside me. My magic flares up, urging me on and wordlessly shouting at me to open that door.

It opens outward, so I step back to allow space. Immediately, it exhibits the largest room in the house. Stepping inside, I gasp at the sight before me. It’s a two-story library. I’m standing on a six-feet-wide platform on the second story that continues along the wall on my right and curves to my left, to the wall across. There, the platform makes way for stairs leading down to the ground floor.

The walls on this half-floor platform are lined with rows and rows of bookcases. The color scheme of the walls and the wood is reminiscent of our prison: burnt umber, dark-brown wooden wainscotting and a matching hardwood floor. It’s oddly soothing despite everything.

Stepping up to the edge and leaning over the wooden balustrade in front of me reveals the floor below. I let out an excited squeal upon seeing what’s downstairs, a wide grin breaking across my face while I hurriedly make my way to the ornate wooden spiral staircase. Descending to the ground floor, I almost trip over my own feet in my eagerness.

The walls here are lined with more bookcases and glass display cases. Even though there are still empty spaces, about half of them are already filled with books and an assortment of peculiar objects that I will be inspecting in detail later on. The floor is the same hardwood as in the rest of the house, but most of it is covered up with a plush maroon rug.

The staircase brings me to the back-left corner, with the double doors leading to the ground floor hallway on my right diagonally across the room, centered on the opposite wall, and the library stretching out in front of me. Directly in front of me on the left is a large wooden desk, and the wall furthest away from me holds the biggest fireplace that I’ve ever seen. The fire inside it is already roaring, the magical flames casting shadows around the library and its heat wrapping itself around me in a comfortable embrace. In front of the fireplace are a few dark-brown sofas, accompanied by matching side tables, and looking like utter perfection. I can already see myself spending a lot of time here.

With my shoes still in hand, I once more dig my toes into the soft carpet under my feet, grounding myself. The heat from the fire warms me up as it spreads through me, putting me at ease. A smile curls my lips. I look forward to living here, more than I did living in my previous house. That one was cold and filled with sadness for so long... It almost seems impossible to consider that it could be different this time around.

My eyes go from the fire to the ring around my finger.

What Henry and I had started as love, once upon a time. But with everything that happened between us, there was no longer room for love in either of our hearts. Perhaps it could be different this time around, with someone that I didn’t start out loving? We both want the same thing, after all: to be free. And he clearly has no intention to break off our marriage. That much is obvious from just seeing the inside of this house.

Is this the home that I’ve been wanting to return to? Has this house been waiting for me without me ever knowing it?

Maybe, just maybe, I can wait and see what this, whatever this is, becomes. Maybe I can find happiness here, despite it being with the man that abducted me, imprisoned me, and abused me. The man who gave me a second chance at life. The man who, I’m quite certain, isn’t human.

A lump forms in my throat at the idea that all of that might result in happiness.

“I just need to wrap this up first,” I mumble, thinking of Henry once more and all the things that I want to do to his descendants.

Heading to the double doors on the ground floor, I exit the library and check out what’s behind the last two doors. The first one, closest to the library, holds a small bathroom, and the second one, toward the front of the house, contains the kitchen. The kitchen is beautiful, all white wood and dark-gray granite countertops, but also filled to the brim with kitchen appliances that make my head spin.

The only detail I’m able to make out is a small clock that shows both the time and date, telling me that it’s been another eighty years since the last time I was here. Saying that I don’t know how the flow of time in our prison works is a severe understatement. It goes slower, yes, but not always the same. A certain amount of time there is not always the same amount of time here. I need to find a solution for that, a way to fix the flow of time.

Between the sink and the window is a door that gives me a view of the side of the house. Upon closer inspection, I find that it opens up, revealing a small tiled city garden that’s walled off from the house next door. It’s around ten feet wide and runs along the side of the house to the front, where it’s closed off by a small metal gate. Thanks to the shrubbery in front of the house, it’s impossible to look into the garden from the street.

Standing here, a chill goes down my spine and my magic buzzes in alarm as I suddenly feel watched from the only direction that isn’t shut off. Looking up, there’s nothing and no one, yet I’m certain that someone or something is looking down on me. I mutter a few words and place a glamor over the small stone garden to make it seem empty, no matter what. It takes a few seconds before the feeling leaves me, indicating that whoever was here has left.

I’m certain that they will return, nevertheless. Sooner or later.

With one last look around, I return inside, closing the door firmly behind me. Something about it, though, makes me wonder, for it doesn’t seem like a coincidence. First the graveyard, and now here. And it doesn’t feel human. With everything I now know, it wouldn’t surprise me if humans aren’t alone on this Earth. He certainly isn’t human, and neither am I.

Not anymore.

A slight tugging behind my navel is the sign that I’m almost out of time, so I put down my shoes and slip into them.

In the blink of an eye, I’m returned to the library. He’s there, waiting for me. He looks pleased with himself, smirking at me while he sits on the sofa with his arms stretched out over the back. I frown at this, at the sofa he’s lounging in. It wasn’t there when I left. Does he have spare furniture stashed away somewhere?

“What did you think of the house?” he asks with a wide smile, clearly pleased with himself.

I give him a shy smile back as I sit down next to him. “It’s beautiful. How did you…”

“I have people on the outside that take care of everything when I can’t.” He leans into me, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger .

“Everything?”

“I’ve managed to acquire an impressive amount of assets that need to be curated at all times.” He looks up at me. “Seeing my current disposition, I needed someone to oversee all of that in my name.”

“And you actually trust someone with that?” The question almost comes out as a sneer, because I honestly can’t believe that he would.

The underlying tone of his smile changes. A knot forms in my stomach as I’m suddenly certain that I’m not going to like his answer. “I only trust my own blood. And even they have my trust only for as long as they remain loyal.”

I fully understand what he’s saying. Yet I still need to hear him actually say it, and he knows.

“Yes, I conceived a child with a human.” His smirk turns into something different, and I pull away from him. “It’s the most efficient way to tie someone to you. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But blood thins out surprisingly fast,” he adds, as if I want to hear more.

“And in all honesty, humans break too easily, so they’re no fun. Instead, every so many generations, the oldest child just gets a transfusion of my blood. The effect is the same but without the hassle of needing to get some woman pregnant.” He’s so matter-of-fact about it, it’s sickening.

It would almost convince me that it’s nothing more than a necessary evil to him.

“It was. I would have never lay with a human if I had known that there was another way.”

“If they have your blood, does that mean that they also have your magic?” There is a slight shake to my voice, a note of uncertainty. If he notices, he doesn’t let on.

“Don’t worry, you’re the only one. Not only do I need to give it willingly, but they also don’t have the aptitude for it. Besides, I monitor their procreation very closely, in case anyone gets any ideas. Those that have tried to add a magical or otherwise non-human bloodline have been made an example of.”

I gulp, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress, for I know all too well what he means with that.

“How do you keep track of it, of anything, with the time difference?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.

“The promise of money and power is an awfully strong motivator. It keeps them in check well enough, especially since they know that I won’t hesitate to kill a spouse or even a child if the need were to arise.” The calm and composed way in which he speaks about murdering whole families to keep his bloodline clean has me realizing that I still have a lot to learn. And that we truly have quite a few things in common.

“But enough with the boring talk. You’ll meet them soon enough and then you’ll understand, for they are your blood as well.” He cups my face in his hands, our lips almost touching. I feel my body heat up, but I need to ask.

“Because we share your blood?”

He chuckles, nips my ear and whispers, “Because I’ve been mixing in your blood for the last few generations.”

“How…” I pull away from him, a bitter tang in my mouth preventing me from finishing my question. Is it disturbing, yet kind of sweet at the same time? No, it’s disgusting.

“I kept some of your blood from when you first arrived here.”

Remembering the process of my rebirth makes my stomach turn. Right here and now, I decide that I don’t want to know the details of how he made that happen.

I’m brought back to the moment by a bite on my neck, followed by a kiss. My body tenses for a moment at the first, then relaxes at the second. I arch into his touch, and a soft sigh escapes me. I still feel so conflicted about this situation—about him. Every time he touches me, I want nothing but to give in to him. Yet I find myself unable to, shame at the mere idea making me blush.

I was certain that I left that kind of shame behind a long time ago, but it looks like I was wrong.

He regards me as if he knows what’s going on inside my head. Maybe he does, for his knowing smile only tempts me more. No matter how badly I want to, I find myself unable to act upon my desires. So, instead, I get up from the sofa and walk away. His laughter follows me through the library and all the way to the garden.

Desperately trying to distract myself, I wander around aimlessly. I find myself standing in front of the doors leading to Sophia’s quarters, a place that I have been avoiding. At first because I had no business here, then because it felt wrong that I wanted to snoop around. Now, I find myself unable to hold back.

She’s dead, so it’s not as if it matters anymore.

Pushing open the doors and stepping inside is like taking a step back in time. Sophia’s quarters consist of an enormous open space, in which stands what I assume to be an ancient Greek temple. The inside of the temple is mostly a large, open room, divided by tall stone pillars. Prompt in the middle of it stands an enormous brazen bull. A fire burns under its belly, the flames licking the bronze. Steam comes from its nostrils, and a faint wailing sounds from within. Looking at it leaves me with a very unsettling knot in my stomach.

If the temple is a reference to her old life, then is the bull a reference to how she died? The mere idea of the pain and pure agony of dying like that is enough to make me feel sick. The way that her magic was so similar to the fire burning underneath the bull’s belly leaves little room for doubt. But why would she put this in here? Why would she want to remember it at every turn?

Unable to look at it for another moment, I turn away from the brazen bull .

In the far right-hand corner, I find a door that leads to a small bedroom with an adjacent bathroom. Despite the size of the structure, everything else is kept humble. I have no problem picturing her here, in this place that must resemble her past home.

Walking through Sophia’s quarters, I find a small library. It’s almost hidden in a maze of hallways and rooms. The furniture is modern, a stark contrast with the rest of the interior, and done in the same colors as my own room. It consists of some sofas, a writing desk, and multiple bookcases that line the walls. The shelves are filled with books, thin and flimsy—more like notebooks than reading books.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open one. Flipping through the pages, because I clearly have no shame, I find that they are all diaries. Sophia has written down everything that has happened, in great detail. There are whole shelves dedicated to her life before the one she had here, including her first death. The details of her murder are gruesome and confirm my earlier thoughts about the brazen bull.

Going through more and more of her diaries, I take a seat on one of the sofas. I learn that she didn’t write solely about her previous life. Even her life here is captured in great detail. From the day that she arrived until the day before she died. Reading it, I shift in my seat as a bad feeling sweeps over me.

The more that Sophia wrote down her thoughts as they came to her, the less that they were just thoughts. It’s as if she knew that I was going to be reading this. In some pages, it’s as if she apologizes to me, telling me how she had to steer me into a certain direction and subtly influence me to make the choices that he wanted me to make in regard to magic. Even though it’s painful to read, seeing how her mood sometimes changed, it unfortunately doesn’t come as a surprise.

A light chill goes through me as her words turn into a warning, now clearly aimed directly at me. She warns me to stay away from him, that he’s a monster and that I’m to not be swayed by whatever he promises me. It would mean more if I hadn’t already started to see him as mine .

I skim over a few more pages until I read the most impactful words that she could have ever put to paper. Words that have my heart missing multiple beats, if not downright stopping.

He has been manipulating you,

from the very beginning.

He knows that there are three children,

and he knows that you are unaware.

For a split second, everything goes dark around me. He wouldn’t.

He knew that ending Henry meant everything to me. He wouldn’t dare.

He knew that I would need his help to get back if I failed the first time. He would.

He knew that I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted if there wasn’t anything in it for me.

Sophia warned me, told me that all of this was orchestrated. She confessed as much in her earlier writings. And I was a fool, an idiot, for not heeding her words. I was so set in my desperate need for revenge, in my need to break free from this place, that I refused to see it, even when I had my suspicions toward her honesty. I refused to see what was right in front of me. Of course nothing happens here without it benefitting him.

He did. I’m going to murder him.

The sofa topples over from the force with which I jump off it, screaming as I throw the diary away from me. My whole body trembles, my magic violently surging through me. It crackles at the tips of my fingers, and the diary on the floor bursts into a million tiny pieces, fluttering to the floor as nothing more than dust.

My ears are pounding and, when I turn around, whole shelves of diaries explode with the movement. Red is everywhere, so deep and dark that it makes me unable to think straight. It tries to swallow me whole, urged on by the adrenaline that rushes through my body. It takes all I have to not let it, even though I want to give in to it.

My hands touch the walls, and blue fire erupts from the tips of my fingers. It spreads and, moments later, whatever is left of the diaries catches fire. I look at it, at how similar it is to the library. Except that this time, I don’t care.

Let it burn.

Something inside me turns and clicks, like a lock being opened. Another kind of magic seeps through the cracks of whatever door was opened deep inside. It feels dark and twisted.

His magic.

I feel it mix itself with my own, surging heavily through my body. It feeds my anger as it’s being fed by it in return.