The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

27. Churning Ground

Churning Ground

Saturday, Present

“ C offee? Tea? Water?” Her voice is polite, but nothing more.

“No, thanks,” I say, too convinced that she would give me poison just as easily as cream.

Emily sets to making herself a cup, undisturbed by my rejection. Her apartment is similar to Paxton’s, in that it’s bright and open. But her personal touches are more pronounced. Opinionated. The thick red candle, the size of an arm, that’s in the shape of a naked woman’s body. The black casket, meant for a child, where someone painted a setting sky into its bed, hanging on her wall. I catalog all the pieces of her personality and feel the strangling vines of jealousy wrap around my thoughts at the surety she’s found in herself.

I’m only starting to learn how simple things can be when you are the one to put the value on your own worth.

She allows my eyes to wander, the silence languid and stretched with every tick… tick… tick of her nails against the mug. She doesn’t rush my perusal, nor demand that I get to the point of my visit, lending my curious gazes to turn to the woman herself.

At the Nest where I first met her, I thought her confidence merely produced by her thick-bodied cousin and a family name she could wield. Now I see it is fissured into the bones of her ribs. She isn’t graceful or entitled with it, like Madeline. Nor is she demanding and brood, like Issac. She’s sincere, bound to the fact that she is who she is and can be no other. That no matter how the world asks her to bend, she remains like a stone, incapable.

With each assessment I make, my admiration for her grows, if for no other reason than I can see a fraction of what Paxton must have. Still, it doesn’t change the circumstances. And I’m not foolish enough to believe that I know the person standing across from me. I have seen firsthand the destruction great minds create.

“Should we sit? You look like your body needs a rest,” she says, gesturing first to my arm, then to the pale grey couch that looks out onto the courtyard.

I move without answering, unwilling to explain myself, sitting on the furthest edge from where Emily is standing. She floats down, crossing her legs at the knee, leaning over them toward me.

“It’s ok, Evangeline. You can ask. I know it’s on your mind, and I don’t think we’ll be able to have the rest of this conversation until you get it off your chest,” she says.

I take a deep breath in, letting the scent of vanilla fill the nausea in my stomach. I want to know so many things. Why was Ally here? What contract did Issac want? Where do you fit into all of this? But there’s only one that really matters. Only one that dragged me here to begin with.

“Did you kill Paxton?” My words are low. Calm. My eyes are focused on her fingers enclosed around each other, sandwiched between her knees and her breasts. Waiting for any movement that tells me to run.

“No,” she whispers. “Evangeline, look at me.”

Her body hasn’t moved, not even a twitch in discomfort, so I do.

“I didn’t kill Paxton. My cousin, for all his stupidity, didn’t either. Though, I would be happy to let him get framed for it if you’d like,” she says.

“Why should I believe you?” I ask, worry etching my words with more excitement than they should. I work to pull back my heart from being so exposed, so raw, in the face of this stranger. I’m grateful when hers begins to surface as well when she scoffs.

“How can you even ask that? You received the letter. You know I’m telling the truth,” she answers. My face goes blank. She knows about the letter? My heart pounds at what that could mean, at what game Paxton was playing. I don’t confirm or deny deciding instead to play dumb. She looks at me, exasperated. “ The letter. Paxton left you a letter telling you to find me. At least, something to that effect. And he told me in my letter to expect you,” Emily prompts.

My mind reels. I never received a letter. Oliver did. And nothing in it said to find Emily. Nothing pointed us here but an envelope where the contents were stolen. That and a bit of intuition and luck. The letter from the envelope was yours. The thought is too much. Knowing someone has stolen the last piece of him from me causes my veins to tighten and heat to rush into my limbs demanding action. I push it all behind concrete walls in my mind, unwilling to shed tears or regrets here.

“I never received a letter,” I tell her. “Show me yours, and then I can believe you.” If what Emily says is true, she has proof, and I want to see it. She laughs, breathy and condescending.

“Not on your life,” she says as she stands. “Well, it was great seeing you again, but without the letter, I’m afraid you and I have nothing to talk about.”

Panic races through me, the legal papers in my pocket burning a hole into my thigh. I cannot leave without answers.

“Sit. Down,” I command.

I’m not even sure where the forcefulness in my voice takes shape, or why she raises her eyebrow in interest before plopping herself back into her seat. I know I should be cordial. Should catch the fly in this room with honeyed words and carefully woven webs, but between Oliver and Paxton, all the barriers between should and want are being burned down, leaving me with only the malice of need .

“I found something. And I’m not leaving until I get answers. I’m tired and beaten and ready for this game to be over so I can go back to a life that makes sense. Letter or not, you know I’m supposed to be here. You know what you’re supposed to give me when I arrived.” I stare her down, ready for any fight she might bring when I ask her the question that’s unraveling us at both ends. “Do you know who killed Paxton Poe?”

She eyes me in appreciation, smiling between her maroon stained lips.

“You’re asking the right question, just to the wrong person,” she answers, and it’s then that I know.

She knows who did it. Exhilaration and fear vibrate through my teeth, sparking off an energy that has no outlet but to rattle through the rest of my body. She knows. She knows. She knows. The words chant through me. I desperately try to telepath to Oliver, shocked that I’ve come this far, and he’s off pouting.

“Let me see what you found,” Emily says, leaning forward again, reaching out toward me.

“Tell me who did it,” I answer in taunt.

She sighs. “You know that isn’t how this works. If there was something I could tell you about it, I would. I can guarantee you it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Issac. Other than that, I have nothing more to give on the matter.”

Each of her words is even. There are no hitches or loss of eye contact. Her breathing doesn’t change, and her eyebrows do not rise or fall. As much as it kills me to, I believe her. And I know I won’t unseal her lips for the secrets she’s been told to keep.

“Fine. Who am I supposed to ask?” I try instead, hoping to hit a loophole.

She smiles. “He always said you were bright. That you had an ease at unraveling even the toughest knots. Determined and obsessive when it came to something you wanted. Things he loved and admired about you.”

Her words slap me, the sting of her familiarity like hot coals to Paxton’s memory. I work to recompose myself out of the illusion she is leading me to create.

“Don’t pretend you know him. Or me,” I sneer.

“Ah, but I did. Very well. Paxton and I were… close. In many, many ways. At the end, I would argue that I knew him best. I know he liked to take his tea out to the fifth bench in the park at dusk just to watch the sun settle. I know he snored softly when he slept the deepest, and that those nights were rare. And I know he loved you and Oliver more than anyone else in the universe. More than me, and more than himself,” she says, her sadness sweeping the indignation away like wind from the sails.

She waits for me to contradict her. To spit angry accusations and violent half-truths. She wants me to break down, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, even if her words are tearing me apart inside. Instead, I lean in, trusting the crumbs Paxton has left. I pull out the now crumpled papers from my pocket, holding them out for her to take.

“He left me these, tucked safely in an item from our past. I don’t understand what they mean since I haven’t had time to read them. All I know is that they are on a lawyer’s stationery and that you and I are both named in them,” I tell her, frustrated that I’m giving her the upper hand, but seeing no other choice .

She takes them from me, scanning before her brow breaks, and she laughs.

“Clever, clever, boy,” she mumbles before directing her attention back to me. “This is how you and I protect each other. How Paxton protected us, in the end.”

I look at her, confused. “You’re going to need to explain.”

“I know you’re probably curious about Ally being here. And from what I’ve heard about what happened at Crave the other night, what Issac wants from you. This tiny packet of papers you found answers them both.” She readjusts to lean back, leg tucking under her, as the room’s energy shifts. “Before everything happened, Paxton was in the middle of a deal with my cousin. I won’t bore you with the gritty details, but there were several patents being filed on ideas Paxton had to break into, and ultimately change, the death industry. And the Langley’s wanted in.”

I nod, remembering the conversation Oliver and I had the night of Paxton’s wake, feeling like a lifetime ago.

“Right, something about environmentally friendly and affordable burials,” I inject into her story.

She nods. “Yes. But that is just the tip of the iceberg. Overall, Paxton filed 72 patents in total. All of which he held under his sole proprietorship, The House of Poe. My uncle prompted Isaac to work out whatever deal he had to, to get access to those patents.”

I jump in, “And then Paxton died. Without a will. But you’re telling me Issac didn’t do it.”

A sad smile splits for only a second before she takes her teeth to her lip. “They had a contract. Or at least, he thought they did. Giving them total access to everything. A partnership with Paxton was more than my uncle could dream. The Poe name gave credibility, notoriety , to the Langley’s. Where once my family was a big fish in a small pond, now the oceans would open for the taking. The patents were only the goal because he never believed a partnership was possible.”

I let her words sink in, trying to find the fox in the hen house. But nothing sticks. I’m confused and reeling and unsure why I have anything to do with Paxton’s secret life that I never knew about.

“I… I don’t understand what the problem is then, or what Tyler had to do with it,” I say.

“With Paxton gone, that whole plan falls to pieces. There’s no way Madeline will honor the deal or the partnership. She hates the Langley name as much as any predecessor ever did. Not to mention that Paxton’s company, The House of Poe, is not listed under his trust. It wasn’t part of the Poe family assets, making it inaccessible to Madeline unless she petitions the court unopposed by the beneficiary. And the contract Isaac was promised for the patents doesn’t seem to exist. Leaving my family, no matter who controls the company, empty-handed without it,” she explains.

“And Ally?” I question.

“Didn’t you read the name of the law firm on these papers?” she asks. I shake my head and she sighs. “Ally is a newly partnered lawyer with a hotshot reputation. She’s the one who set this all up for Paxton.”

Realizing how deep Ally could be in all this has my breath hitching in my throat. I push the questions and distrust of her aside, filing it away for later, so I can focus on what’s important right now.

“What does this have to do with me?” I ask. At this she laughs, elation at the secret she’s keeping.

“Haven’t figured it out yet? He would be so disappointed.”

Her jest bites, prompting me to immerse myself in what I know and put away how I feel. The riddles Paxton’s left. The venom Issac feels. I think about the slim packet of papers and The House of Poe name. The intentional deviation from Madeline and Alexander. From his family. I imagine the safety of Paxton’s presence and how, no matter what, he would always take care of things. No ends would ever be left undone. And then it hits me.

“He signed it over to me,” I say, stunned. Her smile slices across her face, comradery thick in the air.

“To us ,” she corrects. “The House of Poe shares were put in our names months ago. The patents, the business, all of it is ours. All of it separate from Paxton’s assets and thus, out of Madeline’s reach. You’ve been listed as a silent partner, with absolute power to revoke my institution in the company entirely.”

The shock I wear on my face is enough to light a city.

“Why are you telling me this? Why not just continue to run the business without my knowledge?” I ask, incredulous.

“Because I need you, Evangeline,” she says, resigned. “We need each other. Not only would you be informed of your position eventually, but your signature is the only thing that provides me with leverage to convince my uncle to make me his heir. I can bring him the Poe partnership he craves; I just need you to confirm that I’m the only one you’ll work with. ”

“Why would I do that, Emily? After everything. How can I trust you? How can I work with your family?” I ask in disbelief.

I think of the way Issac’s hands on my skin had cascaded through me like an avalanche of pain. How his threats of retribution reverberated through the walls of my veins. And how I still believed he may have killed Paxton, regardless of what Emily claims.

“Because you need me, too. We both know that you can go to the police for what was done to you.” She gestures to my damaged arm and bruised face, disgust lacing her words, “but we also know he’ll only get a slap on the wrist, if that. It’s your word against his. Those with a family name and money don’t abide by average rule. Only the powerful can punish the powerful. Our partnership, and my deal with my uncle, will guarantee your safety and their retribution. I promise you; they will pay.”

She stands up to circle the couch, the delicate tension of our tenuous bond too much for her calmer sensibilities. She picks up a trinket, a black stone carving, from a shelf. It’s hidden too far in her palm for me to see what it’s of.

“As for trusting me... Paxton did. He thought that would be enough for us not to destroy each other, too. He told me I’d like you, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do. Whatever more Isaac has planned; I can tell you it’s vile. But I can stop it. They would never go against my uncle and my uncle will never take the chance of losing all this back to Madeline. Of always knowing his greatest accomplishment is just out of reach.”

She hands me the item in her hand and all I can do is stare. It’s heavy, an onyx raven, cut from the rock into hard angles. A rough scratched P on its chest. Tears grow quick in my throat as I think about another scratched P I know. I stop them before they can make their way up into my eyes. I think about what she’s saying. The opportunity and security of what Paxton has done will afford me. Or cost me. I dash the thought away. Paxton always knew that no matter what I said, our lives would be inextricably linked forever. And yet, he’d left me a way out of the labyrinth, anyway.

“There’s one more thing I need to tell you about the business… Paxton has ensured that someone with the Poe name can never run the House of Poe. Madeline would’ve had to put it in a trust with unrelated advisors should she have contested and you didn’t show. It would’ve been passed to someone else eventually, regardless. No one knows this but Ally, me, and now you . ”

Her voice emphasizes the secrecy of this information, and I’m not sure why. Paxton’s meaning is perfectly clear—Oliver and I will never marry. Even though I know the promises made now, it still scrapes at me to see how deep they went. If only he knew he has nothing to worry about anymore.

“Ok,” I say, tracing the rock as I do. “I’ll sign whatever it is you need me to sign.”

Emily closes her eyes, lips moving as if in prayer.

“But…” I interrupt. “I need to know what you’re supposed to tell me from the letter, before I do.” If I’m holding all the cards, I need to start acting like it.

She doesn’t fight like I expect, our time together dialing down. Instead, she reaches for the raven, which I reluctantly hand over, and answers.

“Paxton and I shared secrets, you know. Ones from now and the past. From our adolescence. You were in some of them. I knew he kept a lot locked away from me, but I also know, especially now, that there was a part of himself meant only for me , too.” Tears form but do not fall, and it makes me like her more.

“His letter didn’t tell me everything. When it comes to you, it left me with two directives: tell you about the House of Poe, and to give you your next clue.”

She hands me a small, folded note, tucked inside the raven. The note reads:

His decease will leave me the last of the ancient race of the Poe.

It’s a play on Roderick’s quote from The Fall of the House of Usher. A story of deceit and greed and family. Realizing where I need to go has me jumping from the couch, livid and ready to put this to an end. Before I can get to the door, Emily calls out to me.

“I realize your roots with Paxton run deep. That you understand him in a way very few do. But I can promise you, there was a whole life that you never knew, and probably never will.” She takes a deep breath, as if weighing what she’s about to say next. Still, she continues, “That man held multitudes and if anyone can live multiple lifetimes, it's him.”