The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

“She cares.” Yara nodded at me.

I clamped my teeth into my bottom lip just to feel the pain.

Thax was silent long before he said, his voice low, “Ryn?”

I finally let my eyes crawl up from my feet to meet his gaze. “Don’t leave.”

His features fell.

I trailed my eyes around the dimly lit house, everything antique, with a deep layer of dust. It looked like it hadn’t been lived in, with only dozens of tiny dead songbirds decorating every available surface and space. Bird cages hung from the ceiling, little beaded eyes calling out in caged agony.

“Please, Thax.”

I didn’t hear him, but I felt him nod. He cleared his throat, resignation lacing his reply. “Fine.”

“Lovely.” Yara’s tone brightened instantly. “Yarrow will show you to your rooms, he’s already delivered your personal items.” Yara lingered at my shoulder, warm eyes dancing with mine. “I do hope you love it here.”

She squeezed my elbow once before walking off into the darkness of Usher House.

“I must be as crazy as she is to agree to stay here with you.” Thax bristled as Yarrow moved close, untying the binds at his ankles and then his wrists. He stood, rubbing his hands together, before focusing on me. “You owe me big, Weaver.”

Yarrow stopped at my chair, grunting and nodding once at me. I assumed he asked if I felt strong enough, I didn’t know if I did, if the tingling numbness in my feet was a product of the mock kidnapping or not. I wasn't sure, but I was too afraid to stay tied up a second longer, so I nodded.

He snipped my binds quickly, and I stood. Thax shot to my side as I swayed a moment. He held my elbow, forcing my other palm to plant against the wall to hold myself steady.

“What did she put in that tea?”

Thax laughed loudly. “You're cute.”

I shook my head, confusion and fog still present. “Why?”

“You believed her about the tea.”

“If I didn’t why would I stay here?” I shot back.

He shrugged. “Interest, research, inspiration.”

“At my own risk?”

“At your own adventure.” His eyes brimmed with mischief. “Chill, Weaver, as long as we’re together we’ll make the best of it. Besides, what kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I led you into risky territory?”

“I don’t need a knight.”

He assessed me with interest before his crooked grin tipped to the side. “You’re right, but you might need a lobotomy.”

“Speak for yourself.” I pushed off the wall, thankful when feeling made its way back to my toes.

Thax’s hand hovered at my back as I took a few tentative steps. “The only thing I’ve learned in the days that we’ve been in the program is that whatever comes out of that woman’s mouth is usually the wrong side up.”

I stopped to smile up at Thax’s face, the handsome slope of his cheekbone and warmth in his eyes had grown on me. “Who’s the scaredy cat now?”

He grinned, shaking his head once. “Speak for yourself, Weaver.”

PAST

Zara - Fall 1964

“Can I have another vanilla pudding, Miss Zara?” Jacob’s tiny voice cracked as he looked up at me. His eyes were big and round, their depths hollowed by the long hours of work in the lily cellar with the other kids.

“Sure.” I nodded, handing him my own, the last in the fridge. “I hope the governess brings groceries home tomorrow.”

I‘d taken to referring to my mother as the governess, just because the rest of the kids in the house did, and because she’d been so busy with her book editing and launch I’d started to take over their schooling more and more. I still left the math and science to the governess, but literature and social studies were all mine. I’d even taken to reading to them while they worked in the cellar for an hour after lunch on the days that Mother wasn’t there. She wasn’t there more often than she was now, and when she was home her excitement was infectious, as if she’d forgotten that she had nine foster kids and three of her own to care for all day.

She’d left for an extended trip to the city that morning, where she planned to attend meetings with the recently chosen director and leading characters of Lilies in the Cellar. They still hadn’t cast the children in the book, all eerily based off of her own children from what I could tell, but the production company had cast the role of the mysterious and beautiful Governess, a leading Hollywood actress that added instant buzz to the production.

I’d made her promise to stop and see father, to beg him to visit or write to us. As the governess spent more time away from Usher, I came to realize how much caring for we really needed.

Yara was as sick as ever, a tiny cough invading her lungs from dawn ’til dusk. I’d been dosing her with a cough suppressant that I made Walton walk to the pharmacy for, but it only seemed to make her drowsy and more confused. She often fell into a restless sleep right on the cold floor of the cellar, the kids walking around her as they carried packages in and out of the tunnel for the mail carrier to pick up at the front gates.

While all of us had lost weight, it was Yara that looked so frail the wind might topple her. Yarrow didn’t seem concerned, his own anger turned inward as he’d begun hunting with his slingshot late at night and then practicing taxidermy on the fallen. The walls of the tunnels and greenhouse were slowly piling up with tiny creatures and objects, all on display like a true house of horrors.

And Walton kept everything in order, shuffling around in Nate’s boots and threatening to sic the dogs on any kid that worked too slowly or whined too much.

The only time the kids saw the governess for more than a minute in passing was on