Page 13 of How to Woo the Undead

Thankfully, when he returned to the table, she was more interested in watching him work than investigating the large man in the shadows. He worried his hands would tremble from how nervous he might be…but she wasn’t intense. Odd, maybe, as she kept turning her head in different directions to watch. But not intimidating.

Hyacinth laid her cheek to the table, watching the machine stitch the two edges of the lining and the fur together. The candlelight caught all her angles, highlighting her brow bone and her nostrils. It almost gave her a ghostly appearance. Then she stood up and watched from a different angle, getting a more ethereal glow.

“How does it work?” She finally asked, tentatively poking at the crank he was using to stitch.

“Would you like to try? I’ll have to—it’ll be like hugging but not a hug?”

Hyacinth gave him an innocent shrug before she rounded the table. Austin pulled back quickly, giving her a full arms width of room between him and the table. She slid right in between him and the table, taking up the device. There was no time to hesitate or consider another option as she immediately put the device against her fingers. He pulled both her hands apart rapidly and put the sewing machine back to the fabric.

“It won’t hurt.” Her shoulders rose and fell, as if shrugging, but it was a jerky, unnatural motion.

“Just because your pain receptors do not work yet does not mean it is a good idea,” he blurted out. The words spilled out of him, and he realized he soundedexactly likeLord Rosemont. “Undeath doesn’t mean immortal life.”

“I could die?” her whisper was soft, causing the air in the laboratory to tense.

“Yes,” he confessed like she’d tugged it out of his chest with a rip cord. The real matter of the fact was that he was not infinite. Neither was she. They weren’t liches nor gods. The pair of them weren’t Slenders nor eldritch horrors. Not a ghost or a wraith or a specter haunting the halls of Rosemont Manor. They were Undead. But undeath was not the end.

Austin continued, voice a little rattled as he gave her the same talk that Sebastian gave him the first time he was forced to protect his maker. He tried not to change a word. It was important she heard it right. “Your heart is a very delicate thing that many will overlook. While you can lose your stitching, fall apart at the seams. You can behead yourself or change your limbs if they don’t suit your needs. And you may never be able to feel pain, or it may be dull. But you can die. All they need to do is rip the organ from your chest and crush it. The reason it takes 30 days for your heart to start beating on its own from when we sew it into place is because it is delicate. A heart’s a very sensitive thing. Not only is it heavy but yours is enchanted with magic that can unravel you…permanently.”

She stiffened at the thought, and he feared that would be the end of their interaction. Even though he’d been enjoying it beyond anything else, he knew the cold realization that he was not, in fact, infallible. It took him days to shake it off.

Only, Hyacinth took a deep breath in through her nose. Rolling her shoulders back, she put the sewing machine back to the fabric and took up the crank. “So, do I crank this toward the dark or toward my body?”

Austin blinked rapidly before returning his hands to engulf hers.She’s not upset? Maybe it’s not set in yet. Maybe it will take time to feel real.But as he worked her through attaching the lining to the thick hide, she did so without flinching.And most importantly, without screaming in terror.

Chapter Seven:

Hyacinth

Ateddybearisa fluffy, furry thing that I can hug.Hyacinth squeezed it to her chest triumphantly as she followed Agatha up the stairs for bed.Best of all, it smells like him. Like soil. Like freshly tilled earth and dew drops on tree leaves and thunderstorms.Despite the shock of that memory that didn’t belong to her, she decided she liked the smell of Austin.Even if he doesn’t like being seen.

Hyacinth brought the bear up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Calm after the storm, that’s what Austin smelled like. It filled her lungs as she held the scrungly looking teddy bear close. It was lumpy in the belly and one of the button eyes was bigger than the other, giving it a horrified stare, but the round ears were adorable. And it wasso fluffy. Like a bearskin rug, she could run her fingers through it. Austin even braided some of it and put a bow on top of its head. The lavender ribbon tickled under her chin as she squeezed the bear.

“Agatha?” Hyacinth asked, stepping up to the second floor. She followed the banshee holding the candelabra aloft, the flames making the walls glow. “Earlier, when you abandoned me in the lab—”

Agatha scoffed, huffing and puffing as she whirled around on her floating skirts. “Ah-bah-ah! I-I-Idid no such thing!”

Her hair whipped back and forth aggressively as she manually stuffed her free fist into her skirts to keep them down. Like air was blowing up them and forcing her higher in the air.

“Why did you?” Hyacinth cocked her head to the side.Blink, blink.It wasn’t like she was here to argue if Agatha did or didn’t abandon her.She did.Her question was about the reasoning for it.Though I’d also like to know what she’d call it if not abandoning. My vocabulary needs expanding.

“I…” Agatha opened her mouth, voice trailing off to a low squeak. Then, with a quick lick of her lips, she answered. “Simply had other things to attend to and Austin is more than capable of answering your questions without supervision.”

“Why doesn’t he show his face?” Hyacinth lobbed the question at Agatha with a frown. “Does he only exist in that lab?”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t,” Agatha ducked her head, staring at her swimming skirts. The candles bobbed a little as she floated further down the hall, backwards. “Austin isn’t usually shy.”

It was the first time that Hyacinth considered that Austin’s nature was because of her. She slowed to a stop, her bare feet flat against the hard wood. Agatha watched her from five feet away, but Hyacinth’s gaze roamed away from the teddy bear to the walls. Then to the stairs they’d just climbed.

“I am the problem,” she croaked.

“No, my dear, that’s not it at all.” Agatha floated closer, placing a soft, spectral hand on Hyacinth’s shoulder. Yet the pressure on her skin didn’t register.Because I cannot feel, not in the way living creatures do.Hyacinth was undead. Butwhywas she undead. She’d almost asked Austin a hundred times, but every time she thought it, another question seemed more pressing. She asked Austin about the fur, about teddy bears, about thread andneedles and fabric. For all the questions, the most important one stayed on her tongue.

Why didn’t I ask him? Was I worried he wouldn’t know? Or was it because he is not my creator?

“Why was I created?” Hyacinth snapped as her eyes sharpened on Agatha. “What was I made for!?”

“Hyacinth.”