Page 29 of How to Woo the Undead

“Good morning,” Austin laughed sheepishly shortly before dashing out the door.Before I do anything else silly.

Chapter Fifteen:

Hyacinth

“Well,we’renotleavinganytime soon,” Melody sighed dramatically in her art room as the three women loitered under the greenhouse glass. It looked like a waterfall to Hyacinth. She marveled up at it, watching it ripple across the windowpanes. Then they saw something—possibly a plant—rip out of the ground before taking off into the wind funnel touching down outside the fence. Hyacinth could only make out a light layer of magic dancing through the rainfall, but the fence was buffering the storm out into the tree lines.

“Hmm, I’m thinking soup.” Dahlia nodded as she twirled on her heel, marching out of the room.

“She’s always thinking about soup,” Melody snorted. Hyacinth eyed her with confusion.Not really, Dahlia told me earlier she was thinking about the poor garden.But she didn’t say anything as Melody bellowed after the retreating Lady. “Really making it hard to beat themwitchallegations, Dahlia.”

“I’m not a witch!” Dahlia shrieked with dramatic octave but continued to disappear down the hall into the kitchen. Melody stuck her tongue out at the shadowy doorway before chuckling.But she’s not a witch. Not really.When her gaze fell on Hyacinth, the pair locked in for a second. Hyacinth jutting her eyebrows up on her face, Melody awkwardly ducking her head back to her canvas.

“You like to paint?” Hyacinth blurted out, craving that connection she’d had easily with Dahlia. Melody was a little bit of a struggle for her. The werewolf was hilarious but perplexing and Hyacinth desperately wanted to bridge that gap. Dahlia was so soft, so kind, even when she was growling at the pots or threatening the ghouls. Agatha was sweet and helpful. Both of them spoke about Melody like a vibrant array of colors, so fun and delightful.

Hyacinth wanted to befriend Melody so bad it hurt.

“Yeah! Sometimes I prefer sketching, but paint really speaks to me,” Melody hummed as she picked up her paint brush. Hyacinth studied her dipping it into water, then the paint. It was marvelous to see the sheer color fill the canvas lines.

“How?” Hyacinth asked, stepping up to the canvas.

“How what?” Melody blinked rapidly, glancing up at the dead woman.

“How does it speak to you?” Hyacinth squinted.

“Well, I mean, notliterallyspeaks,” Melody scoffed, waving the brush about as she spoke. “It just resonates with me. Like I can always be in the mood to paint.”

“Oh!” Hyacinth bobbed her head up and down.Oh, I don’t understand that at all, but I want you to think I do!

Melody snickered, poking the brush down into her paint cup. “You’re pretty literal.”

“I’ve been told that.” Hyacinth sank down onto the stool Dahlia once perched on. Folding her hands in her lap, she stared at the fluffy-haired, fanged woman in red.Blink, blink. Hyacinth rubbed her itchy eyes as she tried not to blink enough to fly away. Her eyes were very irritable and dry. A sudden thought to pour Melody’s paint water into her eyelids to give them somerelief filled her head. Thankfully, Melody tucked both paintbrush and cup away, removing the impulsive from right in front of her.

“You okay? You’ve rubbed your eyes like sixteen times since you joined us this morning?” Melody cupped Hyacinth’s face, inspecting her eyes regardless of what words were forming on Hyacinth’s tongue. “They are looking dry. Come, I know where Lord Rosemont keeps the spare eyedrops stashed.”

“Why does he stash things?” Hyacinth asked in between being hoisted off her stool and having her hands swatted away from rubbing her eyes again. Melody hooked her arm through Hyacinth’s purple sleeve and tugged the dead woman from her cluttered art studio. They slipped through the dark hallway into the kitchen. Steam filled the air as Dahlia boiled something in a large cauldron. She leaned over it, chopping carrot chunks into it directly. Garlic and thyme scented the air that Hyacinth was dragged through quickly into the main hall for the manor.

“They’re all like this. Little chipmunks, hiding stuff in little holes until they have need of it. Little hoarders, all of them. Did you know Greggory has a collection of pens? When is he going to need 15 pens? And yet he’s got a little treasure trunk of them in the library.” Melody talked the whole way to Sebastian’s office. Hyacinth felt weird stepping into his room uninvited but, then again, he’d told everyone the house was open. There were no rooms off-limits. Yet, why did she get the distinct feeling she was imposing?

Hyacinth grimaced, letting Melody ramble about Smith’s collection of stationery and neck ties while she stepped to the side of her maker’s desk. His office had a dusty collection of things. His desk—a massive, ash wood structure—was stacked with papers, scrolls, and tomes. The air was thick with magic that drew her past the side couch, the stacks of metal tools all crusted with blood or other such goop, and landed on theopposite end of the room. On a small metal stand, shaped like an arm bone with a clawed hand, was a crystal orb. Smoke floated around it full of glittering particles and writhing things she couldn’t touch. Every time she pressed a finger into the magic smoke, it evaporated around her palm and formed elsewhere within the crystal.

Something in the orb moved and her attention shifted from the mysterious aura to the crystal itself. There was a woman in the orb staring back at her.The same woman from the mirror. Long, auburn hair, dripping wet and heavy around her face, only parted enough for Hyacinth to see her lilac eyes. The woman stared deep into her eyes while steadily stepping toward the surface. Her body didn’t move like it should. As if the bones were all disjointed, they worked at different speeds. Hyacinth could almost hear the clicking of each of them as the broken woman crept closer and closer.

Hyacinth froze, unable to move. Unable to blink.Please—blink!Her eyes burned but were foreign to her.Like my body doesn’t belong to me…

“Oh! Duh!” Melody’s bark of a laugh broke the trance and Hyacinth sputtered. Stumbling back from the crystal, she toppled over a coffee table into the floor. Melody gasped and rushed to the dead woman’s side. “Oh jeez, sorry, didn’t mean to jump scare you.”

But Hyacinth couldn’t stop looking back at the swirling orb. She searched for the broken woman and thankfully only found the floating smoke.Was she really there? Where did she go?Hyacinth took Melody’s offered hands, climbing to her feet.

“Uh…Hyacinth?” Melody grimaced. Hyacinth met her eye in question but didn’t have to ask. Not as the pretty werewolf pointed at Hyacinth’s rib cage with a hard jab of her forefinger. “Ya got a scalpel stickin’ out of you.”

Hyacinth lifted her left arm.

“Ah,” she wheezed, plucking the long, tarnished silver blade out of her side. With a pout, she ran her finger over the tear in the dress. “I liked this one.”

“The dress is the problem?” Melody squinted at her suspiciously as she curled her fingers around the handle of the scalpel. Her little claws scraped Hyacinth’s palm in a delightful way.

Hyacinth shrugged. “Well, I don’t feel pain. Here, watch—”