Her Wolf King

{la cave}

THE CELLAR

She took the winding staircase with a candle, her steps quick and sure on the stone. Lenore shivered as the sunlight leached from the underground space, which was completely devoid of illumination. Her candle was the only thing illuminating the round room, casting flickering shadows on the earth-packed walls. Her own silhouette looked eerie, and she ventured further into the space.

Her footsteps were silent against the dirt floor, the stone having given way to nothing more than the most rudimentary of constructions. The candle's weak light revealed crisscrossing beams that held up the ceiling, and they looked sturdy enough, to her relief. She hardly wished to die before noon, under the collapsed weight of a rotting building.

"What have we here?" she murmured aloud, gazing upon the racks of wine bottles. Glass containers lined the shelves that in turn covered the round walls. The cramped space made her feel as if she were in some giant's mouth, the bottles rows of teeth, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She blinked, trying to steady herself. The air seemed to be escaping with each breath she took.

Just as she had asked the question, her candle blew out, and unable to resist, she screamed. Taking a deep breath, she felt in her pocket for a match, which she knew she had brought down. Footsteps rang in her ears, each one like an alarm bell. She whirled around, forgetting the match and hunting for a weapon. Perhaps a glass bottle would do?

"Did I say you could come down here, wife?" Everett's voice was ominous, yet behind the threat, she knew somehow that he was teasing.

"You never said I couldn't." She lit the match, illuminating his face. In the near-darkness, he looked terrifying, yet his presence was more assuring than anything else. "Do you keep the bodies of your former wives down here?"

"There's only one former wife that I'd like to reduce to nothing, and she has eluded me at every turn, I'm afraid." He took a step closer. "What brings you to my wine cellar, Lenore?"

"Perhaps I wanted a drink of..." she pivoted, letting the candle illuminate the labels. "Slivovitz? That stuff is revolting."

The plum-based liquor burned going down, even more than any wine she had ever tried.

"One gets used to the taste," he said.

"It's sour, acidic, and without redeeming qualities," she retorted, having stolen a sip from her father's glass once, years before. Just the smell had been enough to nearly knock her unconscious.

"It reminds me of myself," he joked. "What were you hoping to find here, wife?"

"Your past," she said without thinking. In the darkness, she couldn't make out his expression.

"And have you found it yet?"

Her candle's flame moved along the rows of bottles. "Is this arsenic?"

"No, it's a love potion."

"Right next to the bottle labelled 'potion to make your enemies' blood curdle'?"

"Marya must have left that here. Her parting gift to me, I suppose."

As they moved along the racks, Lenore fell silent. There was a gap between the metal shelves, which had been screwed to the wall, it seemed, but one of them looked like two shelves ended and a crack was in the wall. "Is this a trapdoor?"

In lieu of a response, Everett curled his fingers around the shelf and pulled, sending the bottles rattling.

It opened.

"I never knew that was here," Everett said.

"You've lived here for fifty years, and you've never come to the cellar?"