A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Content Warning for the following chapter: Death

A small staircase of three steps separated one door of beige wood from the next. Ilona took a deep breath, her foot poised on the first step. Carrick's footsteps did not fall into line with hers and she resisted any urge to glance around. Instead, she reminded herself that he would soon be in arm's reach again.

Outside on the darkened grounds of the estate, Mack was waiting. His thorn sigil aglow, ready to ensnare any guard in vines should they dare to challenge his presence. Speaking of guards, it seemed Barrymore had removed them from their posts the third floor, perhaps he wished to give the illusion of this being a home rather than a fortress to Ilona.

A small purple flower was woven into her braided bun, a pop of colour against paleness of her dress. A coat of pecan brown draped over the jaconet muslin of her bodice. She reached up since no one was watching, her ungloved fingers to trace one petal. It had been a gift from Mack but as she had learned from Mina, such gifts are never just pretty ornaments for one's hair.

Mack had mentioned during their earlier discussion of the plan that should Ilona struggle to obtain the Morana Lily, she was to crush the petals of the smaller flower. This act would summon the warlock to her aid and he could use his ability of shift earth to snag the lily.
She climbed the last two steps. No lock attempted to stop her and at her touch, the door swung open in welcome. A breeze of warm air greeting her.

"Lord Barrymore," she called out.

No response.

Her brows furrowed but the thought of not having to converse with him and instead, taking the lily with ease spurred her into action. She stepped inside. The feathery fronds of ferns ambling along a small pathway of gravel. Petals of soft berry pink neatly folded as petunias rested in their beds. Amongst the crush of green coats and bell shaped skirts of violet and tangerine gathering beneath a chandelier of moonlight was the Morana Lily. The edges of its pearlescent petals curling downwards, its stance almost like a curtesy. The necromancers of old had allowed this flower to be planted in the cruelest of all soils. Blood.

And in this case, Alexander's blood as he lay dying. In life, her grandfather would have done anything for those he loved which was why Ilona couldn't let Barrymore continue to hoard something that possess the ability to save one's love. Spying a trowel sitting on a wooden bench, Ilona hurried towards it.
Suddenly, lips of ice dragged themselves down her neck causing her footsteps to falter. A soft melody of words reaching her ears, ones she had heard mere days ago.

"Child of Muriel, the blood of those lands flows through your veins."

The mysterious voice, it was the Morana Lily.
Ilona's body a puppet ensnared by the strings of grave magic. Her eyes becoming glazed over.

"Let me show you, the world that stolen away from you."
The course of her path set.

A shadow pushed away from the wall, drawing to its full height. Beneath the hood, unease was stitched into the set of his jaw. One hand reaching out to Ilona. A silent cry of denial escaping him for Death had stolen the deep roar of his voice that once commanded others to heed his words. She raised one hand, her fingers brushing one petal. At her touch, waves of grave magic rose from the lily, swirling upwards like some great beast taking flight.

One wave crashed into the wraith. His back hit the wall, body slumping to the ground. His hands to clutch his head as the haunting melody of her anguish, his love's echoed in his mind.
While another tide cascaded down upon Ilona, plunging her and the room into a memory of a time long since passed.