Emille

Chapter 8

Henry was sick of the lovestruck fools. He regretted ever having wished for his mentor to be kinder. Lillabet had taken the steel right out of the man. Instead of ordering Henry around, he trailed after Lillabet, stealing kisses when he thought Henry wasn't looking and looking at her like she was irreplaceable. It made Arthur want to heave. The cabin was much too small for this type of behavior.

Lillabet was calmer in her affections. She refrained from following Arthur around and smiling at him goofily, but something had changed in her too. She seemed to always lean toward Arthur, no matter where she was in the room. Her flirtations had also significantly worsened. She did everything in her power to make Arthur blush or stumble. Some of her comments were so lewd Henry had scurried from the room without a second thought. She always laughed at that.

Thankfully, their routine excluded Henry more and more. Arthur's late night outings were more frequent, and he was always accompanied by Lillabet. Their walks were longer, and most days they stumbled into the cabin at ten o'clock at night, breathless and hungry. Henry had become their permanent chef. Henry didn't miss the irony in this: he'd fled home to avoid a life slaving over an oven, and now his life was spent slaving over a stove. A twisted fate, indeed.

All of this Henry could endure. He didn't like it, but he could adjust. It was the secrecy that ate at him. The hushed whispers and increasingly strange objects that filled the cabin shelves and walls: animal bones, stones, herbs, roots, feathers, dried insects, soil, jars of what looked suspiciously like blood. The jars of water confused Henry the most. What were they used for, if not for drinking and cleaning? Why were there so many? Why was Arthur so protective of them? It drove Arthur absolutely mad.

Henry suspected the two were up to something the church would frown upon. They were careful about what Henry could see and hear, but accidents happened. One afternoon he passed by Lillabet's window and received quite a shock to see her levitating. He hadn't believed it, had stumbled back and tripped, hitting hit back on a stump and yelling in pain. He turned to assess his bruising back, and by the time he'd peered back into the window, Lillabet's floating form had vanished. Arthur convinced himself that it was a trick of the light, but he still checked her window every time he was outside, just in case.

There was also the time that Lillabet had stayed home, sick from a fever. Arthur left to gather some berries that he claimed would cure her in no time. She'd seemed so weak when Arthur left, so Henry had made her a hearty soup. He slipped into her room quietly, expecting her to still be in bed, too weak to get up. Instead, he found a very healthy, very vertical Lillabet standing in the middle of the room. Her face was different. Her face and ears had lost their roundness. Her limbs had elongated and slimmed, her skin turning greyish and almost iridescent in the process. It was Lillabet, and it was not Lillabet. She seemed to be concentrating when Henry had arrived. He dropped his soup to the floor in utter shock, and she jumped, breaking from her reverie. She whirled from view, hiding behind the screen she'd bought for privacy while dressing. Arthur stooped to pick up the bowl, his heart hammering in his chest and his blood frozen. Lillabet informed him that she'd been trying on some face paint.

Henry stumbled through an apology, still not understanding what he'd seen. It was more than just makeup. But she returned from behind the wooden screen, a damp cloth to her face, the roundness once again filling her cheeks. She'd helped him clean up the soup, and then claimed that she was overtired. She returned to her bed, Henry brought her a new bowl of soup, and the incident was never spoken of again.

Henry couldn't explain these things, but he wasn't convinced that he wanted to. Despite Arthur's cranky disposition, he'd taken Henry under his wing and taught him to handle most of his business. Henry's wages were sporadic but fair. He didn't want to know anything that would disturb this little cabin in the woods. So he went on with his chores, knocked before entering rooms, and never questioned the late night visits or strange herbs and bones.