For a split second I can see the appeal of magic. Although the fae gods forbade humans to use it before they ascended to the sky, the land still holds pockets of the stuff. Tainted, ruined magic that those with the right blood and talent can find, mix, and sell. They can only make glamours, nothing permanent. Nor does it change your insides. You’re still you.
The problem is that once the spell wears off, you return to an even more degraded version of yourself. At first the effects are slight. A little haggard. A bit worse for wear. You can recover if you only do it a few times. Many people experiment with it.
But Tremaine, my stepfather, dismissed the risks. I don’t know when he became obsessed with enhancing his daughters’ marital prospects and ruining mine, though I suspect it was around the time my mother died. He started giving Cilla and Stacia illegal magic potions and forced me to become the household maid.
In the years since, Tremaine has bankrupted the estate trying to keep up the mirage, and his daughters became addicted to magic.
Three lives ruined over a bit of petty jealousy, in hopes that his two favored daughters would land wealthy husbands and get him out of the hole he’s dug for himself.
I tiptoe to his study door and gently poke it open an inch. A waft of stale alcohol hits my nose. Tremaine lies slumped in a leather club chair with a tear in the back, his chin resting on his chest, arms flung wide, snoring. An empty whisky bottle rests on the floor beside his foot.
Cautiously, I edge the door a fraction wider.
A low growl freezes me in my tracks.
3
ELINOR
Menacingdark eyes lock onto mine. Chompers, Tremaine’s snarling hunting dog, rises to his feet.
“Easy, boy. I’m only checking on him. Same as I do every day,” I murmur soothingly.
The dog’s growl fades into a whine.
“You need to go outside, don’t you? Been locked in here all night.” I shove the door wide open to let him trot past me. Chompers wouldn’t hesitate to bite me, hence his name, but he’s more interested in watering trees than taking a chunk out of my flesh.
I let him out the front. If I put him in the rear yard he’ll kill the chickens. Once the dog is out of the way, I return to Tremaine’s study and tiptoe over to shake him awake.
This is the worst part of my day, by far. My heart leaps into my throat as I prod his shoulder, keeping as far away as I can from my stepfather.
“Sir?”
Nothing. I give him a firmer nudge.
He awakens instantly. His hand manacles my wrist. Hard eyes meet mine.
No, no, no, not again…
I resist, putting all my weight into my heels, my panicked heart fluttering like that poor robin’s wings. I hate it when he touches me. Although it’s been years since he last forced me, the threat of assault keeps me terrorized and meek.
He chuckles. The sound rolls over me, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through me. I can’t conceal my reaction.
“As if I’d waste my time with an ugly cunt like you.” He releases me abruptly. I land painfully on my posterior, my skirt falling up to reveal my scarred knees. I tug the patched fabric down and scootch away on my backside. Totally inelegant of me, but the thought of him seeing up my skirt makes bile rise in my throat.
“We’re out of sugar,” I say inanely, scrambling onto my feet and smoothing my skirt, feeling the careful stitches where I’ve repaired a dress that was deemed beyond saving years ago.
“Stacia will have to go without.” He gets up with a squeak of leather and ambles over to the liquor cabinet, passing close enough to flick my red hair dismissively on his way. I flinch. His hand trembles as he sloshes amber liquid into a clear glass and tosses it back. “Let her make good on her promises to slim down, finally.”
Addiction runs in the family. I would pity them, if the Tremaines hadn’t spent the past decade and a half ruining my life with their vanity, selfishness, and cruelty.
Or if my stepfather hadn’t started coming to my bed weeks after my mother was buried. He only stopped when I fell ill and he made me drink a bitter tea. What followed were the worst stomach cramps I have ever felt in my entire life and so much blood I thought I was dying. It wasn’t until years later that I understood what he did to me.
Made me pregnant, then forced a miscarriage.
More to the point—he’s ruined me for marriage. Tremaine ensured that no man would ever want me enough to take me away from the estate where I was born a lady but raised in poverty. I’ve treated my stepfather like a dangerous monster ever since. My stepsisters may be unkind, but they are no threat compared to him.
I tiptoe warily around him whenever I’m forced to interact with him. Unfortunately, he holds the household purse, which, naturally, he keeps a tight grip upon.
