4
Punishment in the Winterbourne household came swiftly that afternoon. I wished I could blame John, but he was a good brother. Or a bad one, depending on your perspective. He wouldn’t tattle on me, preferring to babysit me himself rather than burden our parents with my latest scandal.
No, I had betrayed myself. That stolen moment on the street, the spring of Saint’s hair against his scalp, had been noticed. And reported. To Papa. That type of intimate gesture between two boys was frowned upon in mortal society, and since we were playing at being human, the scales required balance.
To stop tongues from wagging, Papa fired Howl and renounced him.
Sadly, that didn’t mean he fired me.
No, I was locked in my room and banned from the market for seven whole days.
The next week promised nothing but dreary lessons on how to use magic we weren’t actually allowed to use. As well as how to grow and harvest herbs, mix tonics, prepare tinctures. Dull instructions on how to blend with humans, how to lessen ourselves. And that was before you factored in the misery of etiquette lessons and the other dreadful requirements of being a well-bred girl born into a respectable family who was expected to hide her rebellious streak long enough to land a suitable husband.
Viewed in that light, marriage to Charles grew more appealing by the hour.
* * *
Two days later, still confined to my room, I startled when a note slipped under my door.
Happy for any distraction, I lunged for it, peeking under the gap to lock gazes with John.
“This was left at our stall,” he whispered. “I found it when I opened this morning.”
Friday, I realized. It was Friday evening, and I had missed my chance to steal a moment with Saint.
“Oh?” I shoved my thumb under the black wax seal. “Do tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell. It was there, waiting when I arrived. I didn’t see who left it.”
But he suspected it was his Friday customer, and I hoped against hope it was indeed Saint.
“Thank you.” I rolled onto my back. “You may go now.”
“Yes, your highness.” He hesitated. “Be careful, Howl. I can’t shake the feeling this is a bad idea.”
“You’re my brother.” I opened the flap. “Of course you think a boy is a bad idea.”
With a sigh that promised we would revisit the topic, he stood and left me sprawled on the floor on my side of the door with a note in hand.
Howl, the moon is full. Come run with me?
A giddy thrill swept through my chest as I pushed myself upright.
The message could be mistaken as one from Meg, but the handwriting wasn’t hers.
Sharp lines, hard slashes with a quill, violent in its delivery. Or urgent. Or both.
“Saint,” I whispered, tapping the paper against my palm. “You naughty boy.”
A hungry moon hung in the sky outside my bedroom window, heavy with portent…and potential.