Chapter Text
She had left with a small satchel of her most prized personal belongings, twelve coins in her pocket, and an abundance of optimism over her simple plan of going somewhere—anywhere—as far away as possible.
But now, Enid starts to realize that she may, in fact, be fucked.
Her stomach drops as she takes in the orderly line of scouts standing in wait for the carriage as it comes to a stop.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She’s drained, exhausted, and at the end of her rope.
The jagged ends of her hair stick uncomfortably to her neck under the hood of her cloak, her stomach screams for any morsel of food beyond stale bread and jerky, and the sole of her left shoe is starting to peel, leaving her toes caked in mud.
At the expense of one of her pearl earrings—a trade not to her advantage, she knows, but it’s not as if any form of bartering was on the table at the time—she had thought hitching a ride to the next town would be beneficial, and bring some comfort to her weary travels.
In the end, although there was nothing comforting about the journey—consisting of the persistent loud snoring of an individual to her immediate right, a couple’s clamorous argument that only kept escalating, and the sporadic leering of the alpha opposite her—there was some hope that had been instilled in Enid. As strange as it sounds, the break from her long days of walking alone on foot and the normality of being around strangers had given Enid the courage that she could do it: that she could break free from her shackles.
One of the scouts—the captain, Enid presumes—steps forward to the front of the carriage. The bright brown emblem on his chest shimmers mockingly in the sunlight. It brings her back to the reality that she’s nowhere near the end of her journey of liberation and that an escape isn’t going to come easy.
“Inspection,” the captain commands, gesturing to the coachman. “Are you carrying any young women, perhaps alone in her travels, in your carriage?”
Possibly not understanding the threat he’s under, the coachman doesn’t make a sign to move or let go of the reins of his horse.
“What’s it to you?”
In one swift motion, the captain unsheathes his sword, pointing the tip at the coachman’s neck. Though the rest of her traveling companions gasp and shriek at the sight, Enid only finds her throat dry.
“We are conducting a search across the province in the name of Lord Crackstone. Anyone who stands in the way will answer directly to His Lordship.”
“His Lordship?” The coachman’s eyes widen and he immediately holds his hands up in surrender. “Oh, my apologies, sir! How…how may I be of service?”
Satisfied, the captain retracts his sword and pulls out a scroll.
Enid twists the strap of her satchel in horror when he unfurls it, and she sees a charcoal sketch of herself.
“Is there anyone matching this portrait in your carriage?”
The coachman nervously takes a brief glance at the drawing before bowing his head deeply.
“N—no sir, I do not believe I have seen such a woman,” he stutters. “But! Feel free to take a look for yourself.”
The captain slowly makes his way around, eyes carefully roaming over the interior of the carriage. His gaze lingers over each passenger and when his stare reaches Enid, she holds her breath.
Despite everything in her body telling her to obscure her face as much as possible, she knows it would only bring more attention to herself. She remains still, trying not to lean into her hood further under his scrutiny.
Between her change of clothing to something much more inconspicuous and her newly cut hair—as much of a hack job as it was with her scissors—Enid had done her best to alter her appearance.
She just hopes it’s enough.
The captain’s brows furrow, looking between her and the portrait with suspicion.
Enid’s heart thuds when his eyes narrow at her.
Is this it?
Was a measly two weeks her best attempt at delaying the inevitable?
“And what reason does His Lordship have for seeking this lady?”
One of the women—the one-half of the pair who kept arguing about their financial burdens over the past hour—sticks her face in the captain’s direct line of sight.
He turns his nose up at her.
“Are you suggesting His Lordship needs to divulge his business to you?”
“I mean…” She leans forward with an eager and conspiratorial smile. “The more information we have, the better?”
It’s clear from her curious tone that she’s looking for gossip, and Enid doesn’t know if the woman is brave or stupid for asking such an intrusive question so brazenly. But either way, she’s glad for the disruption.
She wonders if she should try to make a run for it, but she’s boxed in by the others, and she doesn’t think she can outrun the five scouts and the captain.
(And even if she could, knowing her own luck, she’d probably trip over her shoes or something.)
Crossing his arms, the captain’s tone is low. “If you are so intrigued, perhaps you would like us to bring you to His Lordship’s chambers so you may question him as much as you would like?”
The woman squeaks out in terror.
“No!” She gasps out. “No, no! Of course not! I’m sure His Lordship is busy enough as is. Just forget I said anything.”
She quickly hides behind her husband, who appears equally terrified.
Everyone is silent after that, and thankfully, the captain moves away with only one last warning look directed at the nosy woman before signaling for his team to let the carriage through.
Enid finally lets out a breath of relief when they pass the scouts, leaving them behind.
The small town of Jericho is where the carriage eventually terminates its journey a few hours later. It’s filled with so many facilities Enid has missed so much; she considers it heaven compared to the small hamlets and backwater towns she’s passed by recently.
There’s a lively bustle of the market stalls, a mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread as she passes the bakery, and cheerful laughter coming from the town square where a small crowd has gathered.
It’s just a shame that it’s crawling with more of Joseph Crackstone’s scouts.
They’re patrolling the streets—taking full advantage of the power and authority granted to them by their master, Enid is sure—and roughly stopping individuals in their tracks, repeating the same speech the captain had given and offering up a copy of the same sketch for them to observe.
Her pulse quickens when the scouts finish up their current inquiry and start to head towards her. Without a second thought, she quickly slips into the nearest building.
“Can we help you?”
Startled, Enid turns at the voice and sees a middle-aged woman behind a counter. Next to her is a man of a similar age, crunching on an apple loudly. They both look at her questioningly.
From the half-eaten snacks on the counter and the way they’re turned inwardly toward each other, Enid would hazard a guess that she had interrupted them mid-conversation.
“I…” Enid starts before she realizes she has no idea what kind of place she has walked into.
At least from the decor itself, it looks like a business establishment.
(And lucky it is because Enid doesn’t know how she can explain just walking into someone’s house otherwise.)
While there is shelving around, it seems to be more for aesthetic appeal than displaying items for sale. There are also a few tables and chairs around, but no menus are on display to give Enid confidence that it’s an eatery.
“Do you need a room?” the woman—Enid will call her the woman-host—asks, cracking open a nut and popping it in her mouth.
“A room!” Enid very intelligently responds when she realizes she must have walked into an inn. “Right, yes. Why else would I be here if not for getting a room?”
If the two hosts there think her rambling is odd, they don’t show it. The man—Enid will call him the man-host—continues munching on his apple while the woman-host takes out a ledger behind the counter.
“How many nights?”
“Err…”
It’s a good question.
Before today, she hadn’t run into any of Crackstone’s scouts—or anyone sent by her mother—and perhaps that gave her a false sense of hope that she was doing an amazing job. But realistically, this is most likely the result of her mother delaying the news to Crackstone for as long as possible. If Enid hadn’t escaped and had followed everything as scheduled, she would have been declared the thirteenth Mrs. Crackstone a few days ago.
From the scouring she’d just seen outside—as well as the incident this morning with the captain—Enid thinks it’s best to stay hidden inside for a while. As for exactly how long though…
How is she supposed to know how fucking long Crackstone has planned for his scouts to be deployed in Jericho, specifically?
It’s not like Enid can’t afford to extend her stay for a while, but it also seems like a waste to overestimate and book herself in for a month if they’re going to be gone by tomorrow.
Would a few days be enough? Or is that too conservative—
“If you don’t know, you can book by the day.”
Enid blinks at the woman-host. “Huh?”
The man-host takes over, giving a small smile to Enid. “If you’re unsure how long you need a room for, you can stay until you’re ready to leave. You’ll have to settle the bill every day, though.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, that’d be perfect for me, actually. Thanks!”
He pulls out a piece of paper and places it in front of Enid. “Sign in for me here.”
Nodding, Enid reads through the check-in form as the hosts go back to their idle chatter.
“So, what were you saying happened in today’s town meeting?”
Enid scratches her head and wonders if she should put in a fake name for herself. But isn’t it more trouble to give herself a fake name if she forgets what name she picked?
“The Addamses are looking for a mate.”
But even so, she still can’t give her real name. Wouldn’t that make it super easy for Crackstone to find her?
“Really? For who?”
So, what fake name should she use? Is Enice too close to her own name? Or should she use a common name like Jane?
“Their eldest.”
Enid decides to stop overthinking it and puts down any random name.
“Their only daughter? Isn’t she on her deathbed?”
Thankfully, the rest of the form has less invasive questions and she fills in everything quickly.
“Why else do you think they would be offering such generous terms?”
Passing the sheet back to the hosts, they don’t even spare her a glance as they hand her a key, absently waving her off in a direction to her designated room.
“Pfft. Well, good luck to them. Who would be crazy enough to join their family and sign up for a lifetime of widowhood?”
She heads to her room, ready for some rest.
She’ll need to be energized if she’s to figure out a better plan for herself.
She ends up hiding in her room for nearly a week, and she feels like she’s slowly losing her mind from cabin fever.
Every day, she’ll either peek from the smallest gap in her window or carefully step outside, hoping to see that Crackstone’s scouts have finally left, but to no avail. And following that, without fail, Enid will run to her bed and yell into her pillow with frustration.
How on earth are they still there in Jericho?
Are they not demotivated by their unfruitful search?
Are they not bored?
Frustrated, she rolls over and stares vacantly up at the cracked ceiling, preparing for another quiet and boring day of doing nothing—yet again.
Left alone in the quiet, her mind gets to work.
Time.
She just needs more time.
She’s known all along—even way before her mother had arranged their marriage—that Joseph Crackstone is an egotistical, possessive, and territorial man. This is obvious with how willing he is to go to the ends of the world to find the audacious woman who dares to deny him what has been agreed to be his.
She’d only met the guy a handful of times before at the socialite parties she hated—the ones her mother always made their family attend—and even then, it’s not like they had any deep or meaningful conversations. Nor had he shown much particular interest in her.
So, as egotistical, possessive, and territorial as he may be, surely he must get bored at some point. Isn’t that the reason why he keeps seeking out more omegas to join his harem of wives?
And Enid hates to think this—or to shift all of this crap onto the next person—but surely, at some point, Crackstone will…find a new toy to play with.
But who knows how Crackstone’s mind works? It’s probably equally likely for him to hold an endless grudge and never let go of Enid until his last dying breath.
In any case, the waiting game is worth a shot. Anything is worth a shot if the alternative is being mated to a psychotic and deranged brute for the rest of her life.
Sighing, she flops back onto her front and does just that.
She waits.
“Who are we hiding from?” she hears from behind her.
Letting out a shriek, Enid clutches onto her bag and backs up against the wall. When she turns around, she’s met with the amused face of a girl around her age.
The girl’s blue-green eyes twinkle playfully.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” she says with a laugh. “It’s just you always come down every day like this, and I wonder if my parents are really that scary to talk to. Should I tell them to work on their customer service?”
“Your parents?”
Enid has since learned that the two hosts she met are Florence—the innkeeper—and Andrew—her husband—but it’s news to her that they have any children.
(But, of course, why would Enid know? It’s not as if she’s had much interaction with them besides her daily payments or the brief greetings when they cross paths.)
Before Enid can receive a response, Andrew comes to the counter. He crosses his arms and looks at the girl sternly.
“Divina, are you bothering our guests again?”
“What do you mean?” she says in mock-offense and gives an innocent shrug. “I just came back. I haven’t done anything.”
“Well, since you just came back…” Andrew throws a towel at Divina. “Less talking, more helping.”
Divina grumbles but starts wiping down the tables.
Turning to Enid, Andrew smiles at her. “Anything I can help with?”
“Ah, um. Do you know where the nearest jeweler is?”
This morning, she noticed she was starting to run low on coins. And with most normal people not quite understanding or appreciating the true value of her gemstones as a lapidary would, Enid doesn’t want to be at a disadvantage with any future bartering.
“There’s one around the corner.”
He leans over the counter and points to the window.
“When you come out of the inn, just turn right, follow the street down until you see the stall with the red awning, then turn left, go straight three shops down, then…”
He trails off when he sees Enid’s eyes glazing over.
“Do you want me to draw you a map instead?”
“That would be ideal,” Enid says sheepishly.
The last thing she needs is to get lost. And expecting Enid to remember such convoluted directions while being on the watch-out for scouts? Enid knows her own limitations.
“Divina!” He calls out. “Get me a pen and paper, will you?”
Mid-wipe two tables across, Divina waves the rag in her hand. Her tone is flat. “Can’t. I’m busy helping, remember?”
Shaking his head, Andrew sends Enid an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’ll just be a moment.”
He disappears into the backroom just as Florence comes out of it. She gives a brief nod of acknowledgment to Enid before her eyes light up when she spots Divina.
“Divina?” She hurries over to her, placing a hand on her arm. “When did you come back?”
Divina looks at Florence with concern. “Depends. Do you have more chores lined up for me?”
“Don’t be silly. Come.” Florence takes the cloth from Divina and drags her eagerly into a seat next to her. “How is Yoko? Is she well? How was your date? Have you two decided when you want to start planning your wedding yet?”
Divina lets out a moan, but the grin on her face tells Enid she’s not unhappy with her mother’s line of questioning. “Why do you seem more anxious about when I’m going to get married than I am?”
“Of course I’m anxious! My greatest wish as a mother is for both you and Kent to find a good mate.” She reaches a hand to brush a strand of hair behind Divina’s ear. “And Yoko seems like a good egg. Everything is fine with her, isn’t it? You’d tell us if she’s not treating you well, right?”
Florence's words and deep look of worry bring a pang of sadness through Enid. Maybe in another life, she could be blessed with a mother who cared for her like this instead of one who treats her like a chattel.
Divina places her hand on her mother’s. “Everything is great, mom. And yes, she’s good to me. Really good.”
“Oh. Well…why on earth haven’t you two set a date then? What’s the hold-up?”
Divina laughs.
“Mom, I promise I’ll tell you the good news when it happens. We’re waiting for the clinic to be less busy so we can have some more time for ourselves.”
Florence dismisses Divina with a wave. “The clinic is always going to be busy. Are you sure she’s not using it as an excuse?”
“Mom, it’s true. It’s just been crazy busy lately. Especially with the Addamses. She had to leave early today to help Larissa with them.”
“The Addamses? They haven’t managed to find a mate for their oldest yet, have they?”
“No, I heard it’s been a challenge.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Mom.”
“What? I’m just saying. The Addams family are a scary bunch, living in that creepy estate so far away. Who in their right mind would choose to isolate themselves like that? Who knows what they’re doing out there, all by themselves?”
Divina rolls her eyes. “Mommmm.”
“They say they decorate their place with human remains, you know? Just last week, Beth’s boy tried to get his ball back from behind their gates, and because he saw them, they threatened him with a guillotine!”
“Alrighty!”
Andrew is back with a satisfied grin on his face, holding up a piece of paper in his hand. When he sees the terrified look on Enid’s face and the way she’s holding her neck protectively with her hands, his grin disappears.
“Did something happen?”
“No, it’s nothing,” Enid reassures, trying to forget about Divina and Florence’s conversation.
“I’ve drawn this up for you. Hope this helps.”
She looks over the detailed map with a smile. As geographically challenged as she is, she thinks it’ll be easy to find the jeweler now.
“Thank you so much!”
With a wave to Andrew, she carefully opens the door a crack, making sure there are no scouts immediately outside.
Happy that the coast is clear, she steps out, and as she does every time she leaves the inn, she prays she will be able to make it through another day.
Despite her stomach grumbling at the yummy-looking pastries and her feet really aching for new shoes, Enid manages to stick to her mission of avoiding any detours and standing her ground at the jeweler to get an eventual decent and fair price for her ruby ring. She’s resisting further temptation on her way back by simply not looking at anything but straight ahead when suddenly a man comes out of nowhere, blocking her way.
Frightened, she holds onto her bag, wanting to make sure this isn’t a distraction to steal anything of hers. Perhaps seeing her terrified look, the man throws his hands up and provides a bit more distance between them.
“Apologies, miss. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Giving him a once-over, Enid doesn’t get anything immediately threatening from him. He’s wearing plain clothing, telling her he’s not working for Crackstone—if he was, Enid’s sure she wouldn’t be standing there so peacefully—and there’s an easygoing smile on his face.
“Would you be interested in a portrait of yourself?” He points to his stall to his left, where there’s an easel and an assortment of paintings and sketches. “I’ll even throw in a discount for a pretty lady, such as yourself,” he finishes with a wink.
Not in the mood to be solicited, she quickly walks around him. “No, thank you.”
“Wait!” He calls out, following her.
She quickly wraps her hood tighter around her when the artist looks at her inquisitively, his face deep in thought.
“Are you new to Jericho?” He raises his pencil and lines it up with Enid’s face. He frowns as he looks at her with concentration. “I never forget a face, and I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Yet…you somehow look familiar to me.”
“Look, I don’t want—” She abruptly stops mid-sentence when she sees a group of scouts approaching in the near-distance behind the artist. He follows her line of sight, eyeing her suspiciously.
“I don’t want a drawing,” she says with finality before speeding off.
However, the look of suspicion that was on the artist’s face brings an ominous feeling to Enid. She glances back, and her chest tightens when she sees him speaking with the scouts while pointing wildly at her.
As soon as she locks eyes with the scouts, they yell out, “You there! Stop!”
Her speedwalking goes into a full sprint, not caring who or what she knocks over in her haste.
Fuck.
She should have bought new shoes, after all.
By the time Enid reaches the outskirts of Jericho, the sole of her left shoe has completely torn off, making her take the whole thing off in frustration. The rough ground digs painfully into her now one bare foot, her vision is blurred with tears and mud, and she feels a jabbing pain every time she breathes in. Panting heavily, her legs ache agonizingly as she nearly trips over the forest litter, bashing into a tree or two.
She can still hear the voices of the scouts echoing in the distance as she forces herself to keep going.
This can’t be it, she tells herself.
She can’t go home.
There’s got to be another way.
There has to—
Her breath stills, and her knees buckle when she sees the metal fence in the distance.
“No, no, no!”
Rushing ahead, she wraps her hands around the bars, hoping they’re somehow not real and just some twisted mirage. However, the shocking cold sensation that runs through her palms tells her it’s not a figment of her imagination.
Taking in a staggering breath, Enid steps back and hurriedly follows the length of the fence, trying to find an opening.
However, the bars seem to continue on endlessly, boarding off the rest of the forestry.
She lets out a yelp when she suddenly finds a cluster of human skulls hanging from a gate.
A steel placard is welded, with the address of 0001 Cemetery Lane etched across it.
Hesitantly—trying to ignore the skulls that seem to be staring deeply at her—Enid attempts to push open the gate.
She finds it locked.
Falling to the ground, Enid stares at the rusted metal bars dejectedly.
Tears start falling down her cheeks.
Is she destined to be trapped, one way or another?
Is she destined for a wretched life where her obligation is to service a savage alpha?
Can she be nothing more than a pawn in her mother’s game of breaking into nobility?
She stares vacantly up at the sky, watching a raven glide across the horizon before it perches on top of one of the fence posts. The raven tilts its head left and right, looking sharp and curiously at Enid.
A few seconds later, it flies off past the gate threshold and into the fenced area.
She watches the bird’s flight of freedom until she hears the distant marching accompanied by faint voices.
Resolutely, Enid stands up and frantically wipes her tears away.
No.
She refuses to be defeated like this.
Tightening her satchel around her, she ignores her muscles throbbing painfully and grips onto the metal bars tightly.
And she starts climbing.
Her chest is heaving, her shoulders twinge with discomfort, and her right palm is blistering, but she pushes herself to walk further even after she drops down on the other side—because what’s the point of climbing the fence if she’s just going to be a visible sitting duck? She only allows herself to collapse on the ground fully when she can no longer see the fence behind her in the distance.
She closes her eyes tightly, takes in deep breaths, and relishes in her accomplishment, as minor as it may seem in the grand scheme of things.
Her heartbeat stands to settle.
For now, she’s fine.
But when she opens her eyes again, she’s met with a face staring down at her.