The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher
Poppy
Orna heard about my explosive dinner with Lorcan from her sister who escorted me back to the museum sobbing. Before I woke up this morning, she’d slipped into my room and left a kettle and a box of teabags by the door, along with a note that said, “In Ireland, tea is the solution to every problem.”
I bring the cup of tea to my lips as I settle into my usual morning spot, the window seat. The sprawling grounds look a little different today, though. Busier. The men that guard the perimeters have doubled, and when I craned my neck to look to the left of the Museum, I could make out the tops of military-style trucks coming into the grounds.
What on earth is going on?Even from my ivory tower, I can feel something brewing in the air. Hopefully, something that helps me escape.
There’s a timid knock on the door. One that definitely can’t belong to the hands of that monster.
“Come in,” I say. Orna appears with a tray of pastries and a wide grin.
“You like it?” she asks, nodding to the kettle on the bedside table.
“I love it,” I gush, truly thankful for anything that breaks the monotony of my daily routine.. “Thank you so much.”
“I have more good news today” she chirps, striding over to fluff up the bed pillows.
My heart surges. “I’m going to be free?”
“Not that good, I’m afraid. But Lorcan is going to be tied up at the office for a few days. He said you’re allowed out into the garden for two hours every day. You can also eat dinner with me in the main house.” She claps her hands together. “Great, right?”
I hate that I feel excited at the idea of an inch of freedom, no matter if it’s a false reality. But I also hate that I feel mildly disappointed that I won’t be seeing Lorcan for a few days.
Orna lowers her voice. “You won’t need a chaperone, either.”
Now, I really do feel excited. The possibility of escaping has increased drastically. “Really? I can just… be on my own?”
She winces and glances out the window. “Well… security has picked up quite a bit here, as you might be able to tell. There’s a whole army descending on the estate. And guess who has to feed and house them all?” she grumbles. “Anyway, I guess Lorcan didn’t see the point of needing a chaperone now.”
I follow her gaze. “What’s going on, anyway?”
“Who knows,” she replies, tone laced with bitterness. “Us women just change the sheets and wash the dishes.”
Now, I turn my attention back to her. “Would you want to be involved though?” I ask, gesturing down at the solemn-looking man in an all-black uniform, AK-47 across his chest. “In all of this?”
“There’s more to the Quinn family than being a seedy mob, you know?”
“No, I didn’t know. All I keep hearing is scary Russians and cocaine supply.”
“Yeah, that’s part of it. But Quinn Venture Capital is pretty legit. It’s our—well, I guess, their—investment company. It injects cash into a lot of the local businesses.”
My mind immediately goes to Mickey’s strip club, with its oiled-up stripper poles and sticky floors. And then to Mickey himself handing over a bag of fake cash and ending up dead a few moments later. I guess the whole exchange makes more sense now—but I wouldn’t exactly call it legit.
“Anyway,” Orna says, slicing through my thoughts with a sweep of a hand. “What do I know? I’m nothing but a stupid woman.”
Annoyance prickles at my skin. “Don’t call yourself that, Orna. You’re not stupid, you just haven’t had a formal education. There’s a big difference. I bet you’d pick up any skill you like in a heartbeat.”
She flashes me a warm smile on her way out, stopping by the door. She twirls the key between her thumb and finger and says, “You know, I think we’d be friends if we hadn’t met in such unusual circumstances.” She lowers her gaze and slips out, locking me in the tower behind her.
A pang of emotion stabs at my chest. She’s right. I don’t have many friends apart from Nellie, but if I met Orna at Stanford, I know we’d be close.
I chow down a couple of melt-in-your-mouth croissants before showering and slipping on a pair of linen pants and an off-the-shoulder blouse. When Orna comes back half an hour later, I have a book tucked under my arm and the sunglasses she bought me balancing on my head. She takes me in with a grin, before leading me down to the lobby and cracking open the steel door for me. Sunlight floods my face, smelling like warm freedom. “Enjoy,” she says over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the house. “I’ll come and get you when lunch is ready.”
I slip off my sandals and let the damp morning grass tickle my toes. The sun warms my back as I stroll through the grounds, even flashing a small smile at gardeners and the new security guards.
Despite the extra protection around the grounds, I feel almost light, and I can’t put my finger on why.
Then the memory of Lorcan’s mouth burning against my throat floods into my brain. Suddenly it’s too hot out here, the grass is itchy and the hedges towering from every angle are suffocating.
The reason I felt lighter, almost human, was because the Devil isn’t here sucking the life out of me.
The realization brings me back down to earth with a thump.
What the fuck are you playing at? Trying to find a nice spot in the sun to read Little Women for the fourth time this week?
I need to use this time to figure out how the hell I’ll get out of here.
My shoulders straighten and I slip my sunglasses onto my face to hide my panic. It’s hard to walk around the grounds like I’m simply enjoying the view, every security guard has their heavy gaze clamped on me as I pass.
But I know who I’m looking for. And I’m praying he has his clippers with him today instead of a bulletproof vest.
The relief washes over me as I find Cillian crouching down in a shadowy corner, tending to a patch of hydrangeas.
“Rose garden,” I mutter out the side of my mouth as I pass. I loop around the grounds and dip down the narrow path that leads up to the gate.
I can only hope that he heard me.
I’m antsy, sitting on the bench, bending back the cover of the book in my sweaty hands. Just when I thought he definitely hadn’t heard and I get up to leave, I hear the creak of the gate.
Cillian appears between two rose bushes and mops his brow with the hem of his T-shirt. I take a peek at the toned, brown skin underneath, before averting my gaze.
“I can’t stay long,” he says.
“So, I’ll get right to it,” I gabble, closing the gap between us. It’s crazy how I’ve only met him once, exchanged less than a hundred words in our entire lifetime, but he feels like a piece of normality. “What’s your escape plan?”
He frowns, casting a suspicious eye over my desperate face. “I don’t have one.”
“You do,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm. “I know you do. You said it last time, remember?”
His eyes narrow. “No, I don’t.”
The desperation claws at my throat now. Cillian is a tiny, silver lining surrounding my enormous dark cloud. He’s a beacon of hope, but it’s looking like it’s nothing but a mirage.
My throat is dry. “We’re in the same boat, Cillian. Please.”
I reach out to grab his arm but he steps back to avoid my clammy fingertips. “We’re not in this together, Poppy.” His demeanor has never been kind, but he hardens from stone into carbon. The wall he puts up creates a bigger divide between us, even though he’s only a few inches away. “I can’t trust Marcus Murphy’s daughter, that’s for sure.”
The words spit from his lips with enough venom to stupefy me.
Marcus Murphy’s daughter.
I’ve heard this so many times now that it feels like a dirty slur. I think back to the day of the fake funeral, to Lorcan Quinn, standing behind the pulpit in all of his cruel glory, announcing to the small, unwilling congregation that Marcus Murphy signed for the package that contained the bomb that would kill his family.
An idiotic mistake from a bottom-of-the-barrel lackey. A mistake for which I took the punishment. But every time my father’s name graces Lorcan’s tongue, it’s accompanied by sheer hatred. And now Cillian has that look too.
“My father isn’t who I thought he is, is he?” I stammer.
His mouth hardens into a tight line. “It’s not my place or my passion to walk you through your family tree, Murphy,” he says, before spitting onto the stone slabs by my feet. “I’m trying to do my time and get out. Stay away from me—you’re bad news, just like your father.”
Cillian stalks down the path and out of the gate, taking my last fraction of hope with him.
I sink down onto one of the benches, the weight of his words too heavy to carry. A sob comes deep from my chest, and I try my best to stop it from materializing.
Left on my own again. Like I’ve always been.
Think, you silly girl,I beg my brain, racking it for a plan B.
Then they come to me: his words, fully formed.
I collect things. And when I’m done with them, I discard them.
When I’m no longer of any use to him, he’ll let me go. When he gets what he wants from me.
A hard lump forms in my throat.
I know exactly what he wants.
Rising to my feet, the sun feels warm on my face once more. It’s decided. As I walk the path out of the rose garden, I feel a little lighter in the mind but heavier in my heart.
My virginity is a high price to pay, but my freedom is priceless.