“I’m not sure. He thinks he has a lead on a third party who has been inside the house. Such a simple spell, no? One cannot go inside without being invited.”“It worked on vampires and some of the fae for centuries,” Kali noted. “I’m more interested in who was able to cast such a spell and have it apply to everyone who has never set foot inside.”“We all have our theories.” Sebastien sipped from his flask, letting out a sigh. “Each theory has its own sub theories, and those theories are full of myths. It’s why I am so eager to crack the mystery of the house. Even the weakest of our theories guarantees that the house has powerful magic, ripe for the taking.”“Which theory are you a fan of?” Kali asked. “Currently.”“I was a pretty big advocate for the Fountain of Youth theory, but the fact that Caretakers keep dying says otherwise. I’m leaning more toward the Garden of Eden theory myself, but am also a fan of the theory that an Ancient One is chained up beneath the house.”“Do you really. He looked decades older than his years, his chin dark with a sprouting beard, his eyes red-rimmed from drinking. At the sight of her, he visibly flinched, and cast his gaze at the floor. Lady Beatrice was on the cot that was to have been Constance’s. The bruises on her fair skin had faded to a greenish-yellow, dappled here and there with smudges of blue. She had not made any effort to care for herself since the multiple rapes, save to nibble at food and use the privy. Her dark hair was a snarled mess, she was grimy, and her gown of apple-green silk was stained and rumpled. ‘Jean-Pierre,’ Constance said, and he flinched again at the sound of her voice. ‘I had hoped to speak to you.’ ‘I have nothing to say to you,’ he said, refusing to look at her. ‘I’m so greatly sorry.’ His jaw clenched. ‘There can be no excuse for what I did to you,’ she said. ‘But I do wish you’d allow me at least to explain. I never wished to harm you. I only … I needed … you were there, and so handsome, and I.
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