Layna flinched as the front door slammed open, but quickly regained her composure enough to hurry forward to take her mistress's cloak. She caught it in midair with cat-like grace as it was shrugged angrily off the woman’s shoulders. She opened her mouth to ask how the visit with Jezebel’s father had gone, but the raging fire in her mistress's eyes silenced her. She deftly swept the cloak out of the way as the woman stormed past, neither uttering a word during the exchange. The footsteps echoed in the long stone hallway and ended in another crash as Jezebel closeted herself in the library to fume.
Movement caught Layna’s eye and she gave Katrina a knowing smile as her friend snuck out the side door to the library with a look of profound relief on her face at having slipped out unnoticed. No one wanted to be in Lady Jezebel’s way when she was in this type of mood. Even on her best days it was like walking on eggshells around her temper, and lately she’d had more bad days than good.
The lady’s time was consumed by her most recent project to advance her into what she felt was her rightful place, though Layna wasn’t sure exactly where she thought that was. It wasn’t enough for Jezebel that she had been born into one of the wealthiest families of the noble class and her father doted on her every whim. Apparently, her rightful place was even loftier than this exalted rank, and she spent every free moment hatching new schemes to get there. They usually involved whining to her father to get him to do something for her; whether it was giving her the money to open a lace shop – which she planned to make a fortune off, until her father stopped paying people to shop there and she realized it was actual work – or buying her way into yet another social group – until they got sick of her constant self-importance, or they had worn out their usefulness and she moved on.
The latest plan, however, had Jezebel’s favorite lackey, Devon, running around at all hours of the day and night. Layna had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach that something even more sinister than usual was going on. The basement had been getting a lot more use as of late, and she shuddered to think what that meant. The door that led below was the one place that the servants had been forbidden to enter, and one that Layna was quite sure she never wanted to see.
Devon himself was an eerie presence, and she couldn’t help but feel filthy every time he looked at her with his hungry eyes. His leering stare and loping gait, combined with the strange noises that emerged from the basement when he went below, had led more than one servant to the conclusion that he was not fully human. Legends said that the mages before the Massacre could change their form into animals like horses, bears, and wolves. No doubt these legends were what fueled the bedtime stories meant to scare little children into behaving about creatures like werewolves who would eat the unruly child who snuck out after dark. While she didn’t really believe the stories, she could see how someone might imagine Devon as a werewolf. Though if he were really a powerful enough mage to have rediscovered the lost art of shape-shifting, Layna doubted that even the feelings that he had for the lady – which were obvious to everyone but the lady – would keep him in her service. I’d almost say he looks at her with puppy-dog eyes if he weren’t so much more like a pit-bull.
Footsteps interrupted her brooding and she looked up to see Lord Gryffon strolling down the hallway towards her. He smiled a greeting and she bowed her head to him in acknowledgement, avoiding his eyes and pressing herself against the wall to give him plenty of room to pass. A few steps past her he paused and turned back.
Her gaze was drawn upwards, seemingly of its own accord, and her heart stopped as his brown eyes met hers. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt as though the air nearly tingled between them as she waited for him to speak.
He looked undecided for a moment, his eyes searching for something. Then he gave her a quick nod and abruptly turned again, continuing on his way.
He exited out the front door, and Layna’s breathing resumed. She closed her eyes and inhaled his musky smell.
Someone cleared their throat noisily, and she opened her eyes. Katrina raised her eyebrows and shook her head slightly at her.
Layna looked away quickly, her face flushing, and she busied herself by hanging the cloak in the closet. She picked up the duster that had been abandoned upon her mistress’s abrupt arrival and continued dusting down the hall, avoiding Katrina’s gaze. Katrina gave her another pointed look when she peeked over at her, but then made her way towards the kitchen without a word.
Layna pushed open another door, revealing a massive and elaborately decorated sitting room, and she sighed inwardly. It was her mistress's formal sitting room, and consequently was never used, but it had so many places that collected dust. Resigning herself to the arduous task before her, she took a deep breath and set to work cleaning away the dirt of a never-used room.