Chapter 13: Frost and Stone

The stone in Mr. Riordan's pocket whispered to him. The witch should burn; her hair is already aflame. He knew better than to pay much attention to the stone. Things whispered to him all the time. It was a cheat and a snare. A trap of the devil, but her hair was like a flame. His hand ached with the vision of her hair. She'd burned him with that fire and lied to him. He should have fired her father and sent them far away. But that hair, that skin, even the fire of her lips as he kissed her. God would forgive him. God had forgiven him before and they weren't nearly as beautiful, as deadly.

At home his wife was waiting at the door as she was supposed to. She was a good woman, a godly woman, a boring woman. She hadn't borne him any sons, but people didn't understand the need for sons in this time.

"Do you need anything, Dear?" his wife said.

"No, go to bed," Riordan said. He couldn't sleep with his wife while the flame burned in his mind. It wouldn't be right. He went into his study and closed the door but didnt lock it. He didn't need to. Clara would never enter this room. He'd told her not to.

He put the stone on the desk and peered at it. Ordinary black rock, it had no glint, no colour, nothing to distinguish it from any other piece of granite. He picked the stone up again. It felt heavier than it should, smoother, fitting in his hand perfectly to strike someone. Just as the girl had struck him. He tore the bandages from his wounded hand. It lay twisted and black on the desk mocking him with its weakness. No one with a blemish shall go before the Lord the Book said. He picked up the rock to smash his hand. If your hand causes you to sin, the Lord said, strike it from you. The stone hit his hand, but it didn't crush. There was no weight, no hardness. It felt like flesh to his blackened fingers like the softness under her clothes. The softness she used to trap him.

He left the stone in his ruined hand. He breathed harder, faster, it was pulling him in. The fire, the flame, her hair, soft places calling out for him. He shouted and his head snapped back against his chair. His breath rasped from his chest. His heart thumped. He clutched the stone with his twisted flesh and let the ecstasy wash through him. He no longer ignored the whispers. They were in his ear like a lover's breath.

He would have her. He had to have her, and she would burn. They both would burn with this fire. His mind filled with the vision and it was all he saw.