The Grim and The Grave

By Sami Eastwood

When her love is taken from her, Clover will do anything to get him back...

Half-fae and reviled by the town of Veritas for being so, Clover Grimaldi and her human mother work as servants to the cruel and ruthless Dr. Van Doren. Obeying Dr. Van Doren is the only thing keeping Clover and her mother safe. But Clover has a secret:

• Language: English
• Publisher: MaileKai Publishing
• Release date: Sep 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957829005

Book preview

Chapter One

Clover Grimaldi could smell fear. It drifted off the people of Veritas in clouds, making it hard for her to focus. It smelled sharp like rotting metal. It made her nose wrinkle and she delicately wiped at it with her fingers before she stepped into the courier’s office.

Mr. Winetrout sat behind the front desk, sorting through a few pieces of parchment in front of him. When he looked up, his watery eyes went wide.

Percy…go on sorting them letters in the back, he said, turning to his young son, who was sitting behind the counter as well.

Percy looked up with a grimace, but when he saw Clover, he did as his father ordered without protest.

Parcels for Van Doren? she requested.

He extended a hand without looking at her. Clover took the iron key wrapped in cloth out of her pocket. She could feel the metal heat up in her hand even through her glove and the cloth. She quickly handed it to him.

While he turned and unlocked the iron box that held Dr. Van Doren’s packages, Clover looked around the office like she wasn’t interested. Iron bars over the windows, iron doorknobs, iron, iron, everywhere. The simple folk of Veritas feared the fae who lived in the woods just outside their large black gates—iron, of course. The one weakness of the fae, of which Clover was half.

Mr. Winetrout placed the parcels wrapped in brown in front of her. Clover took out a small stack of silver coins and placed them on the countertop before sliding the parcels and key into her bag.

She did not wish Mr. Winetrout a good anything and neither did he wish her.

Rotting metal.

And a fear of what? An overwhelming fear that she would bare her sharp teeth—which she didn’t have—and steal their children—which she definitely didn’t want—and maybe even set their town on fire—which would be far too much trouble than this town and its people were worth.

While the rest of the town trudged through the mud caused by the first rains of the year, Clover’s gray leather shoes drifted over the ground as it hardened beneath her. The elements, some of them at least, bent to her will when she could keep her mind clear, but magic within the gates of Veritas was dangerous. She had much more reason to fear the townsfolk than they had to fear her.

Fortunately, there was nothing else to pick up in town today, so she headed as quickly as she could for the western exit of Veritas. The single church bell began tolling the hour, drowning out Mrs. Taverty. The sharp-edged bird-like woman was screeching out a protective folk song in the wide town square. The square itself lay at the threshold of the largest building in Veritas—the church. It stretched toward the sky like it was trying to escape the earth itself. Clover wished it would go.

When Clover walked past, the woman quieted slightly, a blessing to all. The orphans she watched over cowered at her feet, kneeling and holding their hands out, begging for donations to the church. What must it be like having a bird of prey like Taverty as a mother?

Clover wondered what her own mother was doing and if the doctor was watching her closely enough. Her mother had a tendency to wander, and the gray clouds overhead were rolling, ready to release another wave of rain.

When Clover reached the western gate, she found it closed. The lock could easily be opened…if you weren’t fae. It was a complicated lock of levers and switches that required some strength, but it was made entirely of iron. Clover reached up and tried to move the lock, but the iron began to burn her through her knitted gloves which only covered her palms.

She pulled back, waving her hand through the air to banish the burning sensation. Now what? No one would help her, and the doctor said these parcels were urgent. He would be wanting them soon. She couldn’t wait for someone to pass through.

Her heart began to race as she reached up again and grabbed the small lever. It sizzled under her fingers as she tried to push it out of its locked position. Finally, the pain became too much, and she reeled away. Her heel caught a loose stone and she fell hard on her side. Mud squelched between her burning fingers, soothing the pain, but it wasn’t soothing her pride, which burned far hotter than iron on her skin.

Clover’s head snapped up when she heard snickering. Some children of the village laughed and pointed at her even as they hid around the corners of buildings or behind barrels filled with rainwater. She quickly stood but ducked again as the first of the mud was thrown.

She turned, eyes closed, and blocked Van Doren’s packages from the mud with her body. It struck her back, painless and harmless except for what it meant. That she was helpless, powerless against children with mud. How much more powerless would she be when they grew up and decided to throw something else at her, like pikes or nets made of iron? Clover felt a surge of cold at the center of her chest, but she struggled against her magic even as it swept comfortingly over her skin. She brought to mind her mother’s words.

Some snakes only strike after being struck.

There was a slow and painful future ahead for her if she lifted a finger against anyone in the village of Veritas. Even some silly illusion would grant her the same fate as her father—not that she was capable of so much.

Hey! Get out of here, you little wretches! Go on!

Clover let out a breath of relief, opening her eyes. Grant.

Clover, lovelier than ever, he said. His usually neatly combed hair had a few loose brown curls. His presence filled her with relief, even if she was embarrassed about being covered in mud. Clover flicked the excess muck off her hands and tried to push it off the back of her dress.

Grant’s brown eyes were smiling even though his mouth was trying not to. He opened the gate for her. I see the damage has already been done. Are you all right?

She tried on a smile. My pride is hurt worse than anything else. Did your father send for me? I’ve taken too long.

"No, not at all. I came to get you. He was wearing his dark-brown work clothes, which was odd. He never wore his work clothes into town. Your mother said something about you being trapped in an iron cage… He shook his head. I didn’t want to take any chances of that being even remotely true."

Clover smiled. Well, she wasn’t wrong.

He returned her smile before he pressed a hand to the small of her back. Come on, let’s get home before the rain catches us.

The two of them began walking back to Van Doren Manor. Once they were far enough away from the town, Grant took the parcels from her.

Thank you for rescuing me, she said, watching a smile drift over his features. Clover knew Grant loved being a hero. She was more than happy to let him, since her fae-blood prevented her from saving herself. But she could tell he was disturbed by her treatment, and that he’d been late to the rescue.

He let out a bitter laugh, looking at the mud splattered on the back of her dress and hair. What good is a rescuer if he comes too late?

"Considering that you didn’t really know I was in trouble to begin with, any help is appreciated."

Little villains, said Grant with a grin. What kind of person even thinks of throwing mud at someone else for no good reason?

His tone was teasing, as well it should have been. The same thing that gave them the idea gave it to him when he was younger. The only difference was that Grant grew out of it—those children might never.

Oh yes, how could they? No child has ever been so wicked, Clover said with a laugh. She lived for these moments, ones of peace between ones of pain.

Grant continued, I wasn’t wicked, I was…misinformed.

"How unpleasant for you." Clover reached behind her and rubbed a clump of damp mud off the back of her neck. Thunder clapped overhead and they both stopped walking and looked to the sky.

That’s a good sign, said Grant.

Clover turned to him. It’s not raining yet.

Race you back! he shouted before running off.

Clover ran after him. Do not drop those!

Van Doren Manor was far to the west of Veritas, and the farther they got from the city, the safer Clover felt. The dirt road hugged the forest, and a few small gusts of wind blew dry leaves around their feet as they walked. Dark clouds moved toward them from over the marshes to the south.

She noticed Grant didn’t mind walking close to the forest like many did. His eyes kept flitting around, the escaped curls brushed the worry lines in his forehead. Grant slowed to catch his breath, but he didn’t stop walking. His pace was brisk, and his eyes now held a glint of worry. The smell of fear came back.

What’s the matter? she asked.

Grant wrung his hands. I…left in quite a hurry. We really should be going.

Define, ‘quite a hurry’.

I may have been in the middle of an autopsy.

Grant!

My father doesn’t know I’ve even gone, he said.

Clover scoffed. So far as you know. Are you off your head?

A little. Can we please get back? he asked.

Clover grabbed his hand, and they began running again. He held her hand tightly and ran beside her even though he could easily outdistance her, as he had shown many times before.

What about the other patient? The Hallows boy. Did he see you leave?

Grant shook his head as they ran. Not a chance, he’s been out cold since this morning. Unless he’s very good at faking a death-like sleep.

The manor came quickly into sight. It was a hauntingly isolated building. Gray stones streaked with darker watermarks were wrapped with untamed ivy that was dying in the early autumn cold. Steeply pitched roofs made the manor jut out of the horizon like a series of blades.

Clover and Grant both stopped behind the willow tree beyond the view of the high windows.

Are you sure he wouldn’t notice you missing? asked Clover. She felt a horrible sense of danger coming close. More thunder, and this time, lightning came with it.

Grant nodded. I’m sure. You know he doesn’t move around much when it rains.

I know. I’ll see you at dinner, she said. She took the parcels from him.

We shouldn’t have to sneak around. You deserve better, he said.

Clover’s heart skipped a beat, and she smiled.

The life of a servant is never expected to be one of fairness. You’ve given that to me, truly, so don’t despair so much. She stepped forward and kissed his cheek.

He frowned. Don’t you ever want more?

Do you think we could have this conversation at another time? she asked.

Right, but think about my question, he said. He gave her a dream-like smile before lunging forward and kissing her.

Clover pushed him off, but she was laughing. Just go!

Grant was laughing too as he ran into the forest. Clover watched him with a shake of her head. Not even a misstep of hesitation. Most humans didn’t know the first thing about the forest, thus they mistreated it and the fae claimed them. Since Clover had taught Grant how to respect the forest, he never feared it lashing out against him, or being targeted by the fae.

Clover waited a bit before she collected herself and began her quick walk down the lane. She made a show of brushing drying mud off her dress and fixing a few flyaway hairs. The walls around Van Doren Manor were brick. The red had been washed to a dull brown over the years and the gates were always open. They had been overgrown in Tangle Ivy, so she supposed even if one wanted to close them, it would be nearly impossible. The path up to the servant’s entrance shifted to stone and Clover stomped on it to knock the mud off her boots. Her mother was waiting for her at the large black door.

Torryn Grimaldi was a woman in a cage. Her full mind had died along with Clover’s father, and what little remained was reserved for few things. Acting as a servant to Dr. Van Doren and caring for her daughter, though even those things had their limits. Torryn’s eyes were currently far away, their blue was pale like her skin.

Mother? said Clover. We should go inside now.

Tears dripped from Torryn’s eyes. It rained then, too.

Clover nodded though she didn’t understand. Come inside. Clover gently took her mother by the elbow and led her easily inside. Torryn didn’t try to struggle. She was a frail woman, bone thin from hardly ever eating and hollow-eyed from lack of deep sleep.

The stone corridor leading to their bedrooms, storage closets, and the kitchen was narrow. Clover gently guided her mother down the corridor to her bedroom and sat her down in the chair by the window. Like Clover, she wore the gray dress of the servant, but at least hers still covered her ankles. Clover had long outgrown her dress but getting a new one wasn’t a high priority.

Torryn was still crying, lost in some distant memory, or maybe a time and place that had never even existed.

There was no time for Clover to change her clothes. She could clean up whatever mess she made after the parcels were delivered. Clover took the parcels out of her mother’s room and to the kitchen. She heard her mother’s door open and Clover sighed. Torryn could be anywhere now. Clover didn’t have time to search for her.

Clover took the parcels out of the servants’ quarters and into the hospital wing. It took up the entire western half of the first floor. She walked through a hallway past the rooms that could hold individual patients. The surgery rooms were the last three in the long line of twelve rooms. At the end of the hall was a door that led to a staircase which would take her up to Dr. Van Doren’s office. If Grant had been working on an autopsy, he would be back in one of the surgery rooms.

Clover didn’t hesitate to go straight to Dr. Van Doren’s office. No place in the house was off limits for her. She had to clean everything, and Dr. Van Doren had nothing to hide other than the fact that he was a hard man, cruel in the blink of an eye. But who couldn’t tell that just by looking at him?

She knocked lightly on the door and he grunted, allowing her to enter. His office was a horrible place. The worst room in the house, as it was the only one that didn’t have any windows. Not a single one. Just wood-paneled walls. It unnerved her, similar to what she imagined being inside a coffin was like.

The doctor himself was sitting at his desk, writing something. Clover didn’t try to see what it was; she already knew. He kept a list of names—names of every patient he ever saw along with their history. When they were born, how many times they’d been ill, and sometimes, their predicted deaths. Grant had explained it to her once—keeping his own records was all part of his apprenticeship.

Clover set the parcels on the worktable that lined the western wall and turned to leave the room.

Stop, the doctor said.

She did, turning to him and keeping her eyes to the floor.

What took you so long?

The western gate of Veritas had been closed. I had to wait for someone to pass through. My apologies, Master Van Doren.

He looked up, narrowing his stone-gray eyes at her through his circular glasses. His brown hair was tinged with gray at the temples, and though time had weathered his skin a little, he still had the build of a strong young man, similar to Grant. Clover looked down again. He held out a weathered hand. Key.

Clover gave it to him and waited for her dismissal.

Where is your mother?

The kitchen. Shall I fetch her? she asked. She could see his hands balling to fists on his desktop and her heart raced in her chest. He was in his later years, but still strong. His hands could easily break any bone in her body. The fae in her had made her thin and narrow. Maybe her bones were a little stronger than those of a normal human, but she didn’t want to test them.

Don’t bother. Dr. Van Doren’s hands unfurled. Her mind grows weaker; she loses it even more when it rains.

Is there something you need me to do, Master Van Doren? Clover asked.

Dr. Van Doren got up, and Clover held still as a statue. She kept her eyes to the ground and her breathing even as he stood in front of her.

Why yes, there is something I need you to do. His hand lashed out and struck her hard across the face. Stars exploded behind her eyes, and when Clover opened them again, she was on the floor. Something hot leaked down her face, but she couldn’t tell if it was tears or blood. The world wasn’t still enough for her to focus. Her breathing was heavy now, with a mixture of sobs and panic. Clover didn’t dare get up; she would only be knocked back down.

Dr. Van Doren crouched beside her. I need you to remember the meaning of urgent. He shifted forward and stepped on one of her hands. The burning of your hands on the iron barriers of Veritas does not concern me. His foot shifted away. He still needed her to work, after all. He left and Clover still made no move to right herself.

It could be worse, she reminded herself. It could be her mother, as it had been time and time again. After a while, Clover had learned not to rush to her mother’s side, because she would only suffer the same fate. And so Clover would have to watch as Dr. Van Doren put her mother in the same position she was in now, and do nothing. She closed her eyes hard enough to cause herself more pain.

Oh yes, it could be much worse.

Chapter Two

A large bruise carved a crescent moon on the outside of Clover’s right eye. Underneath it was a cut that stung when she moved her face too much. In the smooth metal of the pots that hung from the ceiling, Clover watched the bruise continue to darken. Clover turned away from her reflection and focused hard, the cold of fae magic sweeping across her skin, making the tips of her fingers tingle as her tears floated away from her eyes and into Dr. Van Doren’s soup bowl. He could rest his joints during the rain if he wished, but his dreams would not be pleasant. There were powerful magics in the world, but sometimes the simple magics like the ones of emotion were the most useful.

The green sheen of the brassy iveen pots shone in the light of the sconces around the kitchen. The pots were filled with water, waiting to be washed after dinner was over. All the metal in the house was iveen—found and mined in the forest by the fae. Grant had hinted that the house was built with iron, but his crazy grandmother had it all ripped out and replaced with iveen so she could have fae servants. The first in a long and miserable legacy.

Clover stepped back from the sink and waited near the door that led from the dining room to the kitchen. As her mother ate in the kitchen, Clover thought about Grant’s question.

Don’t you ever want more?

Of course she wanted more. She wanted a good life, a peaceful, safe life for her and her mother, but Clover had no idea what that meant. Where could they go? A sick woman and her half-fae daughter. Ha! No human town would let them live within a league of them, and going into the forest? The fae were protective of their way of life. They would never accept her and they definitely would not accept her mother.

But there was an itch she couldn’t scratch, the kind that evaded you, moving to a new place until you’ve scratched up your whole arm or back. They couldn’t keep living like this. She was tired of staying down—no—it was more than that. She was tired of getting knocked down. Yet the question remained: where could they go?

Grant and his father came in, interrupting her thoughts. Clover moved farther into the shadow of her doorway so Grant wouldn’t see her face, but she couldn’t keep up the charade. Dr. Van Doren waved for her, and she came over, pouring wine into his glass. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Grant shift in his seat. Clover stepped over to pour Grant some wine but he shook his head, so she moved back into the corner.

Grant cleared his throat. I have a question.

Go on, his father said, and Clover held back a smirk as Dr. Van Doren slurped his soup. Cruel dreams for a cruel man.

Hypothetically, how much blunt force trauma could a person take to the head before they were unable to do the most basic of tasks?

Clover sighed quietly.

Dr. Van Doren looked up from his soup. Easy, boy—

Don’t be cross, sir. It’s only a question. Grant eased a smile into his statement. Clover couldn’t see Grant’s face from here, but his