Daughters of the Lake(86)

But not all the occupants of Harrison’s House felt the same. As Kate, Simon, Jonathan, and Nick made their way through dinner, a storm was brewing on the third floor.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“I can’t wait for you to see it,” Kate said to Nick as the four of them made their way up to the third floor. “It all came together so—” But her words stopped and hung in the air as they all walked through the doorway into the ballroom.

Most of the photos that Kate had painstakingly chosen and had framed were now on the floor, their glass panes shattered. Furniture was upended. Champagne bottles, which had been chilling on ice, were cracked and lying in a pool of still-bubbling liquid. One had been thrown against the wall, a wet stain spreading out over the fresh paint. Several of the new window shades were torn down, and the doors to the turrets were standing open, signaling that the carnage had spread there.

“No!” Kate cried as she noticed the portrait of Addie and Jess sizzling in the fireplace, their faces melting in the flames. She rushed toward it and grabbed the frame, only to drop it again, its heat burning her hands.

Nick was at her side in an instant with the ice bucket. “Here,” he said, guiding her hands into the slush.

Kate could sense a presence, the same one she had encountered in this room weeks before, a malevolence that seemed to permeate every corner, every alcove. It was a blackness that seemed to grow as her fear grew, stronger with every beat of her heart.

None of them was able to find any words. It seemed that they were frozen, looking around the room that was in shambles, unable to process what they were seeing. It wasn’t until the only photo still hanging on the wall flew across the room and hit Kate directly in the forehead that they were startled out of whatever it was that entranced them.

“Okay, we’re getting out of here,” said Nick, pushing Kate toward the stairs and dropping the ice bucket in the process. He turned to Simon and Jonathan, still staring in stunned silence. “Move, you two.”

The four of them hurried out of the room, almost tripping over each other, and didn’t stop until they were on the first floor, breathless and panting.

“My God,” Simon said, staring at Kate’s forehead. “Jonathan, run and get a washcloth.”

As Nick guided her to the sofa in the living room, Kate reached up to her forehead and felt a trickle of blood with her shaking, stinging hands.

“What was that all about?” Nick said, taking the cloth from Jonathan and holding it to Kate’s forehead. “What happened up there?”

Simon sat down in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace with a thud, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, unsure of words to describe what he had seen.

“Obviously, somebody broke in,” Jonathan mused. “But who? Who would do such a thing?”

“When is the last time any of you were up on the third floor?” Nick asked, looking from Kate to Simon to Jonathan and back again.

Kate just shook her head. Simon ran a hand through his hair.

“It was earlier today,” Jonathan said. “For me, at least. I ran up there to put some champagne on ice not long before you got here. Five o’clock, maybe?”

“And everything was—”

“Fine. Perfect. Just as it should be.”

“Was anybody coming and going since then? Workmen? Employees? Hotel guests? Nobody heard anything?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Nobody. Charles left as soon as the dinner was served, and we don’t have any guests, not tonight.”

Nick stood up. “Can you show me the back or side doors?” he said to Jonathan. “Any other entrances, first floor and basement windows, that sort of thing. Fire escapes.”

Nick rubbed Kate’s shoulder as he examined her wound. “I don’t think it needs stitches. You just stay here and tend to that head. I’m going to take a look around.”

She covered his hand with hers. “Thank you,” she said.

When Nick and Jonathan had left the room, she turned to Simon. “I think we both know this wasn’t any workman.”

Simon leaned forward. “Do you think it’s that same—whatever it was—that attacked you on the third floor?”

“What other explanation could there be?” Kate said.

They exchanged glances. “You said that the only spirits in this house are family,” Kate said. “You don’t think—”

“Yes, I do. I was thinking exactly the same thing.” Simon lowered his voice. “Celeste . . . ?”

“She’s the only one who would be upset that Addie’s memory is being kept alive, that the truth about the babies and Addie’s death is finally out in the open. We can’t be sure, but I think it’s her.”

Simon let out a sigh. “I haven’t told Jonathan about your experience up there while he was away,” he mused. “I guess now’s the time.”

“The portrait of Jess and Addie,” Kate wailed, covering her face with the washcloth.

“He’s just going to have to paint another one, that’s all there is to it,” Simon said. “I didn’t think he captured her eyes, anyway.”

Kate dabbed at the cut on her forehead and noticed the blood was lessening. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” she said.