House of Salt and Sorrows(23)

Ink! The tub was impossibly full of ink.

Without warning, a tentacle shot from the water, snaking around my torso and constricting tightly. It was mottled red and purple, with lines of orange suckers latching on to me. Another arm attacked my leg, winding up it with a fierce possession. I flailed and kicked, but nothing could pry the beast from me.

The bulbous head of an octopus broke the surface, intelligent amber eyes surveying me through slit pupils. With my free foot, I lashed out at them, praying it would release me.

The creature reared back, and I could see its muscular underside. Dozens of suckers pointed directly to its wickedly sharp black mouth. It opened once, twice, as if pondering which part of me to attack first.

It launched at me, and just before I felt the beak sink into my thigh, I woke up. My heart pounded, echoing its racing rhythms up through my chest and into my throat as I gasped for air.

I’d fallen asleep.

It was a dream.

An awful, awful dream.

Lowering back into the cooling waters, I let out a sigh of relief but immediately jerked up as pounding sounded against the door.

“Annaleigh, I swear, if you make me late, I’m going to murder you!”

“Coming!”

I pushed myself out of the water, wondering how long I’d dozed. Looking at the white porcelain as I toweled off, I couldn’t remember why I’d been so scared in the first place. It was just a bathtub. Elizabeth dying there didn’t change that.

Standing in front of the mirror, I twisted my wet hair up and spotted something on my back. A set of red marks raked down my spine, almost as if I’d been scratched.

“Camille?” I unlocked the door.

“Finally!” She burst in, arms full of towels, soaps, and oils.

“Would you look at this?” I turned, showing her my naked back. “What does it look like to you? I can’t see it very well in the mirror.”

Her fingertips on my skin were cold, pushing at the tender spot. “You scratched yourself.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t scratch myself.”

She turned back to me, her face deadpan. “It must have been Elizabeth, then.”

“Camille!”

“Well, what do you want me to say? It’s a scratch. I get them all the time. It probably happened while you were scrubbing.” She pulled her shift over her head and paused. “You did scrub, didn’t you?”

A scoff escaped me. I wasn’t Verity. “Of course!”

Camille noticed the full bath. “You didn’t drain the tub!”

As she leaned in to find the stopper, a hand reached out of the water, grabbing her neck and dragging her under. Elizabeth surfaced from churning waters, her eyes filmed a sickly green.

“Camille!” I shrieked, shattering the horrible image. She jerked away from the tub with an exasperated sigh.

“What now?”

I blinked, clearing my vision. This wasn’t like the tentacled monster. I hadn’t fallen asleep. I’d seen a ghost, just as Verity said I would, now that I knew to look.

“I…” Camille had made it abundantly clear last night that she wanted nothing to do with our little sister’s visions.

She stamped her foot with impatience. “Well, then? Get out. I need to bathe. And you need to be sure to see Hanna before she starts on the triplets’ hair. You know Rosalie will change her mind at least three times.”

I’d barely gotten my robe on before Camille pushed me out. Down the hall was a set of large silver mirrors. When we were smaller, Camille and I would stand in the middle, looking into the reflection of our reflections until we were dizzy with giggles.

Using the double reflection now, I lowered the back of my robe. Camille was wrong. The red marks weren’t a set of lines. They were bruises, perfectly round. As if someone had pressed their fingertips in, tapping for attention.

I pulled my robe up, hurried to my bedroom, and slammed the door.





Beneath the wide swish of tulle skirts, I flexed my feet, glad the fairy shoes had flat, padded soles. We’d been standing in the receiving line for what felt like hours. If I’d been in heels, I’d be limping to dinner. Camille needled me in the ribs with her sharp elbow.

“Pay attention,” she mouthed.

“This is my wife, Morella, and my eldest daughters, Camille and Annaleigh,” Papa said, greeting another couple. He shook the gentleman’s hand and kissed the tips of the woman’s fingers. “And the birthday girls, Rosalie, Ligeia, and Lenore.”

We pasted on another round of smiles, murmuring a hello and thanking them for coming.

Rosalie flashed open her fan with an impatient flutter, sneaking a look at the receiving line behind Papa. “We’ll never get to the dancing,” she hissed.

I glanced around the ballroom, hoping some of the visitors had ventured into other parts of the manor. Hadn’t we greeted more people than this? The hall, which could easily hold three hundred people, felt half full. A string orchestra played underneath the murmurs of the crowd, making the room seem livelier than it really was.

Perhaps the fog had detained some of the guests on the mainland?

At least the ballroom did not disappoint. Velvet drapes, navy with silvery tracings, were artfully swagged throughout the room, creating private nooks perfect for romantic assignations. Lush purple flowers dripped from fluted columns. The chandelier gleamed and sparkled, its crystal drops twisting and hanging down to form the arms of the Thaumas octopus. The center of the chandelier made up the body, refracting the light of a thousand burning candles. The massive beast covered half the ceiling.