House of Salt and Sorrows(68)

I’d known I couldn’t keep them, they were wild and meant to be in the sea, but how I hoped one or two might linger behind, still needing me. “Every last one. They were so strong.” I smiled, remembering how quickly their little fins flipped forward, eager to meet the ocean. “I’d sat with them in the bathtub, kicking and churning the water for hours at a time.”

As he laughed, his hand fell on mine. It happened casually, as if it were perfectly natural for our hands to be in such intimate contact. “Why?”

It took everything in my power to drag my eyes from the knot our hands formed. “They needed to learn to swim with the waves.”

A flicker of hope burned deep inside me, sparked by the friction of his thumb across my palm, like a bit of flint against a pile of kindling.

“Annaleigh Thaumas, brave hero to sea turtles great and small,” he murmured, and then tilted my chin and kissed me.

Though I’d never been kissed before, I’d daydreamt about what it would be like, the meeting of two pairs of lips. Would there be exploding fireworks or a fluttering rush of wings unseen? I was certain Eulalie’s romance novels trumped up such contact to turn pages. Surely it was nothing more than the brush of flesh on flesh, like a pat on the back or the shaking of hands.

This was so much better.

His mouth was warm against mine and softer than I’d ever imagined a man’s could be. My skin sizzled as his hands cupped my cheeks and he pressed a kiss to my forehead before returning to my mouth. I dared to bring my fingers up to explore his jawline. It was rough with stubble and felt so completely different from me that I ran my fingertips over it, memorizing the lines.

Finally, I pulled away, giddy and breathless.

“Your blushes are so very beautiful.” He grinned and kissed my cheek, rubbing his fingers over its rosy glow.

“So are yours,” I murmured, then shook my head, my cheeks deepening in color. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, I—”

He looked pleased. “Have I flustered you?”

“A little,” I admitted. I shifted on the bench, allowing the cool space between us to clear my mind.

“Oh, look, the fireworks are starting,” he said, his knee pressed into mine as he looked up.

I followed his gaze, searching the sky, but it remained dark. “Where? I don’t see any—”

And then he kissed me again.





I sat up abruptly, startled from sleep. Blinking groggily, I pushed aside my hair, my bedclothes, and the sleep from my eyes. Memories of last night came floating back to me through a deep fog. The Churning Festival…the play and sculptures…Cassius kissing me…

On the boat ride back, snow had begun to fall, more and more heavily. Cassius and I used the cold as an excuse to sit too near to one another, our knees pressed daringly close. By the time we reached Salten, the sky had whipped into a cold fury, blasting the island with howling mistrals. Before I went to bed, I watched waves crash against the cliffs like battering rams.

A shriek pulled me from my heated thoughts. Shouts followed, then a keening wail, like an animal in torment. What on earth was going on? Wrapping my gray robe around me, I wandered out into the hall. The sounds came from downstairs. I broke into a headlong sprint, recognizing Lenore’s wails.

“They’re gone,” she cried as I entered her room. “They’re gone, Annaleigh!”

Camille and Hanna were already there, talking over each other with such force, I couldn’t make sense of it. Lenore flung herself into my arms, her cold, wet cheeks pressing into mine. Her body was a chaotic swirl of flowing hair and layers of ripped nightgown.

“What happened? Where are Ligeia and Rosalie?” I ran my hand over her hair, trying to soothe her. My fingers caught on something snagged in her locks. Working it free, I found a small twig. Red berry buds dotted the little brown branch.

“Were you outside?” I asked, showing her the twig.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she howled as Hanna raced off to find Papa. “But they’re gone!”

I barely missed being hit by her flailing arms. “Camille, what happened?”

She helped me guide Lenore to her bed. “From what I can make out, she woke up and Rosalie and Ligeia weren’t in their beds. She’s been raving ever since.”

“It’s the curse!” Lenore sobbed, muffling her cries in the pillows.

I rubbed her back. “Couldn’t they be down at breakfast? Or out on a morning walk? Has anyone checked?”

Camille shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t get anything coherent out of her.”

“Lenore, you need to calm down.” I kept my voice firm but soft, pushing back a quiver of fear at the mention of the curse. I couldn’t bury any more sisters.

“They’re dead. I know they are!”

“Tell us what happened. Did you see something?”

She shook her head, miserable, and flung back the duvet I’d wrapped around her, eyes feverishly bright. “I’m them. They’re me. And they’re gone. I just feel it!”

I raised my hands, showing her I meant no harm. “It’s okay. We’ll find them. Do you know where they might have gone?”

Lenore sat up straight, making eye contact with Camille. “She does.” Her voice was dangerously laced with accusation.