House of Salt and Sorrows(85)

I wiped my fingers across his cheek. They came back black and oily.

The Weeping Woman.

“Dance with me,” she whispered into my ear.

My stomach heaved, threatening to lose control, and I forced myself away from the wicked wraith. The floor felt sticky as I crawled forward. Sticky and moving.

Maggots spilled off the turtle’s platter onto the dance floor, writhing in time to the orchestra’s cheery tune. The floor was thick with their repugnant bodies. There were thousands of them. They crawled on me, into my shoes, under my skirts, and I finally opened my mouth and screamed.





“Annaleigh!”

From somewhere far away, in the depths of my swoon, I heard shouting. I just wanted to stay where I was, in the deep and silent dark, but the voice kept yelling my name, louder and louder. My shoulder jerked back as if shoved.

“Annaleigh, you have to wake up!” Another shove. “Now.”

I came to with a gasp, fuzzy with confusion. My mouth was dry, and a sour, metallic funk coated my tongue. I squinted against the glare of my bedroom’s sconces.

“What time is it?” I muttered to Hanna, sitting up, ready to push myself off the bed.

But I wasn’t in bed.

And Hanna had not woken me.

“Cassius! What are you doing in my room? Papa will have your head if he finds you here.” I blinked hard and used my hands to shield the light away. Why did the room feel so bright?

He knelt beside me, grabbing my shoulders, his fingers sinking in deep.

“Look at me,” he demanded, pushing back my hands. He took hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. His face was deathly pale; a sheen of sweat beaded his brow. He looked terrified.

“Let go of me. That hurts.” I wrenched free from his death grip.

Instantly, he jerked his hands away from me. “You’re awake?”

“Obviously. Why are you in here?”

I pushed myself up, wincing. Had I rolled out of bed while I slept? Or somehow fallen asleep on the floor after the ball? My body ached, and as I took a step toward my vanity, a stab of pain shot up my foot.

Lifting the hem of my dress—why hadn’t I changed into a nightgown?—I winced. My feet were raw with bruises and blisters. We really did need to get new shoes before going dancing again.

I froze as the memories came slamming back, hitting me with the force of a storm-swept wave.

The ball.

The bloody massacre at the banquet tables.

The Weeping Woman.

I sank down on the chair as a cry escaped me. The Weeping Woman had been at the ball. Not in my dreams, but actually there, beside me, her long fingers clasped over my wrists. I closed my eyes, struggling to remember what had happened after I saw her.

I’d fainted. But then what?

“Did you help bring me back after I fainted—did you carry me back?” Cassius’s blue eyes were dark with incomprehension. “Did you see me faint at the ball?”

He pressed his lips together, forming his words with care. “Annaleigh, there was no ball.”

It suddenly felt as if the temperature had dropped several degrees, and I pushed back a flurry of shivers. “You didn’t come? I could never find you there. Was the door closed once you caught up?”

Cassius knelt beside my chair, taking my hands in his. “There was no door to go through. You’ve been in your room all night long.”

I pushed back the tickle of a laugh threatening to escape. “That’s absurd. I was in Lambent. I can tell you anything you want to know about the castle. I was there, and so were Camille and the Graces, and—I was dancing. Look at my feet!”

He glanced at my tattered hemline and blistered heels and nodded slowly.

His silence was infuriating. “How do you explain that if there was no ball? If you didn’t go—you fell asleep or forgot or whatever—just come out and say it, Cassius. I know I was there. We all were. Except you!”

He stood up, jaw tightening, and held out his hand. “I think you need to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Annaleigh, please. You need to see this for yourself.”

With wary hesitation, I followed him out into the hallway. The sconces were at their lowest setting, giving just enough glow to highlight the portraits hanging along the walls. I’d never noticed how my sisters’ eyes seemed to flicker with life, as they did now, following our passage with knowing stares. With a shiver, I hurried after Cassius.

He stopped outside Camille’s room. Her door was ajar.

“What am I meant to see?”

He nodded at the bedroom. “Go on.”

The room was dark, and I was about to turn around, not wanting to disturb Camille’s sleep, when I spotted her. My mouth fell open, as though icy water had been thrown over me, snapping me to my senses.

She was dancing.

In the middle of the room.

Not with anyone but also not entirely by herself.

Her arms were out, positioned as if resting on a phantom partner. The silk of her gown trailed after her like a ghost as she spun around the room. Her eyes were shut tight, a beatific smile on her lips. Was she sleeping?

“Camille! What are you doing? What are—”

I turned back to Cassius to see if he could make sense of the scene. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“What is she doing?” I whispered.