House of Salt and Sorrows(86)

“Dancing.”

“But with whom? Camille—”

He reached out, stopping me. “Don’t. If she’s in a fugue, jarring her awake could hurt both of you.” He rubbed at a reddened patch across his cheek. Had I struck him? “Have you ever known her to sleepwalk before?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

As we watched, Camille maneuvered through a series of intricate steps. This was not the make-believe dancing we’d played at in our youths, with our skirts twirling around us until we were breathless with laughter.

She flung herself backward, dipped by a partner who was not there. Her back arched far enough for her feathered hair clip to brush the floor. Impossibly, her right leg kicked up, and she was balanced in this painful contortion on the ball of her left foot. Had she been in the arms of a handsome consort, the pose would have been stunning. But with no one supporting her weight, she looked abnormal.

Unnatural.

Possessed.

Cassius tugged at my sleeve, pulling me down the hallway. I followed after him reluctantly, not wanting to leave Camille alone in such a state.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Where are the little girls’ rooms?”

I frowned. “Down the hall.”

“Show me, please.”

“That’s Mercy’s room,” I said, indicating the closed door to our left. I kept a watchful eye over my shoulder, certain Camille would come gliding after us in her eerie solo pas de deux.

“Perhaps you ought to be the one to go in.”

I palmed the doorknob, a painful knot of worry digging under my ribs. What was I about to find?

Mercy’s curtains were drawn, and it was too dark to see anything at first. Then a white figure flashed through the shaft of light spilling in from the hall. I jumped back, bumping into Cassius.

Mercy was dancing in her sleep, just like Camille.

I watched her for a minute before racing across the hall to Honor’s room. She was performing a pretty pirouette, eyes closed, mouth slack in sleep.

I crept to Verity’s room, my eyes on fire with unshed tears. With trembling hands, I opened the door and waited for my eyes to adjust.

Verity was scared of the dark and always kept the curtains partially open, allowing moonlight to spill in. Her room was still, and I tiptoed in, praying I’d find her snug and secure in bed. Cassius remained at the doorway, his figure silhouetted against the hallway gaslights.

Pushing back the bed curtains, I wanted to cry. The bed was empty; the sheets were undisturbed.

“Annaleigh,” Cassius murmured as a small figure glided by me.

Verity was waltzing, her steps graceful and far surer than I’d ever seen them in real life. I fell back on the bed to keep her from running into me. As she passed through a beam of moonlight, she turned and smiled at me.

Her eyes were open. Wide open and pitch-black, weeping dark, oily tears.

“Care to cut in?” she asked, but it wasn’t Verity’s voice. It was the thing from my nightmares, somehow inhabiting my sister.

“Verity?” Tears of my own streamed down my face. What had happened to my little sister?

Cassius turned the gas knob fully on. Just before the sconces flared to life, the Verity-thing whipped around, glaring at him, but as the room lit up, the Weeping Woman’s face was gone, and it was just my little sister once more.

She collapsed to the floor like a marionette with slashed strings, up one moment and in a tangle of limbs and tulle the next.

“Verity!” I howled, racing to her. I cradled her small body against mine, choking on my tears as her eyes flickered open. They were green, not black, and I brought her up to me, embracing her as tightly as I dared with a sob of relief.

“What are you doing in here, Annaleigh?” she asked, her voice thick and raspy.

Just as mine had been when Cassius woke me….

“Are you okay? Are you all right?” I asked, stroking her curls, needing to reassure myself it truly was her.

“I want to go back to sleep,” she muttered drowsily, her eyelids fluttering shut.

“No!” I patted her cheeks, trying to keep her awake, but she nuzzled against my neck and drifted off once more.

“What is happening?” I asked, turning to Cassius. “What’s wrong with my sisters?”

“I think it might be—” He paused, ducking back out into the hallway. “Do you hear that?”

I cocked my head toward the door, listening. I seemed to hear a series of knocks, but they were muffled, too far away to properly discern. “The front foyer?” I guessed.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving us.

I sat in the middle of Verity’s room, clutching her to my chest. I was terrified to let her go, certain she’d rise up and start dancing again. I wanted to keep her safe and snuggled next to me, but as the minutes passed by, she grew heavy, pressing uncomfortably into my hip bones and fidgeting in her sleep. I staggered up, hoisting her prostrate body to the bed.

I brought the quilt up to her chin and watched the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes danced beneath her lids. She looked so content, it was difficult to imagine she’d been waltzing about the room, with that thing using her face, moments before.

The knocks turned into indistinct shouts, and I heard footsteps race up the stairs. Someone must have been going for Papa.