“Stop it. Please… stop it.”
From beyond the door, I hear a faint shuffffffling
like something dragging itself closer. I hear the thumping
of something meaty and heavy, like the sound of an object rolling
and
falling
down the stairs. One at a time.
Closer.
The sound changes.
Stops.
And then I hear a giggle.
I turn the lock on the door to the library, even though I know that means Nori is locked out, but this is crazy and I am terrified and she is safely asleep and so is (crazy) Aunt Cath.
It is only me, alone in the night, who needs this protection.
I don’t need it against the imaginary thing out there.
I need it against myself. Because, surely, this can’t be real. Please, please, don’t let this be real.
I turn, squaring my shoulders, and stride into the library. I am safe in here. Nothing can get through that door.
Just to be sure, I look over my shoulder.
And find the door wide open, a black, endless corridor yawning at me in greeting.
10
liar liar liar
Hold your breath,
close your eyes
you are in
for a big surprise!
BROKEN BOOK ENTRY
What is Cath doing up there in the attic? The creaking—her pacing—is so constant. Is she just walking up and down? Is she even eating the food I bring on the trays? I picture her doing all kinds of gross things with it—painting the walls, throwing it at the ceiling. She never comes down; nothing will make her. It must reek of her waste. Maybe she eats that, too. I want to go up and talk to her, I want to make her see reason. But there is nothing of the old Cath left. She is as mad as Mam always said she was.
Remember, I sign at Nori in the kitchen. Remember that game we used to play? You would go and hide and then I’d come looking. You’d make little sounds—clap your hands, close a door, give a whistle—to give me clues?
Nori nods, a wide grin breaking the softness of her face.
“You would cheat,” I say. “Move around. I always thought it was so funny.…” I shut my eyes for a moment, and then open them. “Remember?”
We should play! Nori signs, hands so fast in her excitement that I almost don’t see. I shake my head no.
Please! We can play upstairs! Please, Silla, please!
“You’re too old. And so am I. No more games.”
Nori’s smile dies and I hate myself.
No more games.
There’s danger in it.
My eyes take in the straight line of his jaw, the suggestion of stubble as we sit in the library. The flecks of brown in his eyes and the way his hair falls just so. I linger over the curve of his shoulders, and I inhale his scent. So heady, so wonderful. I’m careful not to let my infatuation show on my face, but I can’t deny it. He is like a shining beacon in this place. Everything is slightly damp, slightly moldy, slightly pale. But he is beautiful and bright and, well, handsome. You notice him.
Gowan.
Something stirs in the stone of my insides. Something warm. Vital. Totally dangerous.
Despite the danger, I’m grateful, for the first time since the day he stepped out of Python Wood, that he’s here.
I am careful to school my face.
But Gowan senses my regard and looks up, smiling. “Hi.”
A slow smile touches my cheeks. “Hey.”
“See something interesting?”
“As a matter of fact.” I nod at the book in his hands. “Looks interesting to me.”
He actually looks disappointed, and a pebble of remorse drops into my stomach. And a little bit of satisfaction, too.
“It’s an old copy of Amadís de Gaula.”
“You read Latin?”
“Spanish, and yes. ‘Gran locura es la vuestra en hacer enojo a quien tan bien vengarse puede,’” he quotes. “The author’s talking about anger, madness, and revenge.”
“Charming.”
“I think you’d like it, actually.”
I close my eyes, but I can’t seem to do that for long. I look around us, at all Cath’s books. Books that have been in my family for generations. “I wish we didn’t have to leave this room.”
Gowan makes a face. “Are you sure?”
“It’s a haven.”
“Only because the manor is so worn out.” I know what he wants to say, what he wants to ask me. I brace myself for it, waiting for the Please leave this house, Silla, but it never comes. Instead, he looks at me for slightly too long, even after I have looked away.
When I look back, the only thing that’s changed is his jaw, which clenches and unclenches, over and over in a rhythm of frustration.
Something like regret bleeds through me. I’m sorry. Why do you keep coming here? Why do you like me?
And then the voice from my dream is there in my head.
LEAVE THIS HOUSE
AND YOU WILL DIE
AND SHE’LL BE MINE.