“Take this at night. It’ll help you sleep.” I glance at her questioningly, and she adds, “Dare told me.”
I take the box, which is unmarked, and she nods. “Your mama used to have trouble sleeping. And she had bouts of nerves, too.”
Sabine has no way of knowing that my ‘bout of nerves’ included hallucinations and hearing voices, so I just smile and thank her.
I glance at her table again. “Are you a fortune-teller, Sabine?” It feels odd to say those words in a serious manner, but the old woman doesn’t miss a beat.
“I read the cards,” she nods. “Someday, I’ll read yours.”
I don’t know if I want to know what they’ll say.
“Have you read Dare’s?” I ask impulsively, and I don’t know why. Sabine glances at me, her black eyes knowing.
“That boy doesn’t need his fortune told. He writes his own.”
I have no idea what that means, but I nod like I do.
“You’ll be ok now,” she tells me, her expression wise and I find myself believing her. She’s got a calming nature, something that settles the air around her. I hadn’t noticed that before.
“My mother never mentioned you,” I murmur as I get to my feet. “I find that odd, since she must’ve loved you.”
Sabine looks away. “Your mother doesn’t have happy memories from here,” she says quietly. “But I know her heart.”
“Ok,” I say uncertainly, as I hover over the threshold. Sabine lays her hand on my shoulder.
“If you need me again, you know where to find me.”
I nod, and then I walk away. I feel Sabine staring at me as I do, but I resist the urge to turn around.
Instead, I focus on how much better Sabine made me feel, how much calmer.
Maybe the tea had valium in it.
As I walk into my room, I’ve decided that I must’ve imagined the whole thing. I haven’t been sleeping well. My mind was playing tricks on me, as minds are prone to do when they’re sleep deprived.
Obviously.
That’s the explanation.
I raise my hand to tuck my hair behind my ear, and that’s when I freeze.
My fingers smell like carnations and stargazers.
Chapter 11
Ropes bind me, holding me down, restraining me, biting into me.
I twist and turn, but there’s no getting away from them.
My mind spirals, splinters, fractures, bursting into a million confused pieces.
Light gets in, illuminating, but there’s no truth here. There is only nonsense and puzzles.
I can’t understand,
And
I’m
Not
Sure
I
Want
To.
“Help!” I call out. But my voice echoes down hallways and corridors and rooms. No one is here but me, and I’m alone, and that’s my worst fear.
“Someone!” my voice cracks and my fingers dig into the frayed rope. No one is there, but the rope breaks suddenly, throwing me against the wall with the force of my own movement.
I jump up to run, but then realize…
There’s nowhere to go.
I sit in front of Eleanor’s massive desk, uncomfortably waiting for her to speak. It’s been a full twenty-four hours since I imagined the scene in the crypts. I’ve had time to wrap my mind around the hallucinations, and accept them for what they were: a product of sleeplessness. I’m ignoring the very real fact that my fingers had a distinct scent of roses on them that I couldn’t have imagined.
Now I’m just waiting to hear Eleanor’s expectations from me.
Regardless of what they consider to be my ‘fragile state’, there’s apparently still a small matter of my inheritance to consider.
She stares at me for several moments before she begins, her voice stern and rigid.
“I trust you’ve settled in.”
It’s not a pleasantry, it’s a directive.
I nod in response, as expected.
“Good. We have matters to discuss now, and I require your full attention.”