Serafina and the Black Cloak - Robert Beatty Page 0,66
somehow.”
“Your uncle…” Serafina said, sensing another connection there.
“Why do you say it like that?” Braeden asked defensively. “My uncle doesn’t have anything to do with any of this, Serafina. So just take it back!”
“Who told him about Clara being good at piano? How did he hear about her?”
“I don’t know, but my uncle isn’t responsible for any of this, I can tell you that much.”
“Try to remember, Braeden,” she said. “Who first told him about Clara Brahms?”
“Mr. Bendel and Mr. Thorne. They’re always going to symphony concerts and things like that.”
“And Clara was an exceptionally talented piano player…” she said, remembering the maid’s words to the footman. She kept trying to think it through. She was getting the same tingling feeling she felt when she was closing in on one of her four-legged enemies.
“Yes, I heard her play the first night she came to the house,” Braeden said, nodding. “She was extremely good.”
“And you’ve heard Thorne play…”
“Yes, you heard him. He’s an excellent player.”
And then Braeden paused. He frowned and looked at her in surprise. “You don’t think…”
She just stared at him, seeing if he would come to the same conclusion she had.
“Many people know how to play the piano, Serafina,” he said firmly.
“Not me,” she countered.
“Well, no, me neither, not like that, but I mean a lot of people do know how to play the piano really well.”
“And speak Russian and play the violin, too?”
“Well, sure. There’s Tchaikovsky and—”
“I don’t know who that is, Mr. Know-it-all, but is he also a chess expert?”
“Well, probably not, but—”
“And can he turn a team of horses and a full-size carriage around on a narrow mountain road?”
“You’ve gone crazy!” Braeden exclaimed, looking at her in bewilderment. “What are you talking about now?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” she admitted, “but think about it…”
“I am thinking about it.”
“And what do you see?”
“It’s just a big mishmash as far as I can tell. Nothing means anything!”
“No. Everything means something. Think about the Black Cloak…You’ve seen it…It seems to allow the wearer to wrap people up and murder them, or at least capture them in some way…”
“It’s horrible!” He shuddered.
“Maybe it doesn’t just murder them…”
“I don’t understand.”
“Maybe it absorbs them.”
“That’s disgusting. What do you mean?”
“Maybe that’s why Thorne accidentally addressed Mr. Rostonov as ‘Father’ and ‘Papa.’ Because Thorne had absorbed his knowledge of the Russian language from Anastasia.”
“Are you saying that he consumed Anastasia’s soul?”
She grabbed Braeden’s arm so fast that it startled him and he jumped. “Think about it,” she said. “The owner of the cloak absorbs his victims—their knowledge, their talents, their skills. Think about what that would mean, what that would be like.…If he absorbed enough people, he’d gain many skills and talents. He’d become the most accomplished man in society. He’d be smart. He’d be rich. And everyone would love him. Just like you said.”
“I refuse to believe Mr. Thorne would do that,” Braeden said. “It’s just not possible.” His whole body seemed to be tightening against her.
“It makes sense, Braeden. The whole thing. He’s stealing souls. And he’s coming for you next.”
“No, Serafina,” Braeden said, shaking his head. “It can’t be. That’s crazy. He’s a good man.”
At that moment, she heard a door from the main house creak open and the sound of someone approaching.
Serafina whirled around, ready to fight.
“Braeden, darling, what are you doing out here? It’s time to come in now,” Mrs. Vanderbilt called as she walked toward him.
Serafina breathed a sigh of relief, then darted into the bushes, leaving Braeden standing there alone.
“Who were you talking to just now?” Mrs. Vanderbilt asked.
“No one,” he said, moving toward his aunt to block her view. “Just talking to myself.”
“It’s not safe for you out here,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. “You need to come in now and go to bed.”
Serafina had never heard Mrs. Vanderbilt sound so tired and upset. The lady of the house clutched a long black coat around her waist to ward against the night’s cold. It was clear that the disappearance of the children was taking a heavy toll on her.
Hesitating, Braeden glanced back into the bushes in Serafina’s direction.
“Please come inside,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said softly but firmly.
“All right,” he said finally.
Serafina could tell that he didn’t want to go, but he didn’t want to upset his aunt any more than she already was.
Mrs. Vanderbilt put her arm around him, and they began walking back toward the house.
“Lock your door!” Serafina half coughed, half whispered to Braeden, covering her mouth with her hand to garble her words.