House of Salt and Sorrows - Erin A. Craig Page 0,116

I’d never noticed them.

“Camille, you’ve seen him, I know you have. He sat right next to you at Churning! He was at the ball in Pelage….” I shook my head, trying to dislodge that thought. The balls weren’t real, and Cassius hadn’t been there.

The truth crashed through me, falling from above like an anchor settling on the seafloor.

Cassius hadn’t been at the ball in Pelage, even though I was so certain of his presence.

Kosamaras had made me see him there.

She’d made me see him everywhere.

Slowly, watching Papa for approval, Camille crossed the room and knelt beside me. She rubbed soothing circles across my back, the way you would comfort a frightened horse, crazed from a storm. “You mean the triplets’ ball? Annaleigh, no one named Cassius was there.”

“Not that ball. Stop saying my name like that.”

“Like what?”

I shoved her arm away from me. “Like I’ve gone mad. Like you’re trying to calm a mad person.”

“No one thinks you’re mad, Annaleigh,” Papa said. “We’re just worried about you.”

“And Verity,” Honor chimed in.

I whipped around to her, a snarl rising in my throat. “I told you, she wasn’t with me!”

Camille bit her lower lip, eyes shiny with growing tears. “But maybe she was with…this…Cassius?”

A sharp blade of fear stabbed into my stomach. “How could you think I’d do something to Verity? It’s absurd! You know I could never hurt her!”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this,” Papa said, snatching the dagger from the floor. Now in his hands, it was clearly nothing more than a butter knife, no doubt plucked from breakfast earlier that morning. The memory shimmered in my mind, bright and clear. I saw myself pick it up from the buffet and hide it in my skirt.

“No,” I murmured, staring at the tiny bit of brass. “No, no, no, no.” I curled into a ball, gripping my arms over my head, trying to make the pieces fit together. “What’s happening to me?”

The dark cackle rose up again in the corner of the room. Camille stared at me, worry etched on her face. It was obvious she heard nothing. Just as suddenly as before, it sounded now from the right. I knew without looking Kosamaras would not be there. The laughter continued, creeping closer and closer to me until I realized it had been inside my mind all along, fusing itself into my brain until I broke.

I smacked my temple to dislodge this most unwelcome intruder, but the cackling only grew. I hit myself again. And again, using more force. Part of me was aware of Papa and Camille rushing in to wrestle my hands away, deterring the strikes, but I couldn’t stop. When they pinned my arms back, I flailed forward, trying to smash my head on the floor. If I could just break it open, even a little, the voice could escape and leave me in peace.

The sound of porcelain shattering momentarily broke through my fit, causing me to pause. A vase from one of the bookshelves had exploded into hundreds of sharp pieces across the floor.

I was so relieved to see everyone’s heads snap toward the noise, I sobbed.

A marble bust of Pontus slid along the edge of a higher shelf, pushed by unseen hands. It balanced precariously for a moment, as if waiting to make sure everyone was watching it, before plunging to the ground.

Honor and Mercy shrieked, racing away from the broken bits. Neither had on shoes—they’d staunchly refused to go about the house in the sailor boots Papa had issued—and they wailed as the wicked shards sank into their feet.

Echoing them, a prolonged scream sounded from upstairs. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as the pitch grew higher, trailing off to a ragged end.

“What now?” Papa groaned.

Lenore straightened, sitting at the edge of the chaise. For the first time since the morning Rosalie and Ligeia went missing, her eyes looked sharp and present. She pointed to the ceiling.

Another cry tore the air apart.

“Morella,” Mercy said, following Lenore’s finger.

It punched through my stomach, clearing my thoughts—and that awful laughter—from my head. “The twins.”

“Stay here. All of you,” Papa ordered. Morella’s howls swelled louder, ripping through the house like a tsunami, bathing everything in their pain and misery.

“With her?”

I turned back to what remained of the Graces. They were scared of me. Tears stung my eyes as I watched them cower from my gaze. “Mercy?”

“Papa, please don’t leave us,” she whimpered, holding her arms out, clearly wanting