House of Salt and Sorrows - Erin A. Craig Page 0,34

Annaleigh,” Fisher said, wrapping his arms around me without hesitation.

I pressed my face into his chest, letting him hold me and my heartache. He ran his fingers across the back of my neck in soothing circles, and something decidedly not grief unspooled within me. Against my ear, his heart picked up in tempo, matching mine. I lingered there, counting the beats, wondering what would happen if I allowed him to make the next move. But Hanna’s sharp tsk of disapproval popped into my head, and I pulled away.

He studied me for a long, silent moment before picking up the oars. He worked them against the waves, turning us toward the islet once more.

I bit into the corner of my lip, longing to diffuse the air between us. It was suddenly too heavy, too weighted with unclaimed meaning.

“Fisher? Do you believe in ghosts?”

The words were out before I could even think them over, and though I feared he’d believe me mad, his eyes crinkled, amused.

“Ghosts like…” He waggled his fingers at me, trying to look creepy.

“No, real ghosts. Spirits.”

“Ah, those.”

The waves around us darkened as we passed the drop-off. Gulls roosted in the islet’s nooks and crannies. They drifted above us, scanning for food for their young.

“I did when I was a little boy. I thought it great fun to make up stories and scare the younger children in the kitchens. Once I told a tale so horrid to Cook’s daughter, she had nightmares for a week and finally tattled on me. Mother was less than pleased.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I think you get to a certain point in life when ghosts are no longer fun. When the people you love die…like my father, your mother and sisters…the thought that they could be trapped here…it’s unbearable, isn’t it? I can’t imagine a worse fate. Unseen, unheard. Surrounded by people who remember you a little less each day. I would go out of my mind, wouldn’t you?” He stopped rowing. “I’ve been away for a while, but I still recognize that look on your face. Something’s bothering you. Not just the thing with Eulalie. Something else.” He reached out, squeezing my knee. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Verity has been seeing ghosts.” It fell out in a rush, like a river racing off the edge of a cliff. “Ava and Elizabeth, Octavia and even Eulalie now.”

Fisher sucked in a deep breath. “Truly?”

I waved my hand, wanting to push the conversation aside. “It sounds absurd, I know.”

“No, no, it doesn’t. I just…What do they look like?”

I told him about the sketchbook, about the plague pustules and snapped necks, the splayed limbs and bloody wrists.

“Oh, Verity.” He sighed. “How awful.”

I frowned. “And the thing is…now that she’s told me about them, I’m certain I’m going to walk into the bathroom and see Elizabeth floating facedown in a bloody tub, or see Octavia’s broken body in the study. I can’t get the pictures out of my mind. I’m seeing my sisters everywhere.”

His thumb traced a warm circle across my knee. “It sounds terrible. But, I mean…” He paused. “It’s not as though you really are.”

“You don’t believe me.” I folded my arms over my chest, suddenly cold despite the brilliant sunlight.

“I believe they unsettled you—and that’s perfectly natural; you don’t need to be embarrassed about it. But you don’t really believe Verity is seeing ghosts—do you?”

“I don’t know what to think. If they’re not real, why would she draw such awful things?”

He shrugged. “Maybe they’re not so awful to her. Think about it. She’s been in mourning since the day she was born. When has she ever not been surrounded by grief?” Fisher pushed his tousled hair from his eyes. “That has to affect a person, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

He squeezed my leg once more. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It’s probably just a phase. We all went through odd ones.”

“I remember yours,” I said, an unexpected smile spreading across my lips.

He groaned, pulling back against the waves. “Don’t remind me, don’t remind me.”

“I’ll never forget the way you screamed.” He grinned, but for a moment, I had the strangest feeling he didn’t know what I was talking about. “The sea snake,” I prompted, raising my eyebrows.

Fisher’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that. There’s nothing wrong with screaming when you spot a snake that large. That’s just self-preservation.”

“But it was only a bit of rope!” I exclaimed, laughing at the memory. We’d been combing for seashells on the beach when