The house was brimming with clutter. The walls were adorned with paintings and diagrams of plants, while books were stacked haphazardly on the floor. Herbs hung drying in various corners and doorways. My fingers brushed over an ornate brass box on the entryway table. Vail always liked collecting little trinkets and items from her travels.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Vail’s voice called out from the kitchen.
Entering the living room, she handed me a mug. I took a sip, letting the warmth slide down my throat and settle in my belly. It wasn’t the same as fresh blood but thank God for microwaves. I couldn’t stand cold blood.
“There’s more in the fridge if you need it. I’ll go get the extra coffin set up for you to sleep in today.” Her voice was laced with amusement.
“Very funny.” I let out a chuckle as I took another sip from the mug.
Vail led me down a hallway lined with doors. I stopped at one and listened, hearing snoring inside. “Is there someone in there?”
“Yeah, that’s George’s room.” She opened the door across from his into a small room with a double bed in the middle. The windows were large but covered, and the walls were a dark purple colour. “This can be your room.”
I put my bag down on the bed. Vail was still standing in the doorway.
She scratched her neck, “Do you need anything else before I go to sleep?”
I felt uncomfortable, but I needed to know. “Do you still have the necklace I gave you?”
Vail’s eyes softened. “Yes, I still have it.”
“But you don’t wear it anymore?”
Vail shook her head. “It didn’t seem right after you left. Besides, I’ve always preferred the night.” She started to close the door before pausing to look back at me.
“I’ve missed you, Rosie.” A tinge of sadness laced her voice, and she closed the door before I could answer.
I lay down in bed, and my mind buzzed with questions as people and memories from my past whirled through my mind. My thoughts drifted into my dreams, and for the first time in months, I slept without locking my door.
EIGHT
March 10, 1891
I stirred awake, my hands exploring the luxurious fabric of the bedding. Blinking away sleep, I turned toward the large window where a silhouette loomed in the moon’s silver light. It glided closer, and I recognized him—the stranger who rescued me from the river.
I opened my mouth to speak, and he reached out and traced his fingers along my lips. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine.
“It is all right,” he whispered, lowering himself, his breath caressing my neck.
Then a scream tore from my mouth at the sudden pain erupting as his teeth pierced my skin.
My anguished cry shattered the dream, propelling me into wakefulness. Heart pounding, sweat clinging to my skin, I lay there, the echoes of the nightmare fading into the recesses of my memory.
Bathed in the gentle morning light, I turned to the window—the same one that had haunted my dream. Its airy curtains billowed in the morning breeze, allowing the sun’s rays to dance across the space. I reached out to touch one of them, glancing around the room.
It was vast and opulent. The bed I found myself in was adorned with dark pillows and plush blankets. Across from me, an intricately carved wooden wardrobe stood, its door draped with a deep crimson gown. My gaze shifted to the nightstand, where my father’s journal lay, its edges curled, damaged from the river’s waters. Atop it, my dagger. The other must have slipped from my boot.
Memories of the previous night played out like a haunting reel in my mind. I tried to push away the visions of my mother’s body and the sound of the earth as I dug her grave. My hands started trembling, and I reached for the necklace around my neck and played with the pendant as I tried to calm my breath.
My thoughts gravitated toward Henry. Was he frantically searching for me, his heart heavy with worry? The mere idea of him arriving at the house, the open door, and freshly turned earth, sent a surge of dread coursing through me.
My body was stiff and sore as I pushed myself out of bed. I stretched out my legs, my knees responding with a series of cracks. Wincing, I noticed a dark bruise beginning to swell on my left knee—the one I landed on. I poked it, and it was tender to the touch.
I padded across the cool wooden floor toward a mirror beside the wardrobe. I studied my reflection, noting the delicate chemise I wore, and paused. Someone must have undressed me and tucked me into bed. I rubbed at the dark circles beneath my eyes and the once-rosy glow of my complexion, now pale and drained of life. My eyes dropped to my neck, where I detected two faint, almost indiscernible marks. I traced them with my fingers, my mind drifting back to the dream I’d had the night before. Shaking my head, I tried to dismiss it, telling myself I was still half-asleep, that my eyes were playing tricks on me. The marks, I reasoned, were surely just remnants of the struggle in the river.
I touched the dark red dress. The fabric felt luxurious and smooth, far more opulent than anything I’d ever touched before. I pulled the dress over my head and secured the ribbons at the back the best I could. My hands traced down the front; the fabric was smooth, and the bodice was fitted. The high neckline was adorned with delicate ruffled lace. The skirt of the dress was voluminous with layer upon layer of fabric rustling gently as I moved. I pinned my hair into a chignon, and some pieces of hair fell out, framing my face. The finishing touch was my well-kept leather boots, now dry. As I stood before the mirror, the reflection staring back at me was almost unrecognizable. Gone was the disarray of the nightmare that had plagued me, replaced by a poised lady, though my eyes were still dark with shadows.
I grabbed my dagger and tucked it into my boot, and pushed open the door of my room, revealing a long hallway. The walls were decorated with rich and intricate wallpaper, its patterns reflecting the warm glow of candlelight. My footsteps echoed softly against the polished wooden floor as I walked.
