We reached the basement first. It seemed nearly identical to the main floor in terms of upgrades and upholstery, but when we came to the sub-basement, everything changed.
I wouldn’t have known that I was still inside The Rose if I hadn’t just come from the opulence above. It wasn’t that there was a dirt floor under our feet, but there was a dankness in the air and a feeling, if it can be called that, of enclosure.
I glided a hand along the wall, imagining the butler distantly related to me who’d fallen to his death at the bottom of these stairs.
“I loved playing down here as a kid with Nanny Kate,” Savilla said.
“What did the two of you do?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the shadows our figures created as we walked past rooms without doors, most of them filled with boxes.
“We played all sorts of games: hide and seek, tag, Mother May I? But my favorite was pretend,” Savilla said. “Nanny Kate and I would stand in a doorway along this hall and take turns deciding what scene we would act out as soon as we steppedacross the threshold. She always wanted me to play classroom or archeologist so she could turn it into a learning opportunity, but my favorite was funeral.”
“Funeral?” Jemma was appalled. “How old were you?”
“Six? Seven?” Savilla shrugged. “Nanny Kate never let me play the corpse.”
What a strange childhood Savilla had led. Morbid games in the maze of her multimillion-dollar estate. Even stranger that this could’ve been me.
“Here we are,” Savilla said. We stood in front of a threshold that actually did have a door, a very sturdy red one from the looks of it.
I knocked softly, and the wood sounded thick and sturdy.
“Completely soundproof,” Savilla told us.
“That means that if we get stuck inside, no one will hear us scream,” Jemma added, obviously joking to mask her own discomfort.
Savilla opened the door, flipped a panel of knobs that served as the light switches, and stood back. The door creaked on its hinges.
I glanced at Lacy and Jemma to see which of them wanted to go first, but neither volunteered. Hefting the box’s weight from one arm to the other, I put a toe across. I could do this. I had to do this. For Lacy, for Charlie, for me.
Just before we came down here, I’d texted Charlie to meet me in our room. Thankfully, Deputy Wright had been otherwise occupied with looking over the footage the film crew had captured to see if we’d missed anything.
He’d listened with a neutral expression as I’d detailed the séance plan, only interrupting me once to ask a question about the order of events.
“You’ll call Brett’s spirit and then…”
“Go into a trance,” I’d finished, knowing how outrageous the idea sounded. “But, you know, a pretend one.”
“Got it,” he’d said, one eye narrowed. “A fake trance.”
I’d read his meaning, and my heart had fallen. “Look, I know it sounds ridiculous. And I realize that you may not have a ticking clock on needing to find out Brett’s killer, but if we don’t come up with Brett’s email password before midnight, then Lacy?—”
He’d put a hand on the top of mine. “I do have a ticking clock, and I’m not criticizing your plan. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Every minute that we haven’t identified the killer, it becomes more unlikely that we’ll ever do so because the clues start to vanish the more time that passes. I don’t want a case to go cold on my watch.” Charlie’s hand had moved up to my shoulder and caressed the back of my neck. “But you’re more important to me than…” He’d stared into my eyes and blinked several times, trying to find the right words, “… than anything.”
Than anything?That had sounded strikingly similar to the three words we had yet to say to one another.
Now, as I made my way to the center of the Vampire Room, I turned to examine the space from various angles.
The glow of the electric lights was shaded by heavy glass casings with ridges, throwing the light in every direction. My eyes roamed from fresco to fresco. Not only was there the little boy being chased by a bat with glinting teeth, but there was also a cluster of vampires in one corner and a coven of witches in another. However, in between these more terrifying murals, there was a pastoral scene of village landscapes and sheep grazing near a shepherd with a crook in hand.
Aside from a few chairs scattered around from a bygone event, there was only one other item in the room: a one-foot statue of a gargoyle nestled in an alcove cut into the wall. That could be a perfect place to hide the camera.
I walked over, inspecting the grimace on the stone figure, one that made the creature appear half-bored, half-irritated. It was intimidating but not quite evil, with wings outstretched and hands palm-up, as if extending an offering.
There was something about the creature that was off. I bent down so I could better examine it and saw that it was covered in a fine layer of dust everywhere except… the hands. Oddly, those empty palms were dust-free. My eyes trailed down the statue and I spotted something tucked underneath the base. It was black velvet, the kind that was in the display cases in the Color Gallery, and the fabric had an indentation just about the size of a child’s palm. I picked it up, fingering the soft surface before placing it in the hands of the creature.
“What’s that?” Savilla asked, approaching me from behind.
“I’m not sure,” I said vaguely. “Maybe nothing.”
