I stood on shaking legs, wrapping my arms securely around myself, refusing to meet his gaze. I had to stay sharp. I had to remember. One touch, one look, and I’d melt. I always did.
“I saw you,” I seethed through clenched teeth, voice trembling with fury and disbelief. “You were with her. Don’t lie to me, Sylum.”
“I told you,” he assured, bewildered, “I was asleep.”
“Don’t deny it!” I snapped. “I saw you with my own eyes!”
He reached toward me, but I turned, storming toward the door. His hand caught mine just as my fingers brushed the handle.
“Lucy,” he said, low and stern, “You had a dream. A nightmare. I heard you cry out and came to find you. That’s all.”
I shook my head, pressing my fingertips to my temple, trying to hold the shards of my mind together. “No, I saw it! Don’t make me doubt myself!”
“I’m not,” he promised softly. “I wouldn’t.”
But the way his voice cracked sent a ripple of unease through me.
I looked into his face and felt the world tilt. He looked so sincere, so honest.
Toohonest.
If he was lying… he was very good at it. And if he wasn’t…
A bitter tremor ran through me. I turned away again, searching for something, anything, to anchor me.
My eyes landed on Poe, now perched atop the mantle, his head cocked at a thoughtful angle.
He blinked once. Twice.
Then, in a low, deliberate murmur, “Quaff, oh quaff this kindnepenthe…”
My breath caught.
He clicked in the back of his throat. “And forget this lost Lenore. Nevermore.”
Nepenthe.
A balm for sorrow.
A poison for the mind.
“The tea,” I breathed.
I turned to Sylum, wild-eyed. “The tea! There was a tray on my nightstand. From Mrs. Ashby!”
I rushed to the table, pointing with frantic certainty. “There was a note!”
But the surface was empty. No teapot. No cup. No note. Just smooth, unmarked wood beneath my fingertips.
I froze, pressing my palm harder against the smooth surface as if the act could conjure the evidence back into existence.
“No…” I cried, shaking my head, frantically searching the floor, the chairs, the bed. “It was here. I swear it was.”
Sylum approached cautiously, eyes scanning the table, then settling on me with a look that made my stomach twist.
“There’s nothing there,” he said carefully. Gently. Like one speaks to a child teetering on a ledge.
I shook my head frantically. “No. That’s not possible. I… I drank it. I saw it.”
