Page 179 of Sinister

“Is there anyone there?” I whisper, barely able to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Then it starts.

A hum, soft and melodic.

A lullaby.

I recognize the tune. Vaguely. It drifts through the space, its source unclear, moving, circling. I turn, trying to track it, but I can’t find the origin.

“Are you . . . Are you Mr. Snowden’s mistress?” I ask, instantly regretting how ridiculous it sounds aloud.

Just when I decide I’ve had enough, that I don’t need to know anything else, I start back toward the stairs.

And that’s when the lights come on.

Every wall ignites in a sudden blaze of electric light, flooding the chamber with clarity.

The room is empty. Bare.

Nothing.

And yet . . . I still feel it. That awful sensation of being watched.

“That’s it,” I whisper. “I need to get out of here.”

I bolt for the stairs.

But as soon as my foot touches the first step, another gust of wind slams into me so powerful that it lifts the hem of my skirt and sends loose strands of hair whipping across my face.

There’s still nothing I can see.

But maybe, just maybe, it’s not something meant to be seen.

Thoroughly shaken, I flee the chamber, racing up the stairs. I slam the door shut behind me and lock it with trembling hands.

“Good Lord,” I whisper, chest heaving. “I really am losing my mind.”

It takes me a few moments to find my way back to the party. I follow the sound of music until the soft thrum of the orchestra leads me back to the ballroom.

My mother immediately corners me, demanding to know where I’ve been and why I took so long. I tell her the truth: I got lost. After a few sharp words about how improper it is to wander in someone else’s house, she finally drops the subject.

In the meantime, more guests seem to have arrived. The ballroom is full now, buzzing with conversation and movement. Then the orchestra stops playing.

A sharp clink of a fork against glass cuts through the room. Everyone quiets.

Mr. Snowden is the one holding the glass. “If I could have your attention for a moment, please,” he begins. “I’m very pleased to welcome you all into my home today for a most special occasion. My daughter, Leah, is now officially engaged to Mr. Robert Creig.”

The room bursts into polite applause.

“The wedding will take place in three weeks,” he continues, beaming. “And all of you are invited.”

But before the clapping has even subsided, my father steps forward, his voice louder, eager.

“But that is not all,” he says. “We have another surprise for you. Another engagement we would like to announce.”

I frown, confused. Another engagement?

Then my father’s eyes lock with mine.