Page 27 of The Sisters of Crimson House

“I see. Your favorite. They are a messenger of the gods, the dragonfly.”

It was her favorite because it adhered to Sadie’s strict dress code and didn’t require any additional effort. But now it made her feel ashamed. Messenger of the gods. She hadn’t been aware that she’d been cosplaying as one of her own family members. Charley stared at her mug, unsure of what to say, watching the water slowly turn amber in color as the tea seeped in.

Her mother had asked her to keep Sadie company, watch her work. The day before the Spectacular was always stressful, with rooms to clean, lists to check, existing as an extra set of hands for whoever might need it. At least it was stressful for Charley. Miranda was somewhere in the house “grounding” and “preparing” for the evening to come, whatever that meant.

“Do you want some tea?” Charley asked, trying to be polite.

“No, but you should check and see if your sister would like some,” came the reply. Of course. “There,” Sadie said, straightening to admire her work. The crust looked like the scales of a dragon’s tail swallowed by the head of a snake. It made Charley shiver.

“Ouroboros,” said Charley proudly. She recognized the pattern from the mythology books she devoured. She might have nicked a few of them off Sadie’s library shelves. “What is created is destroyed and is created again. An unending cycle. Kind of like the work you do.”

The fork clattering on the counter snapped her back to attention.

“What did you just say?”

Charley’s throat went dry. What had she said to make her grandmother look at her like that?

“Your ability to find people who are lost—you help raise money for the ones you didn’t,” Charley stammered, her mind blank with panic, searching for the offense. “It’s a cycle just like the snake eating its tail. A metaphor,” she added lamely.

Sadie watched her for a long moment before wiping her floured hands on her apron.

“Or for the uninitiated, it’s just a chocolate pie. Now go see if your sister needs help.”

Fourteen

October 2, 2008

Charley did not need lights to find her way through Crimson House. She’d changed every light bulb, swept each hallway, dusted each portrait. The muscle memory of caring for the de facto museum of her family was stored deep inside her bones. Sometimes she would stand in the dark of the parlor, imagining Spectaculars of lore, seeing her mother on the stage in front of her, her father greeting her at the base of the grand staircase. She allowed the ghosts in, feeling the way they bruised her heart, anything for a chance to feel connected to her parents again. But as she stood in the entryway in the dark, she did not sense her mother waiting for her in another room. No loving presence emanated from the stairwell.

But something was watching her. Hunting her.

Charley’s body went cold at the exact moment she felt the slash on her hand burn to life. Her sister was still at the bar, Astrid and Zavier soon to return. This was someone—something—else, and it was getting closer. Charley hurried toward the light of the kitchen and stopped once more, startled by the sight.

Sadie, the picture of normalcy, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.

“You girls enjoying catching up?” Sadie glanced at the chair opposite her, an invitation to sit.

Charley sat down with a final glance over her shoulder. Whatever she’d sensed in the parlor hadn’t crossed the threshold. “So Miranda comes home, and now you’re finished with the Miss Havisham routine in the attic? Why now? You know, other people have been living here, too, Sadie.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment to you, Charlotte.”

Charley blinked at her in surprise. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it is what you meant,” Sadie said quietly. “You’re not wrong. You’ve deserved so much more than I’ve ever been able to give you.”

Sitting opposite her at the table, Charley could really see her grandmother courtesy of the fluorescents above. She was still beautiful, her coppery hair long since faded to a snowy white. Her hazel eyes were flecked with gold but telegraphed such deep sadness that it was hard for Charley not to look away. A million years ago, she had been seated across from Sadie on a night like this, her fear stronger than her curiosity.

Charley rolled up her sleeve and stretched out her hand toward Sadie. “I’m sure I’m jumping to conclusions,” she said, knowing in her heart the words were a lie as she said them. She wanted this more than she had wanted anything. The slash on her palm was now a pale pink, already on its way to looking like her birthright.

She jerked her hand back as Sadie’s porcelain mug shattered against the kitchen floor. She stared at Charley’s hand like her heart might break.

“Impossible.” Her voice came out like a strangled whisper.

Charley watched as Sadie’s eyes darted to her hand, away, and back again. Even in her latest incarnation as the hermit who lived in the tower, Sadie had still seemed in control. Confident. But not the woman sitting across from her now. She looked terrified.

“You don’t have to be thrilled for me. I just thought…”

“You thought I would be excited for you,” Sadie interrupted, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t save you, child. It’s a curse.”