Page 35 of The Sisters of Crimson House

When the lights came back on, Charley could no longer see the theater because everything was swallowed by a figure who stood mere inches away from her face. Charley screamed and pushed away her attacker, shocked as warm hands grabbed her own. She was falling, her heart exploding out of her chest. Images bombarded her as she hurtled toward the ground.

Sunlight poured in through an open window. A woman shielded her eyes from the sun.

An impossibly large tree loomed before her. Boa constrictors dripped from the branches like Mardi Gras beads, their forked tongues whispering to her.

She hit the ground, and all went dark and blessedly silent.

Eighteen

October 4, 2008

Charlotte.

The Queen of Swords whispered her name. She’d had this nightmare before. More than once she had dreamed of the marble statue that had terrified her as a child, the robed figure who stood sentry next to the Bryde mausoleum with one finger held to her lips, the other hand poised to strike with a lethal-looking dagger. Her mother had explained that the figure was an avenging angel, a crowning achievement in Victorian sculpture, and a loving testament to someone buried in the cemetery. But Charley wasn’t concerned with craftsmanship. Her family didn’t seem bothered that a monster was hiding in plain sight, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Miranda had once threatened to lock Charley in the cemetery with it overnight, before she was old enough to know that her sister didn’t have that level of power over her. But Miranda hadn’t needed to lock Charley in there, as her imagination did the heavy lifting. In the dark of too many nights, the dream returned her to the place where her feet were too heavy to run, the angel looming over her. Whispering to her for all eternity.

Chaaarlottte.

She looked around. This was not a dream. She did not remember entering Elmwood Cemetery. She stood facing the statue of the angel, the Bryde mausoleum to her south. No one was behind her on the path, and turning in a complete circle, she couldn’t see anyone else in the entire cemetery. How had she gotten here?

A cold wind dragged the leaves across the walking path with a sharp scraping sound that sent a shiver down her spine. Her hand started to throb, and she flexed it against the pain. A new puffy line of the Seeker’s Star blossomed on her palm, a pink inverted V against pinker skin.

You’re not supposed to be here.

The whisper was so close, she felt it, hot breath on the back of her neck. She broke into a run, sprinting toward the exit. It was too easy to imagine the dead residents of Elmwood closing in behind her. The bridge was in her sights. She just needed to cross it, like in a fairy tale. Once she made it to the other side, she would get to safety. She knew in her bones she just needed to get across that boundary.

Until she saw the Queen of Swords waiting for her on the other side.

***

Charley jolted awake in her bed, sheets clutched in her hand, panting from fear. She was too scared to open her eyes, unconvinced she wasn’t actually still on that bridge, facing down a demon ready to eat her whole. There was a soft sigh, hands gently smoothing her hair.

“My sweet girl.” A familiar whisper, the familiar scent of Ciara perfume. “She’s carried you for so long. It’s time for you to carry her now so she can rest.”

Sadie? The fear transmuted to confusion, curiosity. Charley pushed away the sensation of waking, wanting to stay in this dreamworld for as long as she could. Sadie was talking to her in a way she never had, that sweet, honeyed drawl unmistakable. Charley opened her eyes.

“I love you, child. Always and forever.”

Sadie’s voice. But Charley was staring into the large liquid eyes of her sister.

“Miranda?” Charley blinked, not understanding. Her sister lay next to her, a thick blanket cocooning them both. “I—Sadie was just here, talking to me.” Charley eased herself up by her elbow, blearily looking around the room for any sign of their grandmother. How had she even gotten back to her bedroom? Her head hurt, felt like it had been stuffed with cotton candy.

“She’s awake,” Miranda said, her eyes a dark tunnel, her voice not her own.

Not her own.

Charley fought the rising panic that was thrumming in her chest.

“Who is awake?” she said, forcing herself to look into her sister’s wide eyes. “Sadie?”

And then Miranda shuddered, shrugging off that animating force like an unwanted jacket. She started to cry. “She was.”

Charley stared at her, the words slow to take form. “I don’t understand.” But she did. “You were channeling Sadie. How could you channel her if she’s—”

Alive.

“Miranda?”

Her sister just cried harder, her face buried in her pillow.