Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(146)

She heard the weeping woman now, and stopped as Sonya did outside the door to what had once been the nursery.

When Sonya opened the door, the weeping became more distinct, and tears gathered in her eyes.

What do you see that I don’t? Cleo wondered. What do you see in the dark?

She held her phone up to use some light, saw the shadows of the antique crib, the cradle, the dresser, the rocker she remembered.

Then she heard it, under the grief of weeping. The rhythmic creak of a rocking chair. And as she watched, she saw it move, slowly, back and forth, back and forth.

“Night after night,” Sonya murmured, “year after year, Carlotta grieves for the son, so small, who came into the world too soon, and left it only hours later.”

Quietly, Sonya closed the door and moved on.

As they approached the stairs, Cleo sent another text.

Going to the third floor.

The return text came fast, and brief.

5 mins.

“That’s fast, all right. Trey’s coming, Sonya, and I’m right here.”

Cleo braced herself as the walls shook, the floor trembled. On the third-floor landing, Sonya again paused. Down the hall to the right, the outline of the door of the Gold Room glowed red. To Cleo’s eyes it seemed to pulse like a heart. Tendrils of smoke curled out from under the door to crawl along the hall.

The scent of it, fetid, carried and soiled the air.

“Don’t go that way, Son. We’re not ready to go that way.”

The pulsing took on sound, the drum, drum, drum of a heartbeat.

“She exists to feed,” Sonya said, “and her feed is fear and grief. Night after night, year after year, she gobbles the weeping, she drinks the tears. She feasts on every shiver and shudder of the living for the dead.”

“Are you awake?” As Cleo started to reach out, Sonya turned left toward the servants’ quarters.

Now she heard that cry of pain again, and the moans and sobs that followed. Dark closed tight here, and though Sonya walked on, Cleo switched on her phone flashlight to help her see.

They went up the short flight and through the door that kept this wing separate. Cleo’s skin prickled from the colder air, but Sonya seemed unaffected as she walked, barefoot, toward another door.

When she opened it, Cleo caught the smell of sickness, of fever and sweat and vomit. She heard the creak of a bed as if someone in it tossed restlessly.

“Can’t help.” Sonya sighed it. “What was and is. Can’t help poor Molly O’Brian. She traveled from Cobh, away from family and home, but found one here. She took pride in polishing the wood and the glass. Help came too late to save her.”

A tear slid down Sonya’s cheek as she closed the door.

“Can’t help young Molly. Only bear witness.”

When Sonya turned, walked back the way they’d come, Cleo’s heart sank. But Sonya turned toward the ballroom.

Cleo followed and texted again.

I think we’re going to the ballroom.

On Manor Rd, nearly there.

With the dark so deep that her phone couldn’t help, Cleo took a chance and groped along the wall for a light switch.

If Sonya woke, she woke, but she wouldn’t risk either or both of them taking a fall in the dark.

She found a light switch outside one of the anterooms, and when she flipped it on, Sonya simply continued toward the massive ballroom doors.

When she threw them open, stepped into the shadows, Cleo switched on the first of the chandeliers.

It showered light over the mirror that stood amid the furniture they’d undraped, searched through, shifted. Its glass tossed back that light as the predators framing it seemed to snarl as if guarding what centered them.

“What should I do? I don’t know what to do. What do you see in there? All I see is us. But … God, if it’s some sort of portal, I’m not letting you go alone.”

The cold cut to the bone, and she could hear the pound, pound, pound of that heartbeat from the Gold Room. Beyond the mirror, the shadows danced, but she feared stepping back far enough to turn on more light.

Then she heard the rat-a-tat of Yoda’s barking. And the deeper answer of another dog. Trey, finally. She nearly called out, but she could already hear the racing footsteps.

“Please wait, Sonya. Just wait.”

They came up with a racket that steadied her nerves. Risking a glance back, she saw Trey hadn’t brought only his dog.

“Thank God. It’s here. The mirror. It wasn’t, but it’s here. She made some stops along the way. It’s been a journey.” Shivering, Cleo hugged her elbows.

“It’s a meat locker in here.” Owen stripped off his jacket, handed it to her even as Trey shrugged out of his own.

“Thanks. Should we wake her, Trey? I don’t know if we should. She saw things, she said things.”

As Trey started to drape his jacket over Sonya’s shoulders, she said, “I’m awake.”

Instead of the jacket, Trey draped himself around her. “You’re freezing, cutie.”

“I wasn’t. I don’t think.”

“Were you awake this whole time?” Cleo demanded.

“Just now. Standing here. I was dreaming. And I … don’t know. I don’t remember. I feel sort of out of it. Do you see the mirror? Is it real?”

“It’s real.”