“Let this be a lesson to everyone.” Roza stood and faced us, hands on hips like a TED speaker. “If you’re going to do stupid shit, do it well. Don’t be lazy enough to get caught so easily. Try a little harder. Otherwise you don’t deserve any of it. Okay?” She looked at Asha. “That’s all for today, I think.” She turned and sauntered offstage. Asha jumped up and followed.
The crowd billowed into confused, excited chatter. Beside me, Wren let out a shriek of delighted laughter.
We hadn’t gotten our books signed that day. But as the event and the revelation exploded online, causing Jett’s publisher to cancel the second half of his two-book deal, we agreed that being there to witness a show of Roza’s vengeance had been more than enough.
Chapter 5
The shout from the conductor startled me out of a half sleep.
We were approaching the station. The floppy-haired boy next to me was long gone, the car nearly empty. The train slowed with a juddering whine. A fuzzy, electronic voice repeated: “This is… [inaudible].”
If I’d been sleeping more deeply, I would’ve missed the stop altogether. Rushing to pull my suitcase from the rack, I found myself waiting behind the only other person disembarking. She was short, with blond hair spilling out the bottom of a bright orange ski cap. Could she be going to Roza’s too? The train steps were steep and both of us stumbled, righting ourselves on the pavement. Outside, the wind slapped our faces. She turned and squinted at me.
“Are you by any chance going to Roza Vallo’s?” Her words were fast and choppy, like she was rushing to get them out before she sprinted away.
“I am!” I’d managed to remain somewhat calm on the train, but now excitement and fear lit up my entire body. I stuck out my hand. “I’m Alex.”
“Poppy.” Her little hand squeezed surprisingly hard. “Oh my god, are you just like dying?”
I laughed at her openness. Her animated face and Valley girl intonation were so different from what I would’ve expected at a Roza Vallo retreat.
“Yes, absolutely.” I grinned. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”
“Girl, me neither!” Her warm brown eyes widened. “I’ve been driving everyone I know nuts. I’ve just been freaking out about it. Oh, should we find the car? It’s probably down there.” She continued to chatter as we crossed the icy terrain, across the platform and down the stairs. Below, in the small lot, a black car waited, steam rising from the tailpipe.
“Oh thank Jesus. I’m so effing cold.” She beelined for the car and I hurried to keep up. A man climbed out as we neared.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He had a flat upstate accent and a full, white-flecked beard. We greeted him and jumped into the back of the car. Inside, it was deliciously warm and smelled like fake vanilla. An air freshener shaped like a cookie hung from the rearview mirror, along with a rosary.
“I’m Joe,” he called.
“Hi, Joe. I’m Poppy. This is Alex.” She grinned at me, eyes crinkling. There were faint lines around her eyes and mouth; I had the feeling that she smiled a lot.
“Poppy! Haven’t heard that name before.” Joe pulled smoothly out of the lot.
“It’s Scottish.” She shrugged.
“Scotland, huh?” Joe said. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“It’s great. Really violent, though. People are constantly getting into fights. Once I saw two men walk out of a church and punch each other.”
Joe and I laughed and Poppy leaned back, pleased. “Do you work for Roza, Joe?”
“Sometimes. Not directly. I just work for the cab service up here.” He glanced back at us in his rearview mirror.
“You from here?” I asked.
“Born and raised.” He dipped his head. “It’s a nice area. Pretty isolated, though. Guessing that’s why Ms. Vallo likes it.”
“Have you interacted a lot with her?” Poppy asked.
“Nah, she keeps to herself when she’s here. Her staff—I think her name’s Yana, the one who calls—they set up the transportation when people come in from the city.”
“How long has she been up here?” Poppy leaned forward, grabbing onto the back of his seat with pink-painted nails. She was definitely trying to get some kind of inside scoop.
“I think she bought the estate in 2000? Took a few years for her to fix it up. The place had really gone to shit.” He coughed. “Pardon my French.”
Poppy noticed me watching her. “I’m super obsessed with Roza.” She rolled her eyes. “And Blackbriar. I’m such a sucker for haunted houses.”
“Oh, yeah. I totally get it.” For the past few weeks I’d been focusing so much on the reality of spending a month with Roza and Wren that I hadn’t even thought about the estate. Of course, I knew all about it. After I’d read Devil’s Tongue at twelve, I’d done a deep dive into Roza on a library computer the first week of school. She’d fixed up Blackbriar just a few years before then, and several magazines and papers had covered the transformation. It only made sense that one of her houses was the site of unsolved murders.
“You know the story, right?” Poppy asked me.
“Of course. Daphne and Horace.”
“And Lamia.” She grinned like I’d passed a test. But anyone who was more than a casual fan of Roza’s knew the story, which was itself like something out of one of her novels.
Oil baron Horace Hamilton built Blackbriar Estate in the late nineteenth century. A lifelong bachelor, he fell for a waitress in town, Daphne Wolfe. Daphne caused a stir, first by her much younger status, then when she started a séance group. The spiritualist community at that time considered Daphne a powerful channeler, initially through automatic writings, then drawings and paintings. The trouble started when Daphne claimed to have connected with a powerful female demoness named Lamia. Daphne told her group that Lamia wanted to channel a “great commission” through her art.
The others in the group became disturbed by Lamia and left. Horace forbade Daphne to welcome a dark spirit into the house. After a huge snowstorm, the staff returned to find Daphne and Horace dead. Horace had been eviscerated in bed. And Daphne was in the basement, her body burned beyond recognition.
Most assumed that Daphne, caught in the throes of a psychotic break, had killed Horace in his sleep and then lit herself on fire. But, mysteriously, the rest of the basement was completely untouched, including three completed paintings nearby.
“So you grew up here,” Poppy said. “You heard all the stories about Blackbriar?”
“Oh, sure.” He chuckled. “We used to dare each other to spend a night inside. The doors were locked but people went in through a broken window in the back.”
“Oh my god. You stayed there?” Poppy’s eyes sparkled with interest.
“Nope, not me. I was way too scared.” He considered. “My cousin did once. He ended up falling down the basement stairs and breaking his ankle. Everyone said it was the curse.”
“The curse?” I repeated.
“That female demon, whatever her name was. People said she’s still there.” He cleared his throat. “You couldn’t pay me to stay there, to be honest. I don’t know if I believe in demons or whatever, but there’s definitely some odd energy in that house.”