The night I’d watched Rosalie and Ligeia traipse through the halls, the night I learned that ghosts were real, that I had some sort of gift—
—curse—
—what had been different? Why had I seen them then and not before?
Had I been holding a candle?
Camille had tried to offer me one. I’d said no. Had she pressed it into my hand anyway? It seemed like she would have.
I can’t imagine that she’d have taken no for an answer.
I just couldn’t remember.
The match snapped to life with a decisive flick of my wrist and I lit Annaleigh’s candle.
Better to be abundantly cautious. I could not take any chances here. Not in this house. Not with this family. Not when my future was so uncertain.
After slipping on my robe, I padded out to the parlor, looking for something to do. From a small side table, Gerard’s stack of books seemed to glare up at me. I wanted to read them, truly I did, but there never seemed to be enough time.
The little clock on the mantel chimed twice and I scooped up the first book, heedless of the title, and began thumbing through the pages.
“？‘Withania somnifera,’？” I read aloud, stumbling over the unfamiliar term. “Winter cherry.”
The accompanying illustration showed green sprigs of leaves boasting a series of orange fruit, each covered in a wrinkled husk, like a paper lantern.
There was only a single definition for it. “Deception.”
There was a small skull drawn after the definition, indicating it was a poisonous plant, and I briefly wondered if the winter cherries grew within Gerard’s deadly garden.
A sudden chill lowered over me and I slammed the book shut.
I didn’t want to think about what lay behind that macabre gate.
I didn’t want to sit still any longer, reading pages and pages of information I could never hope to retain.
I wanted to be up.
Moving.
Exploring.
“Dancing,” the voice suggested.
Another shrill cry rang out, sounding as if the hateful bird had roosted right outside on the terrace.
I was out in the corridor, as far from the peacocks as I could get, before I even realized I’d made up my mind to leave the chaise.
I wandered aimlessly for a time, strolling down halls I never had cause to visit during the day. I looked for the hidden spiral staircase Gerard had shown me, staring hard at the section of wall I knew it to be behind, until I noticed a frescoed leaf that was a slightly different hue than the rest of its companions, as if it had been touched by countless fingertips. I pressed it, pleased when the door swung open, revealing the steps.
I’d never seen the manor so dark before. Weak moonlight cast strange highlights over the painted walls and hung tapestries. It really was a beautiful manor, so different from the imposing austerity of Highmoor.
Every bit of architecture, from the sweeping beams acting as the skeleton bracing up the rest of the house down to the tiny screws used to keep the door hinges in place, were works of art. I stopped before a bas-relief, taking in every detail.
It was a field of wildflowers, carved into the wall with such depth that individual buds could be seen from all sides, perfect replicas of coneflowers and poppies and a dozen other blooms I couldn’t identify. I walked the relief slowly, trying to guess how long it must have taken the artist to create this one section of wall.
Off to the side, nearly hidden away in the gilded border, was a series of little bells with a wrinkled texture, almost like…
Almost like paper lanterns.
“Withania somnifera,” I exclaimed to the empty hall, delighted I’d remembered the entry I’d just read. “You don’t look so dangerous when you’re made out of marble,” I said, running my finger over their creased surface.
A little ways down the corridor came a soft click and sigh, like a door opening, and I froze, certain an early rising footman was about to stumble across me.
I glanced over my shoulder, ready to conjure up an excuse about why I was up so late, and stopped.
It had been a door that opened.
A very hidden door.
Its edges were jagged and misshapen, cut along the bits of wildflowers to conceal its presence. The door had been there all along, right in front of me.
Another secret passage!
I glanced back to the seemingly innocuous winter cherries and laughed. “Deception, indeed.”
The passage that lay past the door was dark, a gaping maw seemingly ready to swallow me whole. Feeling as though I were trespassing, I stuck my taper inside, trying to make out where this unexpected entry led. There was no staircase that I could see, only a narrow corridor, lined in thin lengths of wooden slats.
“Where do you go?” I asked, daring to peek inside. The hall ran longer than the light of my candle could illuminate, and after a moment’s pause, I stepped inside.
Immediately, the door swung shut, blending in so well with the inner wall, I was at a loss to guess how to open it. I traced over every inch of the space, waiting for the door to swing out once more.
It remained shut.
I was trapped.
“Stuck,” I said, trying to push down the wave of panic building within my chest. “You just need to see where this passage leads and then you can get out on the other end.”
I traveled slowly, not wanting to miss anything that might open another door. After several dozen yards, the hall came to a fork.
“This must run the whole length of the house,” I murmured, trying to visualize exactly where I was within the manor.
I chose the left turn.
It was wider, but far more crowded.
Three bookcases, towering from floor to ceiling, lined one side of the passageway. Each shelf was filled with old volumes and stacks of papers crammed in tight. I raised my candle, scanning the spines, but most of their aged ink had been rubbed away. Curiosity got the better of me and I set the candle down, grabbing the first book I saw.
I flipped through it and immediately understood why these books were kept hidden away from the open shelves of Chauntilalie’s library.
I turned another page, then another, blushing madly.
It was a book of illustrations, depicting acts of intimacy among an orgy of scantily clad people. Page after page showed flushed breasts and open mouths, terrifying erect phalluses, eyes rolled back in ecstasy.
Men fondled women as others gazed on, their eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Women kissed women, running their fingers down curves of exposed flesh, slipping inside each other with a dexterity that made me squirm. Men reached out, stroking other men’s…
I flipped the book on its side, trying to understand what exactly was happening in the drawing and snapped the book closed once I had. My heart raced with a strange, illicit thrill. I pushed the book back into its place on the shelf, feeling a hot stain spread across my chest.
Though I’d never so much as held anyone’s hand before coming to Chauntilalie, I had a vague understanding of what transpired behind closed doors. But I’d never dreamed it could be so…inventive.
I glanced at the multitudes of books with an uneasy hunger. I could barely make it through kissing Alexander without freezing in panic, unsure of myself and what I was meant to be doing. The people in the drawings not only seemed to understand what to do, but they also relished it, making the wanton acts seem exciting. Something to be enjoyed. Desirable.