The Hushing [#ONC2022]

Chapter Six

Marion stumbled along in the dark as Lady Ingrid dragged her through one corridor after another with a vise-like grip on her arm. She could hear the wraiths behind them, fluttering, hissing, and clamoring over each other. Claws scraped against the marble floor. A wraith snagged her skirt and the scratchy tear of fabric cut through the darkness. They must have known Lady Ingrid's willingness to protect Marion was wearing to a paper-thin level by now.

"I've done so much for you, Marion," Lady Ingrid said without breaking her stride. "And you're too blind to see it."

Marion scrabbled at Lady Ingrid's fingers, trying to squirm out of her grip.

"I don't want to stay here!" she shot back. "Just let me go and I won't be your problem anymore."

Lady Ingrid yanked on Marion's arm. Even though Marion couldn't see anything, they must be nearly nose-to-nose – she could smell the apple-rot on Lady Ingrid's breath, feel every infuriated cold huff against her cheek.

"It doesn't work that way, you ignorant child," she spat. Flecks of saliva splattered against Marion's cheek. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are weak when you are here? I am the powerful one and you will do as I say. I am the queen."

Then Marion was flung to the floor. She landed hard on her shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down her arm.

"I have been generous," Lady Ingrid seethed, her voice coming from somewhere above Marion in the dark. "I have been patient. I have endured your ingratitude for my efforts. And now...now you really see what The Hushing is like. Good night, Marion."

A deafening slam signaled Lady Ingrid had closed Marion's door. The scratch of a key in the lock signaled Marion wasn't making an escape any time soon. The darkness was so complete, that Marion couldn't even see the shadowy shapes of furniture, or the outline of the room she was in. The floor was slick and cold beneath her palms. Crawling on her hands and knees, Marion made her way inch by inch through the dark but where could she go? Lady Ingrid had locked in.

Marion knelt on the floor, her hands hanging limply at her sides. The darkness pressed in around her, cold and unforgiving. Swimming through it hadn't done her any good. How could she possibly find the mirror now when she was completely blind and utterly helpless in the dark?

The candle.

Marion fumbled to retrieve it from the bodice of her gown. There were only two spare inches of waxy stub left and the wick was in tact but...she never got the chance to ask Septimus for extra matches. She had no way to light it.

Marion swore and flung the candle away from her. It clattered in the room somewhere. Then her hands were empty and she desperately wanted something to cling to in the darkness.

"I want to go home," she whispered.

***

Surrounded by shadows, Marion couldn't tell when she was awake or when she slept. Whether her eyes were open or closed, it made no difference. She couldn't see anything. Attempting to move had resulted in painful bumps and bruises from running into furniture. Judging by the feel of the armchair she'd knocked her head against, she was in her room. Not a dungeon or the crypt or some other dark, dank holding cell. The thought of being imprisoned in her room brought only a small measure of comfort.

She felt like a ticking time bomb. Her soul was still in her possession but not for much longer. Lady Ingrid had been furious at Marion's continued defiance. Soon, her protection would be taken away and Marion would be left to the wraiths.

Then a faint, golden sliver of light spilled under the door.

Crawling toward it, Marion trailed her fingers through the light delicately. She'd never seen anything so beautiful and bright in her life. A moment later, something clinked against the floor and rasped under the door. She could just make out the slim silhouette of a key.

Marion's heart thundered in her chest. She had been tricked too many times to trust that this key was a simple, no-strings-attached escape plan, especially after Lady Ingrid's fury. For all Marion knew, this was another trap to force her into swearing allegiance and becoming a permanent member of the dead. The light wasn't moving either.

For all she knew, Lady Ingrid was waiting on the other side of that door. Tempting her with the light from a candle. Marion stared at the key, her fingers itching to grab it, shove it in the lock, and run.

Several seconds stretched into a full minute. And then another minute. Nothing happened. Nothing changed.

Slowly, Marion picked up the key. She slid it into the lock as quietly as she could and turned it. Easing the door open, she peered out to see a candle on the floor, flame shivering in the shadows. There was no note and no one around.

Marion hesitated on the threshold, weighing whether or not this was one of Lady Ingrid's traps. Could she be luring Marion into an escape only to accuse her of betrayal when Lady Ingrid inevitably caught her?

Picking up the candle, Marion inched over the threshold. With the flame burning a halo of light around her, she couldn't see much more than two steps ahead of her. Finding her way out of Valecroft would take forever but she had to try. It was better than sitting in that room, alone, waiting for Lady Ingrid to return. Marion slipped off the red flats Lady Ingrid had given her and tugged on her muddy sneakers. Tiptoeing down the hallway, Marion kept one hand stretched out in front of her in case she ran into something.

The wail of a wraith echoed down the hall. Marion's heart lurched. She ducked around the corner, shielding the flame with her hand. The whisk-whisk of its wings drew closer. Swearing under her breath, she hurried down the corridor. Was she going deeper into Valecroft? There had to be a back door somewhere...

Then Marion skidded to a halt. Emanating from her left was a dull, gray light – barely visible, hardly more than a glimmer. When she moved toward it, she rounded the corner and found herself in a conservatory overlooking a garden of trees. Shouldering the door open, she stumbled out into the trees and slipped on something round beneath her foot. When she glanced down, a black apple gleamed from the ashes.

She was in an orchard. The trees were different here than in the forest – squat and low, bending toward the center of the garden as if permanently bowed by a fierce and unforgiving wind.

Marion skirted under the protective shield of the branches, hidden from Valecroft's view. In the distance, past the garden wall was the forest. If she could get that far without being seen, she might have a chance of escape. Once Lady Ingrid realized Marion was gone, she would no doubt revoke her protection and then Marion was on her own.

A glint of something caught her eye and Marion turned...

Stretched out beneath the trees was a long glass box. Ashes dusted the surface like snow. Black tree roots twined up the base, curling over the top like tentacles.

Then Marion realized what she was seeing. It wasn't a glass box. It was a coffin. And someone was inside it. She scrambled closer, dropping her candle in the process. She swept the ashes away to get a clear look inside. A girl about Marion's age was laid out on a cushion of silky black fabric. Her hands were folded over her chest, her short curls splayed across a pillow.

Marion placed her hand against the icy glass. She was human. And she was dead. Lady Ingrid's words echoed in her head.

You're not the first to be abandoned by the mirror...

Had this girl come through the mirror, too? Was this Marion's fate? To be locked in a glass coffin in Lady Ingrid's garden, like a trinket on display? Marion wanted to break the glass, to free this girl's body and let her rest. But that would only slow her down. She'd already wasted precious seconds when she should have been running for the tree line.

Marion tore herself away from the casket, turning toward the forest again. But there were two more caskets up ahead. Then a third casket, nearly consumed by the slow creep of tree roots. The longer she looked, the more caskets she saw until she counted over a dozen of them.

A footstep whispered behind her. Marion whirled.

Septimus stood at the edge of the garden, a crossbow braced against his shoulder.