The Hollow Ball

Chapter 8

When I returned to Castellano Manor, my body ached and my head felt heavy. I strained a look over my shoulder, afraid that the Shadow would appear behind me and snatch me away.

To my relief, there was nothing there.

Allowing a breath, I slipped around the back of the large, three-story house, its night-black face, manicured hedges, and white windows breathtaking. Father said that the house was built with stone from the largest mountain on the range. To my relief, the garden gates were still open, and I carefully wove my way around the rose bushes, their crimson faces seeming to follow my every move.

Stop being paranoid, Hayley.

I had every right in the world to be. I was shocked not to be a nervous mess already. Thankfully, the garden and the servant's door were empty. Ms. Casas would inevitably interrogate me about my whereabouts, Mother no doubt sick with worry.

The last time I left the house unannounced...

Like a child running from the darkness of a dimly lit corridor, I moved quickly through the servant's quarters, eager to get to my bedroom. Nothing sounded better than the safety under my covers. No one could get me there. Not my parents. Not the town. Not the Shadow on the hill. Not even the Blue Sickness or the Hollow Ball.

A little voice in the back of my mind reasoned that the Shadow had only been a figment of my imagination caused by stress and nightmares. Maybe a trick of the daylight or delirium from the hospital. The thought gave me solace when I approached my father's study on the second floor, ready to lock myself away until my demise.

Another voice in the back of my mind worried it may have had something to do with the woman in my dreams. The thought made my stomach turn.

Maybe some whiskey would help.

Father kept plenty in his office...

Surprisingly, a light flickered from his office. Was he home in the middle of the day?

My parents sat on the plush green chaise, huddled over a book, their voices low and hurried. When they noticed my presence, they stopped as though caught scheming, and my eyebrows raised at the wide-eyed distress in my mother's eyes when she saw me.

Were they scheming?

Risa Castellano was not well-versed in masking her emotions. She shared that gift with Kian. Whatever they'd been reading, it disturbed her greatly.

That same distress worried my father's expression, but he was quick to hide it with a purse of his lips, and he slammed the old book shut. I swore it glowed in the lamplight.

"There you are," Mother said, standing. My eyes didn't leave the worn, frayed edges of the book in my father's hands. "Your father returned early. Are you ready for Dorothea Chase's funeral?"

Funeral. An ache hollowed my chest. Right. Unlike Mr. Roberts, who was laid to rest in a modest ceremony two days ago, Dorothea's funeral would be an elaborate affair. Even in death, the Founding Families found ways to flaunt their gifts.

"What are you reading?" I asked.

"That is none of your concern," my father said. Tucking the book under his arms, he regarded me with his signature scowl.

"There's plenty to be concerned about, Father," I said between gritted teeth. Couldn't he find a new phrase to shield his secrets? Did he think me so daft I couldn't smell the conspiracy in the air?

Ignoring my challenging glare, Mother smoothed her fingers over her dark hair and asked, "Is that what you'll be wearing, then?"

I narrowed my eyes. Her eyes shone with the request not to push the matter any further. Typical, of course. After everything, I was still expected to play the subservient daughter of a powerful councilman.