Sadie Madison and the Boy in the Crimson Scarf

8 | The Brightly Painted Door

Natalia's room was predominantly white with accents of pink and gold festooned here and there. She adored a crisply made bed, clothes and shoes stored away neatly beneath, books colour-coded upon the shelf. It was the only room in the house where all evidence of Michael's peculiar paintings and Larissa's clutter had been surgically removed.

Natalia sat at a dressing table brushing her golden hair. She hummed almost inaudibly as Sadie entered with Oliver in tow.

"Hello, Natalia," Sadie said, trying to sound normal but failing.

"Oh, hello," her sister replied, looking at her in the mirror. "Are you okay? You look...pale." She put her hairbrush down and spun to face Sadie. "Where have you been all day? Father's been pacing. I don't like it when he paces."

Ignoring Natalia's question, Sadie fired off one of her own. "What do you remember?"

Natalia folded her hands. "How do you mean?"

"What's your earliest memory?"

"Why do you—?"

"Please," Sadie insisted.

Natalia paused for a moment. "I'm not sure if this is my first memory, but I remember you being born. I mean, I remember Mother and Father bringing you home. I remember being jealous of the amazing nursery Mother decorated for you. There was an awful storm, the moon was blood-red. The river and most of Iron Bridge consumed with a strange mist. I remember fearing the noises from Darachna Forest...barking, screaming, howling. But Father told me about the River Wraiths and how we're protected by the Jongeliers. I think he was trying to get me to sleep, but that story is not meant for bedtime...or children. Someone should tell him."

"What else?"

"A visitor came to the house. I don't remember them arriving, I must have been asleep, but I got woken by Father arguing with a woman—it wasn't Mother, someone else—and there was a loud noise, like a door slamming and then books falling off a shelf, and then...silence."

"You have a good memory, Natalia."

"It was a frightening night. An odd night. I guess that's why it stuck."

"Do you remember anything from before?"

Natalia flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I have memories of riding a bike, flying a kite, Atticus arriving one Christmas, then the cats in the new year, picnics, the Candlelight Parade, the Steam Totem, but I don't know if they were before or after you were born, Sadie. They're snippets, I suppose. Moments. Like pictograms."

"I remember the woman being here," Sadie said, her eyes soft and faraway. "The one Father argued with."

Natalia laughed. "Impossible. You were only a few hours old. I was almost four and I barely recall it." Natalia reached out and stroked her sister's arm. "Seriously. Are you okay? You're acting strange. Just like Father. Some weird old man came to see him. He smelt awful. What's going on?"

I can't tell her. I just can't. I don't know if I believe it myself.

"Sadie? What happened?"

"Nothing, Nat. Nothing at all," Sadie lied. "Everything is...fine."

Evening descended. Dinner passed slowly. Michael told no jokes, played no characters, and saluted half-heartedly. The Madison family sat in relative silence feasting on pork belly boiled in Eden Rock Cider, Silverhaven potatoes, creamed carrots and parsnips, broccoli, kale, and buttered peas. Afterwards, they retired to the library for parlour games and the National Broadcast.

Except Sadie.

The punishment due.

Instead, she returned to the shadows of the eaved bedroom. The faerie-lights around her window were dark and still. Laughter and music rang out from the library below.