The clouds hang low, the tops of the pine trees tickling the misty gray gloom. Wind howls around us, and branches tear at my coat as we push uphill through the forest. Apart from my feet striking the needle-covered terrain, I'm not making a sound. Neither are Thomas and Victor.
We keep a fast pace, our chests heaving, when my boot snags on a bulging root. I lurch forward, but Thomas catches me before I fall. There's no time for thank yous. We need to get inside that mansion before Mr. Baptiste gets home.
When the property comes into view, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. We pause at the edge of the tree-line and stare as the ocean roars in the distance.
The house looks more haunted than lived in. Withered brown ivy stretches like a lesion along the foundation, and creeps up the stone and mortar. The windows are dark and ominous, resembling infinite black holes.
Now that we're here, the thought of going inside hits me square in the chest. I've always wanted to see what it's like, so why is my heart pounding in my ears?
Thomas nudges my arm. "Maybe you should be the one who waits out here."
Victor blinks at him, his breath pale on the salty air. "Why does it get to be her?"
"Because we're men, and it's the gentlemanly thing to do." Thomas' lips pull into a sneer. "Why—are you turning lily-livered on us?"
With his chest puffed out, Victor steps closer until they're eye to eye. "I'm not a coward."
"Could have fooled me," Thomas says with a shrug.
Victor grits his teeth. "Take it back."
"No."
His face goes red. "Take it back!"
"Stop!" My gaze jumps back and forth between them. "It was my idea to come here, and I'm going inside."
Victor's shoulders relax and he releases a victorious huff. "Great. Now that that's settled, I'll stay here and make sure he doesn't catch you."
I give him a sideways glare. "And how do we know you won't get the willies and run off?"
Once again, Victor's expression hardens. "Because I give you my word."
"And your word is always the truth, right?" There's a hard edge to Thomas' voice. Coming from him, it sounds unnatural.
They glare at each other as wind twists the tops of the trees. Pine needles shower down on us.
I try to ease the tension. "Come on, let's just go. We're wasting time out here when we could be in there." I nod toward the mansion.
Thomas turns back to me. "I think you should reconsider."
But I'm not changing my mind. If I had to do this over again, I'd have never mentioned my plan to either one of them. I'd have broken into the house on my own. That way if things go south, I would be the only one to suffer the consequences.
I force myself to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "I'm going in."
"Faith, I really wish you would—"
A twig snapping behind us and cuts him off. We whip around toward the sound, but nothing's there.
After a long beat, Victor squirms, his beetle eyes burrowing into mine. "Someone has to stay out here, and I volunteer to do it."
Another snap.
"I can do it," a tiny voice says.
My muscles tense as an uneasy chill moves through me. "Honor—what are you doing here? I told you to go home!"
Honor emerges from behind a tree trunk, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip. "But I want to help."
"This is no place for a child." I reach for his shoulders and pivot him around in the opposite direction.
His small body stiffens. "But you're a child, too! Papa says so."
"He only says that so you don't feel left out. Now go on." I give him one final shove toward home.
"Faith—" Thomas' mitted hand curls around my arm. "He's already here. What's the harm in letting him stay?"
My chest tightens. "No—he's too little!"
Honor grabs ahold of my hand and squeezes, his glossy eyes pleading as they stare up at me. "Sissy, I can do this. I want to help you. Please?"
A black crow lets out a sudden screech from the limb above us. It swoops toward another tree before disappearing inside the branches.
My breath shudders as my gaze shifts back to my brother. Thomas has a point. I don't want to put Honor in danger, but if he stays outside, he shouldn't come in harm's way.
My shoulders sink as I retuck his scarf into his coat. "Promise me you'll stay hidden. And if there's any sign of trouble, you run home and get Papa. Do you understand?"
Honor nods, his mouth disappearing into a thin line. I'm familiar with this look. He's trying not to grin.
"All right, kid," Thomas says. "Let's hear your best call."
Honor sucks in a massive breath and lets out a hoot. It's a perfect imitation of the owls nesting in our barn.
I shake my head, my fingers and toes numb with cold. "How do you do that?"
He shrugs like it's no big deal. "They like it when I talk to them."
Thomas rumples Honor's hat until it sits cockeyed on his head. "Pretty impressive, kid. Now go find a safe hiding place and don't make a peep unless you have to. And if you do need to send us a warning, make the noise you just made—only real loud. Can you do that?"
Honor straightens his hat then gives a mock salute before scrambling toward a cluster of overgrown evergreens just off the beaten path. He crouches behind the snow-speckled foliage and flashes a thumbs up.
As he turns back to us, a swallow skates down Thomas' throat. "Are we ready?"
Victor and I exchange a look and my breaths quicken. Finally, I nod, fighting to keep my expression neutral. We leave the forest behind and push through the untouched snow toward an entrance at the rear of the residence. The wooden door is half-concealed behind a tangle of dead vines as if it hasn't been used in years.
Thomas stuffs his mittens into his pocket and gets to work. He yanks at the brown leaves and wrinkled berries, but only succeeds in making more of a mess. He unravels the knotted plant from his reddened fingers and tosses it to the side in a heap. "I don't suppose anyone thought to bring shears?"
"Will this work?" Victor clutches an iron shaft in his hand. When he pulls at the side, a silver blade slides out from its hiding place.
Thomas eyes the knife with growing admiration. "Where in the Sam Hill did you get that thing?"
For the first time today, Victor's smile is genuine. "I swiped it from the store. Figured we could use some protection. I'll put it back when we're finished...as long as we don't use it to cut out someone's heart. Ma has a nose like a hound. Even if we clean it, she'll still smell the blood—honest-to-God."
I let out a long breath. "We're not going to cut out anyone's heart. There's no such thing as the Undead. Remember?"
Victor's smile disappears. "Then, why are we even here?"
A sudden scream bubbles in my throat. "Because Mr. Baptiste is involved in those deaths!" The last word is stolen by the wind. I swallow hard and lower my voice. "It's not because he's turning people into monsters, but because he—" My sentence trails off.
I don't know what Mr. Baptiste has done, or what he might still be doing. But some how, some way, he's part of this nightmare.
And I'm going to prove it.
I glance back at the forest. "Come on. We need to do this before he comes home."
Victor takes his knife and gets to work until every last vine is cut away, then he folds the blade back in the case and shoves it into his coat pocket.
Thomas steps past him and jiggles the door handle until the rusty hinges give. When he forces them open, they groan like a dying animal, and any bravado I had suddenly slips away. I do my best to hide it and push ahead of them into the house, letting the darkness breathe me in.
Leaving the door open, an eerie gray light spills around us as they follow me into the windowless room. It stinks of time and neglect. Dank, hungry. Like a stomach that's been empty for far too long. An oversized ice box dominates one wall, but judging from the cobwebs, it hasn't been used in ages. A few jars of preserves line the shelves along another wall. Each glass is covered in a thick layer of grime, their labels long worn away.
Huddled together, we inch forward like timid sheep and shuffle further inside. The next room is brighter and more spacious than the last. It's the kitchen, and it's big enough to hold an army. A rectangular table sweeps across the center of the room, while a stove, several built-in storage cabinets, and a cast iron basin take up the perimeter.
With every step, the house unfurls, each room bigger and more impressive than the last. If we're not careful, we could lose our way if we venture in too deep.
It's a risk I'm willing to take.
But a sudden thought roots me in place. "Do you think we'll hear Honor if he calls out?"
"Good question." Thomas glances behind him. "Victor, why don't you wait at the back door in case there's a signal? Then you can let us know if we need to get out."
Victor's jaw drops. "Are you insane? There's no way I'm doing that by myself! Faith can do it. Besides, I'm the only one who thought to bring protection."
I have to give him that. Grabbing the knife was a stroke of genius, but I refuse to admit that out loud. There's also no way I'm standing guard at the door. "I came here to look around and that's what I'm going to do. We'll just be quick about it. In and out before anyone is the wiser."
We continue on to the front parlor. Because of my earlier visit on the porch, I recognize the vaulted ceiling, and the dusty sheets veiled over the furniture along the walls. But now that I'm inside, I'm able to get a better look. Golden embers from a recent fire simmer inside a stone fireplace, and a series of brass sconces decorate the gabled walls. At the far end of the room is what appears to be the front entrance, wedged between two bookshelves packed with weathered spines and decades of dust.
There's so much to take in, but my eyes are drawn to an elaborately carved wooden structure in the center. It's covered in thick, burgundy tapestry and is long enough for a grown man to lie on. Several smaller chairs surround it. My fingers scrape along the fabric, the woven threads rigid against my gloves, until they land on a metal frame sitting upright on a small table. I pick it up for a closer look. It's not an image at all, but a document written in a language I don't understand.
Certificat de médecine de Paris: Claude-Lucien Baptiste.
I set the frame back where I found it and continue to look around. A well-worn rug made of blacks, browns, and reds sprawls across the floor, and a massive oak clock stands like a tower in the corner. Its swinging pendulum ticks away the minutes.
Tick.
Tick.
Tock.
Victor nudges me, his bony limb jutting into my side. "What do we do now?"
I don't have an answer. "Look around for anything unusual, I guess."
"You mean you don't have a plan?"
Thomas shoves him in the shoulder. "What's your plan, you muttonhead? You have an answer for everything else. Why don't you tell us what we should do next?"
Victor grunts. "How am I supposed to know? This was Faith's cockamamie idea, not mine."
"No one's stopping you from—" A loud rattle in the distance cuts me off, and a breeze lifts the hair around my face. I glance back at them. "Did you hear that?"
Our eyes bounce back and forth between each other until the rattle comes again.
With an obvious shudder, Thomas pulls the collar of his coat closer. "Maybe there's a door or window open somewhere?"
The front and rear entrances are both in view, but the only one that's open is the one in the back. And the windows throughout the first floor are all closed.
Victor's wide eyes fix on mine. "I think we should go home now." His voice is quiet and wobbly.
"You can go if you like, but I'm staying," I whisper back, sounding braver than I feel. "I need to find out what's going on before anyone else is killed."
Thomas lets out a sigh. Just like when we were outside, it clouds in the air and disappears. "We're not leaving you."
Victor shoots him a look but says nothing. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves his knife. He opens it and thrusts it out in front of him, the blade long as it stabs into the air. It trembles in his hand.
Another current of wind travels past us, accompanied once again by the rattle.
Goosebumps shoot up the back of my neck and over my scalp. As we step further inside the room, I stuff my gloves into my pockets and move my hands around in front of me, feeling the air with my bare skin. The more I reach forward, the colder it becomes. "I think it's coming from an upper level."
To our left is a massive staircase curving toward the second floor, with a balcony that overlooks the front entryway.
I swallow the fear clogging my throat. "Let's go."
In a single-file line, we take one step at a time, the air around us growing colder. My fingers grip the wooden banister as the floorboards groan beneath us. When we reach the top of the stairs, light spills in from the sash windows, casting an eerie gray glow down the length of the hall.
It's dark. Dangerous. And too late to turn back now.
I push my shoulders back and try to shrug off the goosebumps. Terror hammers in my chest as we creep down the corridor, peeking into the first room on our left. An enormous window laced with ice overlooks a black pond and the pine forest behind it. Wind and snow lash at the frost-stiffened trees, bending them like rigid reeds. Other than the view, the room is vacant. Even the fireplace is hollow.
There it is again. The rattle. It's coming from down the hall.
"Come on." I push the words from my mouth.
Every door is closed, with the exception of one on the right halfway down the hall. As we move closer, a blast of air hits me square in the face. We freeze in our tracks.
"It's coming from in there." Thomas points at room.
Before we continue, the clock downstairs chimes the hour and we jump. Without thinking, my fingers curl around Thomas'.
Dread chills my blood as we shuffle closer to the open doorway. Despite my fear, I'm entering first. That way, if something is waiting for us on the opposite side, it will give the boys a chance to escape. But before I can shoulder my way through, Thomas drops my hand and pushes ahead, using his arm to hold us back.
When I peek over his shoulder, the breath stills in my chest. Unlike the last room, this one is lived in.
I try to look everywhere at once. The flickering flames in the fireplace, casting long shadows across the pristine walnut floor. A massive arched window facing the Atlantic, enveloped in a sheer curtain and burgundy drape, pinned back like tails on either side. The fabric ends in two velvety puddles on the floorboards. Enormous panes of glass are opened inward, welcoming in salty gusts of ocean air.
It makes no sense. Why would anyone leave the windows open in the middle of the winter? Stranger still is the four poster bed positioned in front of it, the foot nearly touching the frost-covered sills.
There's a body-shaped lump beneath the covers.
"I told you this was a bad idea," Victor hisses under his breath. "I'm leaving!"
Thomas grabs ahold of his arm. "We're in this together."
Victor's nostrils flare. He shakes his head. "I've done my part. Faith can do her own dirty work from now on. I'm not going to end up Undead!" He turns on his heel and takes off down the hall, his hood-covered head disappearing as he descends the staircase. When he slams the backdoor behind him, it echoes throughout the house.
I'm light-headed, my breaths coming out in quick, wheezy gasps. "He took the knife."
"We'll be fine." Thomas looks me in the eye. "I'll go first. Do not come in unless I say it's okay. Do you understand?"
He doesn't trust me to stay put.
I nod and try to control my breathing. Like a sneaking cat, Thomas tiptoes through the room and around the headboard before coming to an abrupt halt. His eyes widen, his chest rising with a sharp intake of breath.
He glances sideways and waves me over.
Another burst of wind smashes against the house and rattles the windows, sending a wave of goosebumps over my face. I slink up to his side. Entombed beneath a mountain of blankets is a girl who appears to be only a few years older than us. Dark brown hair is piled loosely on top of her head, and her closed eyes are bruised and sunken like wells. The ruffled neckline of her nightdress gaps open beneath her razor-sharp collar bones.
She's too pale, her skin stretched too tight. Her lips too red.
"Is she dead?" Thomas murmurs.
If the girl's breathing, it would be nearly impossible to tell underneath all these covers. "It looks like it." His posture tenses against mine.
Intricate blue veins snake along her temples, but even in this mottled state, she's beautiful. The kind of beautiful you don't see in real life, not even in the magazines at the store. Haunted and gaunt. As though her very being has been sucked dry while she slept.
I can't stop staring.
My boots shift closer, closer, until I'm touching the bed. Ever so carefully, I bend forward, searching for signs of life.
Her chest is still.
"What should we do?" Thomas asks from behind me.
I can't drag my eyes away from her face. From the tendrils of loose hair, dancing in the breeze. The way her lips glisten, like morning dew on a rose. I shouldn't touch her but my hand reaches out anyway, until my fingers graze the silken translucence of her cheek.
She's so still; so cold to the touch. As I lean in to brush the hair from her forehead, a familiar metallic tang reaches my nose.
I know that smell.
My face shifts closer until it's inches from her own. Her lips aren't just red. They're sheathed in a fine shimmer of blood.
Just like Andrew and Agnes.
My stomach curdles and I recoil back. I open my mouth to warn Thomas, but before I can get the words out, the girl's eyelids blink open, her sky-blue irises staring right at me.
I scream, yet my voice is swallowed by a charge of ocean air.
My muscles react before my brain can tell them what to do. I grab ahold of Thomas' hand and we tear out the door, down the rounded staircase, through the fairy tale parlor, and we don't stop until we reach the harsh reality of outdoors. The vast white property stretches out before us. My heart claws at my rib cage as I squint at the towering pines, longing for the safety of their prickly branches.
Thomas slams the door behind us and we lumber through the knee-high snow, the thick blanket of white sucking at my boots. When we reach the forest, Honor and Victor jump out from their hiding place.
"She's Undead, isn't she? I knew it!" Victor shouts at us. "Did she try to drink your blood?"
Without slowing my pace, I yank Honor's coat and pull him away from the mansion. As the ground slopes downhill, my boots threaten to slip out from beneath me. Somehow, I manage to stay upright. Honor stumbles along after me, his breath coming out in short-winded pants. "What happened, Sissy?"
I don't answer. I can't. I just keep moving, propelling us forward. Farther and farther away from the girl in that bed and whatever's going on in that house. "We need to get Papa. We have to tell him what's happening."
By the time we reach the back edge of the farm, my lungs blaze like an inferno in my chest. Bloated puffs of smoke billow up from the chimney and mingle with the low-hanging clouds, like one continuous mass of gloom.
With his chest heaving, Honor buries a cough in the crook of his arm. "What are we going to tell him? We'll get in trouble if he finds out you snuck in."
I gasp for a breath I can't catch, my heart pressing against my ribs. "I don't know. But we have to let him know what Mr. Baptiste has done."
As we plod through the field toward my house, Thomas materializes at my side. His nose is bright red. So are his ears. "We still don't know ourselves. We haven't proved anything."
I stop and stare at him. "He's keeping a half-dead girl as his prisoner! We can't fix this on our own; we have to tell someone."
Panic crosses Victor's face. "My mother says criminals go to hell. She'll have you all arrested!"
"And what about you?" Thomas yells back. "You were there. You're just as guilty as the rest of us!"
"She'd never believe I did such a thing. We can't tell anyone what we've done. Ever."
"So, we broke in for nothing?" My toes curl in my boots. "Mr. Baptiste is a murderer and you want us to keep quiet? That wasn't part of the plan."
"You didn't even have a plan!" Victor shouts back.
My muscles go rigid. "The plan was to find evidence. We did. And now we need to help that girl before it's too late."
"But what if she's already a monster?" Honor asks in a tiny voice.
His query steals my breath.
There are no such things as monsters. There never was and there never will be. But I can't explain what I just saw. There were no constraints holding that girl back. Nothing hindering her escape. She can leave whenever she'd like. But she hasn't...
Is it because she can't, or because doesn't want to?