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The second person I think of is Noah, naturally. He must be in Goldenrod somewhere. I should feel connected to him, right? But something about being here makes me feel like I’m further from him than ever before, my mark, nothing but a useless wound.
I’m nothing but his maid again in this house. Any moment, Cleo will bang through the door and tell me he needs a tray of coffee.
“C’mon,” Stella says softly, interrupting my memories as her cold, wet fingers lace with mine. “Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want her to wake up.”
I nod silently. I know she’s talking about Isolde. Stella made it very clear on the way here that she had no interest in seeing her mother until absolutely necessary.
“That’s kind of harsh,” I scolded her as we walked through the woods before the rain. “The world is literally ending, Stella. You need to save your mother.”
She groaned. “I know, and I will … unless Noah gets to her first.” She said the words hopefully, like dealing with her mother at the end of the world was the last thing she wanted to do.
But as we make our way from the kitchen into the front entryway and up the stairs, I can’t believe that there’s anyone else here.
Darkness covers the house like a blanket. But despite it, I can’t help but think all I need to do is switch on a light and find the Sage House as I’ve always known it.
Familiar. Well lit. Busy. Clean.
Not a tomb.
When we enter Stella’s room, she immediately dives into her walk-in closet. Standing near her giant, canopied bed, I hear hangers scraping, boxes hitting the floor, as well as her loud and varied curses.
“Ugh!” she groans. “There’s too much stuff in here. It would help if I could actually see things.”
“Let me help,” I call out, clinging to the bed’s long canopy as I attempt to feel my way through the darkness. “I probably know your closet better than you do.”
I am her maid, after all. But as I start to move, a flickering light appears.
“Henrietta,” a voice echoes gravely.
I gasp, my hand coming to my heart. For a half second, I think it’s Gran’s ghost, come to ask where I’ve been.
But no, it’s Isolde, of course. She may as well be a ghost, though, standing still as a statue in the doorframe, holding a glowing candle.
I can’t see her very well, obviously. But I can tell her hair is hanging over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she’s wearing her greenhouse dress. The heavy, gray fabric is baggy on her, just barely clinging to her thin limbs. She’s lost weight, I realize. There are deep hollows under her eyes, and her fingers are bony, clinging to the candle holder.
Warily, I watch her wordlessly float toward me. When she’s close, she stops, studying me as the candle’s flame jumps between us. I flinch when she reaches out to cup my jaw, inhaling deeply.
Tsking, she shakes her head. “This is what your grandmother always feared.”
I swallow. “What?”
“That you’d give in.”
I open my mouth to question her, but Stella’s loud voice booms through the room, breaking the spell.
“Mother! You scared the crap out of me!”
She marches out of the closet until she’s standing between us, staring at her mother with an awestruck expression.
“Stella, my dear,” Isolde says blandly, not looking up at her. “How nice of you to visit.”
Quickly, Stella becomes frantic. “Has Noah been here yet? Do you know what’s happening? We need to get you out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says with a heavy sigh, still staring at me. “And I don’t think Hetty should either. It seems she’s gotten herself into a bit of trouble.”
“Oh, no, you don’t understand,” Stella explains quickly. “Hetty’s not a beta. She must be mixed somehow—”
“She’s an in-between person,” Isolde murmurs, her eyes flicking toward her daughter before landing on me again. “That’s what we called them in the old days.”
