I drew away, and turned to face him. His green eyes glowed like emeralds in the warm candle light.
“I don’t think a tongue-hungry ghost would even blink at me, with you being here,” I said coolly, which only made him grin, slow and satisfied, as if I’d gifted him something.
“So, you think a ghost would rather have my tongue?” Preston drawled, pressing a hand to his chest like I’d paid him a compliment. “I’m touched.”
I glared at the mossed ceiling in annoyance, then turned back to the crypts. The flame of his match guttered in the still air, painting the stone in brief, flickering bruises of orange.
“No,” I replied. “I think you talk too much.”
I was halfway through reading the bottom row when I noticed one of the crypts was missing a corner. Its edge splintered, a rough gap left gaping like a wound. Had someone broken it on purpose, or had time simply gnawed it away?
I crouched, peering into the dark space. Preston moved behind me, and I braced myself for a flippant remark, but instead, he simply knelt down and passed me a freshly lit match.
“Thanks,” I said, the wood warm between my fingers and I held it close to the hole. Still, I couldn’t see a thing.
“Let me help.” He curled his fingers around the fractured edge of the lid, Orion Thornbury’s name carved into it, and heaved the stone aside. “Isn’t he the lad that built the sculpture in the maze?” he asked, setting the stone aside to reveal the dark space behind.
I nodded, masking the fact that I actually hadn’t noticed that at all, and held the match into the void. To my relief, it was neither bones, nor rot, sitting beneath the shadows. I reached into the hollow, and pulled out a damp, heavy book, letting it thump onto the stone floor.
Preston knelt and swept away the mud from the cover, revealing the title beneath the grime.
Tome of Fates
My chest suddenly filled with air. It felt like I was breathing for the first time since I arrived here. Finally. The book of the one they called the Great Monster.
The paper was damp and heavy beneath my fingertips as I opened it to the first page. Ink curled across the parchment in an elegant sprawl.
May 2, 1665.
Agnes arrived.
“Excuse me, Miss,” someone cleared their throat, and I turned my head to find Alistair standing at the rusted gate, looking as calm as always. “Dinner will be served shortly.”
I frowned. How was that possible? I glared down at my watch only to realize the hands were frozen, unmoving. The river water must have ruined it. I pressed my lips into a thin line, but nodded.
“We should head back,” I said to Preston, who ignored the butler’s words, his eyes still fixed on the pages.
Before he could have answered, I closed the book and drew it to my chest. It smelled damp, ancient, with its mildewed pages. Curiosity pulsed beneath my skin louder than usual.
“Aren’t you curious about what we just found?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, coaxing me into the darkness of the unknown.
I snapped my gaze toward Alistair, only to realize he was already headed back to the manor. The forest swayed behind the archway, dark and luring.
“Lilian’s already back.” I looked down at my watch again as if somehow I could will the hands to work. “And there’s no we,” I added, standing.
“All right.” Preston rose fluidly to his feet, brushing off his trousers with an almost feline grace. “But don’t forget who saved your life…” He leaned into my face as he walked past me to the gate, and heat curled low in my stomach. “Twice.”
“How was everyone’s day?”Lilian asked, lowering herself into her seat at the head of the table.
After Preston and I returned from the mausoleum, I’d stashed theTome of Fatesbeneath my mattress and headed downstairs to join dinner.
Now I sat at the long dining table, the silverware catching candlelight like small daggers. I kept my gaze on the steam curling from the bowl of soup in front of me, hoping the twins would answer Lilian’s question as they usually did. But for some reason, they were abnormally silent.
I glanced up to see Myra gently rubbing her sister’s back while Cecily cradled her tea, inhaling its warmth. Did she catchanother cold? Or had something else curled its fingers around her?
“Elodie.” Lilian’s voice sliced through the air, and I straightened my back, snapping my attention away from the twins. “Have you decided on your birthday party yet?”
Dread pooled low in my stomach. The party. I would be lying if I said I’d thought about it at all. The idea of a crowded room and loud music seemed less like celebration and more like torture.
