Page 17
Halfway down the stairs, my gaze snags on the ceiling mural inside the Great Room. A glimpse through the open doors kindles a distant memory. Where had I seen this before? The grand design appears to warp and grow larger, hands reaching over the threshold into the foyer. My gaze tracks its slithering movements. Images of garish demons oscillate, tongues jeer, and their gazes seem to leer.
“Marisa?” Daisy’s intrusion breaks the spell. Outstretched hands and tongues all retract, settling back into stillness.
“Did you see that?” I ask, meeting her gaze as she sidles up to me.
“See what?”
Could it be another strange side effect of this accident?
“Nothing,” I reply, choosing to keep the visions to myself.
Daisy leads us into the Great Room, a repertory of tidy, organized shelves, a stately grand piano resting dormant in the corner, settees covered in sheets and a rusting phonograph that adds a strange unease to the otherwise decadent area.
Gray daylight filters around tall tie-back curtains, mingling with the warm flicker of candles.
“How big is this place?” I murmur, taking in the monstrosity of a room.
“It was originally built by a major lumber magnate, a man who brought his family from India a long time ago to another world. He married an English woman and eventually settled across the seas—here of all places. The Sharmas and the Lazaruses lived here together at one point. A united household. A grand undertaking in its era.” Daisy flits around like a mischievous sprite. She throws her arms wide and collapses dramatically onto a sheet covered sofa.
I listen, imagining all the lives that once moved through these rooms. “What could be hidden in all of this house?” I whisper, mostly to myself. It seemed too vast, yet too small simultaneously.
“The house was a symbol of devotion,” Daisy continues, eyes bright. “A love so large it required precise architecture and lots of hidden corners and rooms to contain it. Think of it as a heart, with it all its labyrinthian pathways and chambers.”
“That’s beautiful,” I reply, still taking in the finer details of the room. “So what happened to them?”
Daisy bites her lip. “The Sharmas left when a lucrative business called them elsewhere. The Lazarus’s remained. Victor Lazarus—Kieran’s father—was a medical doctor turned academic who went abroad to find answers for his research. Whatever answers he sought, they cost him his sanity. His marriage. Possibly his life. He just disappeared.”
“He just abandoned his family?” Unsettled, I fold my arms and lean against the sofa Daisy was sitting on.
The sheets are undisturbed by her weight. No crinkle at the corners where her bottom should make an indent, nor a shadow leaning away from her.
“Seems so. His wife was left to raise Kieran alone, drowning in debt. And Kieran was not an amiable child.” She continues as my eyes trace over the contours of a person that should have a shadow.
“What sort of doctor is Kieran?” I ask.
“A biochemist. He sort of followed in his father’s footsteps. Something to do with longevity and the body. I think he’s trying to make people live longer. A bit necromancer, a bit mad scientist. I truly do not know. The labs were abandoned for years. Still are, in a way.”
I decide to settle cross-legged on the plush rug as she speaks. Her storytelling is animated and rehearsed. When I lay eyes on her, I see her, but the exact image of her is unclear. All of it, her aura, the outfit, the tone, even the way light bends strangely around her makes me squint with unease. Yet, I don’t move. I keep myself planted near her.
“So what was his father searching for exactly?” I ask.
“Whispers say he tried communicating with the in-between,” Daisy whispers, fluttering her fingers at me. “The place between life and death. The underworld, if you want to call it that.”
“And he died doing that?”
“Perhaps. Or he vanished into obsession.”
“Is this something Dr. Lazarus works on now?” My gaze meets hers, a brief clash of uncertain eyes.
“I’m not sure; all I know is some history. Not much of the present.” Her gaze drifts toward the piano and a slow, eerie smile curls across her lips. “Come on. Let’s see if you can play.”
“I don’t think I can,” I warn, but she is already reaching for my hands. Her fingers are weightless, barely there at all. My skin prickles. I retract, startled, but quickly recover and allow her to guide me so she won’t notice my hesitation.
Daisy flips open a book of piano notes and plops down on the bench, with me sliding in beside her. Her ghostlike fingers glide across the keys, and the house fills with a sound that sounds foreign to my ears. A haunting melody swells through the room, dark and elegant.
My chest tightens. Recognition trembles in the deepest part of my mind, but the memory refuses to surface. She ends abruptly with a discordant thump. “Your turn.”
She moves behind me, guiding my hands. My first attempts sound like a wounded animal, but slowly the melody forms. It becomes something nearly beautiful. Nearly.
