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Just beyond the circle of her lantern light, a figure made of shadow was clawing at the ground. It had already dug deep, several feet, and whispered to itself as it dug. “They sssscatter us. Lossst. Bury us bury us bury us deep, we’ll dig ourssselves up again,” it hissed.
Bryony motioned to me. I crept toward her, controlling my breath even as my burning lungs protested. Bryony took my hand in a businesslike grip and drew me back, away from the shadow. She took me down a dirt path, and it was only when I saw the moonlight glinting off the lake that I realized we were going to the folly.
She didn’t stop until we’d stepped onto the stones, and then she set down the lantern on the crumbled remains of a wall and turned to me with hard eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing out here at night?” she asked, voice quiet but angry.
“I—” The words turned to brambles in my mouth. I coughed on them. With a soft moan, I sank to my haunches, tucking my arms close to my body. I wasn’t going to panic. I wasn’t.
She made a little sound, half annoyance and half sympathy, and crouched next to me. “You look scared as a rabbit that just got away from a hound,” she told me. “Take deep breaths. No dogs here, little rabbit. They don’t like the folly, and it’ll keep them from catching your scent.”
“Your d-d-dad said there weren’t any dogs left,” I said, teeth chattering, not quite comprehending what she was saying. “That—that thing—”
“The dark soul isn’t what it used to be,” she said. “Less complicated, more violent. You shouldn’t tempt it by wandering where you’re not meant to go.” She touched my wrist, and I realized I was still clutching the charm. My other hand was bruised, the creature’s bite a bloody wound that spanned most of my palm. She gathered both my wrists in her hands, examining the damage. “What did this?”
“I don’t know, it was all—wrong. Crumpled up.”
“The Folded,” she said. “I’ve seen them before. They’re dangerous.”
“There was—my stepdad is still—” I gulped down a sob.
“I can barely understand you. Breathe,” she ordered me, her voice firm. “What happened?”
“I was sleepwalking. It was in the hall,” I said. “I ran and there was one of those shadows, and it asked me my name, and when I told it—”
“You told it your name?” she asked. “Not smart. Now it can seeyou. Smell you. Of all the ways it can hurt you, onlymostare against the rules.”
“My stepdad was there. And my great-uncle. Are they...?”
“You can’t do anything for them right now,” she said sternly, and then her voice grew gentle. “Let me look at this hand.” She lifted my wrist, helping me unbend my fingers. I hissed in pain as the motion stretched the skin.
“What are those things?” I asked her.
“It likes to make things. It can’tnotmake them. They used to be marvelous. But these days, they all come out wrong,” Bryony said. “They’re only out at night. Usually not in the house, but sometimes one slips in. That’s why you’re not supposed to be out here.”
“I didn’t mean to be,” I said.
“This is going to get infected. I might have something to—what the hell?” Bryony had probed gently at the edge of the wound, but now she jerked back.
A chunk of skin beside the bite had ripped free at her touch. It didn’t hurt. I hadn’t even felt it. The section of flesh was bloodless, oddly uniform. My hand throbbed, but no longer with pain. Only a strange pressure and a cold that stole from the bite to my arm and through my chest. Scabby white flesh wriggled up from the wound, spreading like lichen across my palm.
Bryony swore rapidly, frantically rummaging in her bag.
“Bryony?” I asked, and my voice seemed strangely calm, given the terror coursing through me. “Where did the stars go?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“The stars are gone,” I insisted, looking up into the dark sky.But they weren’t gone at all—the stars were black, gleaming like chips of obsidian. And in the darkness moved a shadow, vast and strange. My mouth tasted of ozone. “What’s happening to me?”
She was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “Hold on, little rabbit. I’ll figure this out.” Her voice was urgent, half lost. She was more afraid than I was, I realized. She had no idea what to do.
I couldn’t hold on. The ground was falling away, and so was she, and the black of the sky was all around me. I could feel it, the way it wove through my body, among the trees, through the earth. Through the halls of Harrow. It was everywhere, and there was no escaping it.
I heard the faint sound of men’s voices. Bryony cursed. Fear clutched me—not of the black sky, the dark stars, the rebellious rot of my own flesh, but of what those voices meant.
“Bryony, hide,” I said. “You have to go. You have to—”
“Hush,” she whispered, peering out into the dark. “It’s your family.”
“Don’t trust them,” I said. Her head whipped toward me, and I realized it wasn’t my voice that had spoken, but Jessamine’s.
