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“Foxgloves. They grow on the grounds but only in the summer. Except lately, I’ve been finding them all over the place.”
My mouth went dry. “I keep seeing foxgloves, too,” I said. “I saw them growing in my grandfather’s chest at the funeral. And every time the figments appear, they’re there. And in Jessamine’s portrait...”
“Daffodils,” Bryony said. “Jessamine’s portrait has daffodils, not foxgloves. They were her favorite. She always made my dad promise to plant a whole bed of them for her.”
“It was foxglove when I saw it,” I said. “Unless it was a different painting. But why would the dark soul change it? What’s important about foxglove?”
“I don’t know,” Bryony said, spreading her hands. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. Except...” She hesitated.
“Except what?”
“Digitalis,” she said. “It’s the scientific name for foxglove. And it’s a medication—or a poison. It can stop your heart.”
My breath hissed between my teeth. “Leopold and Jessamine both died of heart failure,” I said.
Her eyes widened as this information sunk in. “Do you think they were poisoned?”
“Who would kill them?” I asked, shaking my head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Your uncle was the one that was supposed to inherit this place, right? But then old Mr.Vaughan dies—dies really young for a Vaughan, by the way. He’s the first Master of Harrow to die before his ninetieth birthday. He leaves you the house—andmakes sure that if you say no, everyone else loses everything. So you can’t possibly refuse.”
“You make it sound like a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap, little rabbit. What I’m wondering is who set it. And why you?”
“Grandpa Leopold’s the one that changed the terms of the trust,” I said. “I think. But maybe someone could have made him, or faked it, or... But that doesn’t explain Jessamine. There’s no reason to kill a little girl.”
“She’s not the first little girl to be lost to Harrow,” Bryony reminded me. “I looked into those pictures we found while you were gone.”
“Harrow’s girls.”
She nodded. “I managed to identify the other two. They’re both dead. Another freak accident and a sudden illness. One of them was eleven when she died. The other was eight.”
“The same age as Jessamine,” I said. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod. Just let me sit with the knowledge.
“Someone or something took those girls,” Bryony said. “I don’t know if it was Harrow or the dark soul or your family. But whatever happened, you need to be careful. And you need to beverycareful who you trust.”
“Can I trust you?” I asked.
She opened her mouth, and I could see it in her eyes, what she wanted to say:Of course you can. But the words didn’t come. They couldn’t. Because it would have been a lie. I couldn’t trust her, not completely, because Bryony was the Harrow Witch, and her loyalty would always be to the Other.
“I’m meeting my cousins at the folly tonight,” I said to spare her having to answer. “You should join us.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, shaking her head. “Hanging out with Vaughan brats isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“I think they know things,” I said. “They have to. They’ve grown up around here. But they’ve learned not to notice, or remember, or talk about it. I have an idea to get them to open up. Who knows? You might learn something.”
“There’s nothing those two can teach me,” Bryony said, all prickle and bramble and ire, but I could see through her now.
“Come to the folly,” I said. “At the very least, you can freak out some Vaughan kids.”
Her grin was small and vicious. “Well, then, I can’t possibly turn that down,” she said. She reached out, her hand catching mine for an instant before she let go again. “Be safe, Rabbit,” she said, her eyes locked on mine.
“I’ll try,” I said. It was the most I could promise.
—
I started back toward the house feeling borderline gleeful and trying to scold myself out of it. But I couldn’t help the little smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Bryony was coming tonight. It was somewhat possible that she didn’t one hundred percent hate me. I might be a hallucinating amnesiac with a house full of monsters, but I had that going for me.
