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Priscilla…
For some reason, just thinking her name sends a shiver of unease down my spine. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was close, but she hasn’t been to Nightfall in decades.
It’s just my cage playing tricks on me.
Pushing the strange feeling aside, I go looking for Colin, ready to share Annabelle’s story and tackle a problem that it might be within my power to solve. But as soon as we’re done chatting—and have made plans for me to investigate the secret room later today with Darcy’s help—I find myself back on the second floor, drawn to Casey and Amy’s room by that strange, troubled feeling.
At my knock, a vaguely familiar voice calls for me to come in, but when I do, it isn’t a maid or one of the nannies I find sitting with Amy—it’s a stranger wearing a Casey disguise.
A bad one.
I’ve seen some excellent impersonation spells in my time, but this isn’t one of them.
“What’s this all about?” I ask, glaring into the woman’s absolutely-not-Casey’s eyes.
“Sorry,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know it was you. And this wasn’t my idea, I promise. I’m just the babysitter.”
“Ed-Ed, it’s fake Mama,” Amy says, giggling. “It’s so silly.”
“It is silly,” I agree, forcing a smile for my little girl’s benefit, even as I plan to track down her mother and let her know exactly how I feel about being deceived by the one person I thought I could trust.
Chapter Eight
CASEY
I’ve never seen a goblin out and about during the day, and for a moment I’m too stunned by the realization that I can see through Herbish’s skin to speak.
I stare at the deep V of her sweater, trying to keep my cool as I watch her massive green goblin heart throb urgently behind the darker outline of her ribs. I have no idea what color a goblin’s heart is supposed to be, but hers doesn’t look right.
It’s too large and swollen, like a balloon about to pop.
The goblin says something else—something urgent-sounding—but I’m fixated on her poor organs, wondering how she can stand looking in the mirror. If I had to see the secret things going on beneath my oh-so-thin skin every day, I’d never leave the house.
I’d feel too vulnerable, too…exposed.
“All right. We’ll scram, we promise,” Blaire says, elbowing me in the ribs. “Right, Casey?”
I startle, blinking fast before forcing my gaze to my sister’s face. “I’m sorry, I um… I was just…” I gulp and breathe. “What’s happening?”
“We were just agreeing with Herbish that it isn’t wise to approach a cornered vampire.”
I nod loosely, but I can’t seem to make sense of anything Blaire’s saying. I swear I can hear the goblin’s heart now, groaning softly as it convulses in her chest. “Oh. Right… Why was that again?”
“As long as the sun is up, Priscilla is trapped on that boat,” Blaire says slowly, widening her eyes at me in a silent plea to get my shit together. “It’s better to wait until nightfall, when she’ll have the option to scram if she isn’t interested in girl talk. Or, better yet, we could invite her to meet us at a neutral location out in the open where we can maintain a nice safe distance from super ancient vampires who hates our faces.”
“Even better, don’t interfere with her at all,” Herbish grumbles, shooing us back toward the other end of the dock with sweeps of her large, gnarled hands. “Can’t help feeling this is my fault. Soon as that boat pull up, I said to myself, ‘Herbish, you’ve gone and summoned trouble, you have.’ My mum used to summon pigeons to us with a song when we were hungry in the winter, and it was too cold to leave the cave to hunt. It’d be just my luck if it turns out I’ve got a gift for calling vampires with my drunken ramblings.” She presses a hand to her chest, wincing as we circle around the main boathouse to the street. “I’m too old for this kind of excitement.”
I grind to a stop, the sound of the goblin’s straining heart so loud I can barely hear Blaire when she asks me what’s wrong.
I shake my head, wincing at the racket. “Can’t you hear it? Her heart is pounding like crazy.”
Blaire frowns, glancing between me and the equally confused-looking goblin. “What do you mean? I don’t hear anything but the waves.”
“And the gulls calling for vengeance,” Herbish mutters, scratching at the paper-thin skin on her chest as her poor heart continues to struggle. “We used to eat them, too, back in the day when times were tough. And sea birds are known for holding grudges.”
“Excuse us for one quick second, Herbish,” I say, grabbing Blaire’s arm and dragging her a dozen or so feet away, until the racket fades enough for me to think straight. Offering Herbish one last comforting smile, I turn to hiss at my sister, “Okay, so you can’t hear it, but surely you can see it. Her heart looks like it’s about to burst. I think she needs a doctor.”
Blaire’s scowl deepens. “Did you develop X-ray vision in the past twenty-four hours or something and neglect to tell me about it?”
