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“You’re just like her.” Tears fill Spencer’s eyes and I’m mortified I made this kind man cry. “Ava was brave and headstrong, too.”
Sadly, that’s not the mother I remember. To me, she was timid and reclusive and quiet, and it kills me that my mother was so affected by Cora and the cult-like life she must’ve led.
“Daphne’s around, and you’re here now, so if I confront Cora in the dining room or one of the other public spaces, she’d never harm me in front of potential witnesses.”
For all my bravado, I can’t forget the strange happenings in this house. It’s like the mansion’s walls throb with malevolence and Cora is its mistress.
If Cora feels threatened by me, what will she—and the house—do?
It’s silly, because a house can’t hurt me, but I’ve seen too much since I’ve been here, heard too much, to discount the possibility of otherworldly things at play.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Spencer mutters as we reach the house. “But you’re right. Secrets have festered here for far too long and if you want to be truly free of Arcania, confrontation may be the only option.”
Filled with equal parts relief and foreboding, I say, “No time like the present. I’ll ask her to meet me for a coffee in the dining room in ten minutes.”
I can see Spencer’s still conflicted, so I reach out and lay a comforting hand on my grandfather’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
By his wan smile as he covers my hand with his, he’s not convinced.
That makes two of us.
* * *
“Haveyou had a chance to consider my offer, Lucy?” Cora accepts the mug of coffee I hand her. “I think it’ll be a wonderful opportunity for you.”
I wait until she sits at the table and I choose the seat opposite, grateful for the wide expanse of wood between us. “I already have a job, so don’t need the opportunity. And the only reason I’d accept is to discover the truth about my mother’s links to this place.”
I rest my forearms on the table and lean forward slightly. “After all, it’s the only reason I came here, to see why Ava Reynolds, my mother, or Ayva as you pronounce it, had Arcania’s emblem tattooed on her foot.”
There it is. Cora’s tell. Her eyes widen and she grips the handle so tightly the mug jolts and coffee sloshes onto the table.
She knows.
Knows about Mom, knows about me.
“Nothing to say, Grandma?”
Cora’s face collapses in on itself. There’s no other description, for her eyes seem to shrink back in her skull, her cheeks hollow, and her mouth droops.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” Cora whispers, her head rocking from side to side like she’s trying to dislodge heinous thoughts. “I wanted you to love this place as much as I do, then I’d reveal the truth.”
Stunned by the games she’s been playing—and even more flabbergasted that we’re related—I say, “Which truth? That your cruelty drove my mother to fake her own death to get away from you? That you somehow found us? That you killed her?”
“I never killed Ava!” she yells, and I jump. “True, I discovered your whereabouts by sheer chance. A guest mentioned I had a lookalike who worked at the Lower Manhattan Library and it sparked hope. I’ve always wondered if Ava faked her death, so I researched the library online but couldn’t find a picture of you, so I headed to New York on a whim. I was shocked when I saw you at the library, how much you looked like Ava, so I followed you home. When you opened the door, I saw your mother...”
Cora clutches at her chest in an overly dramatic gesture I don’t buy for a second. “I was distraught and overjoyed at the same time. I wanted to run to your door and bash it down. But I knew Ava wouldn’t want to see me like that, so I waited until you left for work the next day and slipped a note under her door asking her to meet me near Central Park. I thought a public place might reassure her. But when she left the house, I couldn’t wait, so I approached her and we talked a little. We hadn’t finished when she walked away from me and she was about to cross a road. I tried to get her attention, and she startled and...” Her lower lip trembles. “You know the rest. I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
I want to believe her, I really do, but this woman must’ve terrorized my mother in the past to make Mom run to protect me, so I can’t trust a word she says.
“So you didn’t push her in front of that bus?”
“Good heavens, no.” Her eyes filled with tears and either Cora is a brilliant actress or she’s genuinely sad. “Losing Ava devastated me. The only way I could function was to throw myself into ensuring Arcania thrives. It saved me at a time when I wanted to fling myself into the swamp.”
I want to empathize, but I can’t. If I had to choose between Spencer and Cora as to who to trust, it wouldn’t be the latter.
“Why did my mother want to leave Arcania so badly she faked her own death?”
Cora blinks rapidly, and her tears disappear. “I’ve asked myself that same question ever since I discovered she was alive. We were a community here. Everyone loved the atmosphere we created.”
