Chapter Twenty-Five
Lilith
Though exhausted, there was no more sleep for Lilith. Not when doing so might drag her back down that hallway of mirrors where
she did not have a reflection.
Not when her birthmark continued to ache with warning.
Not when she only had three days left.
The clink of dishes sounded from the kitchen, evidence that Asher was awake and moving about. Then she remembered she had
to talk to him, to ask—beg—to be allowed into the manor.
With a sigh, she pushed from bed and readied herself for the day, telling herself the extra care she took with her mascara
had everything to do with convincing Asher and nothing to do with the man himself.
The iron table was waiting for her again with a fresh carafe of coffee. She sat down, shuddering at the effect of iron against
her, and poured a cup of coffee as Asher entered the room. “English breakfast all right?”
It didn’t escape her notice that he was wearing his vet scrubs even though it was Saturday.
“Yes, thank you.” She sipped her coffee, pretending to be casual. “Are you going into work today?”
“For a few hours.”
“I hate to put you out, but…” Lilith winced, letting him know exactly how painful this question was for her. “Do you think
I might could borrow the key for the manor to check it out on my own?”
“By yourself?” A small line showed between his brows. “Did Aunt Jacqueline put you up to this?”
Lilith hesitated. Was there an Aunt Jacqueline conspiracy underway that she wasn’t privy to?
He gave a slow nod, saving Lilith from having to answer. “Actually, yes. You can. It’s the least I can do for your help yesterday.”
Lilith gave him her best debutante smile. Not that she had ever been a debutante—much to Mama’s dismay.
The smile he returned could have melted butter, all hotness and not a lick of grump to him. “Be right back.”
Her foot jogged under the table, her entire body alight with the need to hurry through breakfast and get to the manor.
True to his word, he returned with the heavy iron key and a pitcher of tea. “Aunt Jacqueline said you wanted some peppermint
tea this morning as well. In addition to your, erm, coffee?” There was a slight question in his tone. Because how odd.
But something in Lilith’s gut told her Aunt Jacqueline was on about the tea for good reason.
“Yes, thank you,” Lilith replied without explanation. Not like she had one to give…
A plate of hurriedly eaten fried eggs and baked beans, plus a cup of peppermint tea later, Asher left with a wave that made more warm fuzzies in Lilith’s chest than she cared to admit.
Just like his trust in giving her that key mattered more than it should.
After ensuring Aunt Jacqueline was still peacefully sleeping, Lilith slipped out of the bed and breakfast and rushed to the
manor.
Entering the old building was less disorienting this time, the seam between past and present more normal—if such a thing could
ever be called “normal.” The ethereal form of a maid swept from the Great Hall into the kitchen.
The layer of the past over the present seemed clearer now. Stronger.
Maybe due to the peppermint tea?
A glance at Lilith’s watch indicated nine in the morning. But she’d seen Jacinda in the afternoon previously.
A look around the bottom floor confirmed Jacinda was not in the vicinity.
Lilith climbed the stairs and her birthmark tingled. A certainty settled into her gut.
She was on the right path.
The figure of a maid moved from one doorway to another, an amorphous white bundle in her arms. Lilith avoided the figure,
contemplating which bedroom was Jacinda’s when a flash of heat burned over her birthmark. She turned to find the entrance
to the library and a familiar figure within.
Lilith could make out Sybil’s face a little better now. One very similar to her own, with high cheekbones, a broad mouth,
and hazel eyes.
“Sybil?” Lilith said softly.
Sybil moved to the desk, not seeming to hear. She wore the same green silk dress as before.
The realization came with the reminder of how Lilith had heard the clattering pan and breaking glass two days in a row.
Was this one day in history happening over and over again?
“Sybil.” Lilith spoke louder this time, desperate for answers.
The woman picked up a book from the desk and walked toward Lilith.
Not seeing her at all. Not the way Jacinda had.
Was Jacinda the only one who could see Lilith?
Sybil exited the library, and Lilith sighed in defeat.
None of this made a lick of sense.
She approached the bookshelf instead, seeing through texts that were no longer there, and shuffling about mouldering books
that appeared to be decades old, with yellowed pages and curling paperback covers.
When her fingers skimmed the shelf to the left of the hearth, her birthmark prickled.
If nothing else, her birthmark was handy.
A number of books remained on the shelf, sagging against one another like a line of dominoes with nowhere to go. Their spines
were cracked and faded, reflecting an array of publications likely from the twentieth century. As if occupants had resided
in the house for quite some time during the last hundred years or so.
She recalled how Asher ignored her questions about the most recent occupants. Had he lived there?
The book lover in her wanted to find out what each book title was, to open them one by one and breathe in that precious, ineffable
smell of old books. But she was on a mission.
Her fingers skimmed the row Sybil had paused by yesterday, recognizing some of her own favorite reads. Jane Eyre, Emma, The Scarlet Letter… Whoever curated this library had great taste. A hint of the books existing during Sybil’s time was visible, but the titles
were too transparent to read.
The old copy of Jane Eyre looked like the ancient 1980s paperback from Mrs. Bayard’s English class. Lilith set it aside to bring back with her. Classics
needed a good rereading from time to time.
A resounding thwack made Lilith jump. The book beside Jane Eyre had flopped forward, falling into the newly empty space.
She removed the book from the shelf when a shadow against the end of the shelf caught her attention. Her fingertips skimmed
the area, finding something hollow along the side.
Frowning, she leaned forward, straining to peer into the shadows amid a dingy stream of morning sunlight. Still unable to
see properly, she felt around the space again. Yes, there was a distinct gap at the front of the bookshelf there.
She stuck her head into the shelf to study the unusual construction. Where the decorative trim connected, there appeared to
be a gap, about an inch wide and five inches high, easily covered by a book. And entirely undetectable, unless…well, unless
someone decided to stick their head into the bookshelf.
Without thought, she reached for the hole, pushing her fingers into the darkness.
It was a dumb thing to do in an abandoned building, where a random hole in the wall could very easily contain any number of
spiders or snakes or who knew what else.
But even as she chastised herself, her fingertip met with something hard and cold. The abrupt quiet around her suggested the
metal was iron.
A lever?
She curled her fingertips around it and wiggled, to no avail.
Pull.
She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she obeyed, tugging the lever toward the wall in a firm yank.
A groan sounded beside her and the thick wooden frame of the hearth slid to the side, like a board loosely nailed into the wall, revealing a dark passageway.
She couldn’t see where the hall ended, but the empty black held a chill that told her entering the creepy mysterious secret
room was probably stupid.
And stupid or not, she’d already made her choice. She was going in.