Chapter Eight
ELODIE
After dinner, I planned to take a bath and hide under the blankets until sunrise. The manor had quieted, the echo of my footsteps fading into velvet silence as I climbed the long, spiralling stairs. The chandeliers wavered above my head, casting long shadows against the dark stone walls.
My fingers trailed the cold marble railing as I pictured my mum here. Walking these same hallways, listening to the same silence. It was too hard, too heavy to picture her in a life I didn’t know.
I reached the second floor and was about to turn down the hallway toward my new bedroom when a flicker of movement caught my attention.
Someone—no, something—drifted across the far corridor, just ahead. A woman, though I couldn’t see her clearly. Lilian didn’t mention anyone else living here. Her gown trailed behind her, silver in the dark, as she moved with a strange sort of stillness, like moonlight painted onto glass.
I blinked, and she was gone.
Slowly, I made my way over, the stone floor uneven under my boots.
The corridor remained empty, with no sign of anyone being there.
I looked around, my gaze landing on a rusted mirror.
The manor was full of them, along with antique portraits.
It must have been a simple reflection. Probably just a trick of the candlelight.
Still, unease coiled in my spine.
The house breathed around me, cold wind slicking my chin as I turned toward my room, my eyes landing on another slightly cracked door, pale light spilling out of it.
I edged closer, the rug stealing the sound of my steps, but the moment I peeked inside, the light vanished.
The room was steeped in semidarkness and crammed with huge shelves from wall to wall.
The scent of old paper and dust, undercut by the faint bite of mildew, hung in the air.
I searched for a light switch, but found none, so I stepped back into the hall, lifting a candle from one of the ornate consoles.
Its flame flickered as I returned to the room, moving it around.
The room had no window, none that I could see.
But it had a high ceiling, painted with harshly white clouds and a sky so blue it looked out of place in the gloom of the house.
The mahogany shelves were rich with carved vines and flowers.
I ran my fingers over old war books and leather-spined volumes, while dust particles danced around me in the air.
Something gleamed in the light of the candle, and I leaned down, pulling off a gold-patterned book, bound in cold, brown leather.
Tales of Thornhill
My lips parted. I placed the candle down on the rug and sat down to read.
“Miss Elodie?”
I jumped back on my feet and tucked the book back onto the spider-kissed shelf.
“Miss Elodie, are you in here?” The unfamiliar voice called again, and I blew out the candle, hoping the shadows would hide me. I stayed frozen, the sound of my own breathing unnervingly loud.
“Miss Elodie.”
I twisted around as a candle lit to life on the wall, the soft glow revealing who the voice belonged to.
The old butler who I’d seen at dinner, and who’d smiled at me twice since my arrival, stood before me.
His eyes were calm, grey like fog and milked with age, but still gleaming with knowledge.
Like he knew things no one else did. He seemed old enough to do so.
“I see you’ve found the old library,” he remarked looking up at the crooked shelf.
I stayed silent. I felt oddly small, like a child caught where she shouldn’t be. He smiled again, fixing the edge of his black tuxedo. “I think you might enjoy the new one more.” As he spoke, even the corners of his eyes curled upwards. “It’s in the east wing, not far from your room.”
The manor had two libraries. My chest flared with excitement, but I kept my expression composed.
“Your grandmother asked me to ensure you’d found your way back to your bedchamber,” he continued, stepping past me and sliding his palm lightly over the book spines, straightening them.
“Thornhill is an enchanting place, Miss Elodie. But I must warn you, ancient homes tend to hold onto their memories. Some doors are better left locked.”
I twisted the bracelet on my wrist. My voice felt raw when I finally spoke, “What is that supposed to mean?”
His eyes dimmed. “It’s more of a feeling than a fact, Miss. But I’ve learned it’s wise to listen to those.”
He sounded just like my mum. She had always trusted hunches and believed in ghost stories. Seeing her scared and paranoid of non-existent things had taken a toll on me. It was why I preferred facts and logic over things I couldn’t see.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, playing with the sleeve of my cardigan.
“Because you needed to be warned.”
My brows furrowed. “Alright,” I replied uncertainly.
Was I really believing what he was saying? I studied the wooden panels, thinking of the woman I thought I saw in the hallway. Thornhill was ancient, built many centuries ago. Perhaps these walls really did whisper after all. They would have witnessed many things. Held stories and lies...
“If there’s nothing else, I’d suggest you retire. As your grandmother wished.” The butler turned toward the wide open door and was already half-lost in the dim corridor when I called after him without thinking.
“Alistair.”
He paused, and turned back, his face surprised but not displeased. “Yes, Miss Elodie?”
I hesitated. “Would you show me the other library sometime?”
His smile deepened. “It would be my pleasure.” With that, he disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps soft as dust on the rug.
The candle trembled in my hand as I stood alone in the quiet.
I quickly relit it and padded through the hall, my breath catching once as a cool draft brushed my neck like a passing thought.
My imagination seemed heightened by my new surroundings.
As soon as the bedroom door closed behind me, I locked it and pressed my back against the wood, my fingers clutching into the wings of the little iron moth melted to the key.
I wasn’t afraid, not really, yet I still took a moment to savour the quiet click of safety.
The manor breathed around me, the wind crushing against the glass of the window, making my thoughts stir.
I’ve always had a wild imagination. My mind enjoyed playing tricks on me.
But today drained me in a way I’ve never experienced before; everything felt more alive here.
I stripped and left my clothes draped on the edge of the bed, tiptoeing naked across the cold tile to the bathtub.
Its curling silver claws reflected the warm lamplight.
I ran the water and sat on its edge, eyeing the girl in the mirror.
The resemblance to Lilian was unnerving.
The high cheekbones, the cold-bloom skin, the dark curls falling like shadows over her collarbone.
She was carved from everything my mum and I had once shared.
But in her gaze, I saw none of my mother.
Just a quiet question, and something sharper that made my insides tighten… I looked away.
The water reached my fingers, and I slipped into the soft steam, the warmth closing around me like a lullaby. There was just something otherworldly about stretching out in a tub. My eyes drifted shut, my thoughts finally giving way to silence.
Screech.
I jolted and looked around. The bathroom was dark, unmoving.
I must have dozed off right before the lights went out.
Something probably messed with the wires.
The water stormed around me like the ocean as I stood and blindly searched for my towel.
When I found it, I wrapped it around my body, the faint echo of water droplets falling back into the tub following my every movement.
I climbed out of the tub, nearly slipping on the slick, wet tiles.
I stepped out into the bedroom and lit the candle left on the nightstand before returning into the dark bathroom. The steam had fogged the mirror, and I wiped my palm over it. The candlelight painted twisted shadows over my face.
Thump. Thump.
I stilled, the air freezing in my lungs. I swallowed so slowly, it hurt. Just the pipes, I told myself. Yet, I still waited for the noise to reveal itself once more. It was like footsteps, soft but tender against the rug. The pipes gurgled on the wall, and I trembled.
“Elodie.”
The whisper came from behind me, a cool breath tickling my nape.
My hands gripped the edge of the dark sink as my gaze fixed on the little swan’s silver beak, the water dripping from it in a slow, chilling rhythm.
Something brushed against my shoulder, where the towel didn’t hide me, making me turn.
Green eyes that I knew better than my own stared back at me.
“Elodie,” she murmured, her voice silken and melodic, like a distant echo of an old memory.
My mother. She stood there. Her hair, dark as ash, her skin polished pearl.
She looked the same as I remembered, and not.
There was something softer, ethereal about her.
Her features glowed faintly, not with the candlelight, but with something gentler, colder, like the moon itself.
Except the bathroom didn’t have any windows.
I could barely breathe…still, I managed to force out a faint word.
“Mum?”
She smiled, her expression reaching her almond-shaped eyes. My heart ached at the sight.
“It’s alright, bug,” she said, her voice like warm breath on winter skin. Her fingers reached for mine, brushing just above them, not touching.
“Are you real?” I swallowed, my pulse hammering in my throat, trying to break skin.
She nodded gently, and the weight on my chest grew, pressing me like a heavy rock. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
I bit my tongue, keeping the words that tried to burst out of me locked. How? Why now? Why here?
“I’ve missed you, too,” I whispered instead.
She leaned in, her hand brushing a lock of wet hair from my cheek. I leaned into her touch, but I felt nothing. Not really, not in the way I craved.
“Why did you come here, bug?”
My eyebrows twitched.
“For the money,” I whispered after a moment, the words tasting like poison on my tongue. “They promised me your inheritance…and I didn’t want to work for Tony anymore.”
I felt a rush of shame at how shallow I’ve become. My mum nodded, but there was no disapproval in her gaze. She just watched me, like I was a puzzle to be solved.
“The only matter is that you’re here now,” she said, her hair billowing around her in soft curls. “I need your help.”
I blinked, the words settling over me like rain on a thirsty ground. I nodded eagerly.
“I need you to find me a book,” she added softly. “It’s called Tome of Fates.”
Tome of Fates. I played with the title in my head. It rolled off her tongue with a captivating, eerie edge.
“How do I find it?” I asked, my fingers finding the cold crystals around my wrist.
“You need to—” A ripple passed through the room. Her voice echoed strangely, like a melody played backward.
And then—she was gone.
The room fell silent. The kind of heavy silence you would find in a cemetery.
I was alone, the towel clinging to my skin like a second heartbeat.
She was here. She had come back. It didn’t matter if she was a trick of my imagination, after months I’d finally seen her.
And it felt so real. More solid than anything before. She had resonated with the air.
Not like a memory, but like a ghost.