Chapter Twenty-One
ELODIE
Ijolted at the sound that scattered the room, my head twisting in the fireplace’s direction.
The fire had gone out, leaving only a faint glow from the dying embers that painted the walls in soft orange.
The air had turned cold. Not the usual drafty kind, but a biting stillness that pressed into my skin and seemed to hush everything else.
Almost a week had passed since I visited The Grey Maiden with the twins, and nothing unusual had happened since then.
But now, as I glanced at the Tales of Thornhill, I stilled.
It lay open at the foot of the bed, its pages turning on their own, until they suddenly froze, as if caught mid-thought.
I pushed up from the window seat where I was curled with the Greatest Works of Edgar Allan Poe, when I saw her.
Still. Silent. Watching…
The ghost from the bathroom.
Her gown was the same, clinging to her bones like river silk. Her hair matted to one side, strands streaked with grey, and her skin looked faded, like paper left too long in the sun. But her eyes—her eyes watched, alive and gleaming.
Dried lavender, powder blue petals, and leaves circled her bare feet, just like last time, scattered like they were carried by a storm. Wherever they touched the floor, a light frost bloomed, spidering out in delicate, impossible patterns. I could see my breath in the air.
She didn’t touch the book, but she glared at it and something told me I should look too. The tale painted on the paper was one I recognized.
The Tale of the Great Monster’s Return
The woman looked at me, her mouth moving, but no sound came. Only the shape of words I couldn’t catch. A whisper half-snatched by time. Then, one word—barely more than a breath—rasped from her throat, cracked and threadbare.
“Here.”
Her figure trembled, flickering tiredly at the edges like a candle about to gutter out. And just like that, she was gone. The frost lingered a second longer, then faded. The leaves stilled, and the room turned quiet.
I stared at the page. This time the warning was unignorable, and something told me I needed to find the book my mum spoke about, before it was too late.
The stairs creaked beneath my boots as I made my way down to the ground floor. The manor was oddly still, as if it was still asleep or holding its breath. I stepped out into the morning chill. Somewhere behind the clouds, the sun tried and failed to break through.
Here, she had said. But what did she mean? Here in the book? Or here, as in the manor?
The cold snapped against my skin, dry and biting, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. The gravel path glistened with frost, crunching beneath my steps as I crossed toward the greenhouse.
I hadn’t made it far when I heard footsteps.
From the opposite path, a figure came into view. I slowed, and so did he.
Hudson Lamont.
He wore a tailored wool coat and leather gloves, his shoes polished like he’d stepped straight out of a boardroom. His gaze swept over the manor grounds with familiarity.
I hadn’t seen him since the library, weeks ago.
“Elodie,” he greeted, turning his steps in my direction. There was tension in his posture, like he hadn’t meant to be seen. “Why aren’t you inside?” he asked. “It’s freezing out.”
“I’m headed to the greenhouse,” I said, lifting my mum’s book, the one he had gifted me.
A slight smile curved on his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“And you?” I asked. He looked down at the papers in his hand, clutching his familiar umbrella in the other.
“Business matters,” he said at last, and I nodded.
That made sense. Lilian seemed like someone who would put her work above her sleeping schedule. I hesitated, but then—
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I said, before he could disappear again.
He arched a brow, fixing the book under his arm. “Go on then.”
I hid my hands into the pockets of my coat. “Alex. How did he die?”
Hudson stilled, his features sharpening even more, if that was possible. For a second, the question just hung in the air.
“I should ask how you know about his death, but it’s impolite to answer a question with another.” His gaze met mine. “However, it’s not something I’m able to discuss.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, disappointment burning my throat like acid. Then his face shifted—just a flicker—but it was enough to catch. He sighed and opened his mouth again.
“It happened a few years ago—” His words cut with an unnatural slash. “Th—de—” The words tangled in his mouth, peeling the meaning away, before he winced, like trying to speak physically hurt him, right as a crack tore through the air.
We both turned in the sound’s direction in time to see a gargoyle break loose from the upper edge of the manor’s roof. It hit the ground with a shattering crack, splitting apart into jagged stone and dust.
We both stared at the wreckage. Neither of us spoke for a beat.
Then, Hudson reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. No name on the front, just parchment, folded and sealed.
He placed it in my hand.
“Read it when you feel safe,” he said quietly. “Preferably alone.”
I frowned, curling my fingers around the paper. “What is it?”
His eyes were distant. “Just wait until you’re alone.” He repeated, then turned and hurried toward the small side-gate, as if whatever he came here for wasn’t important anymore. I looked down at the envelope, then glanced up, watching Hudson disappear from sight.
Only then did I break the seal and peeled it open. The paper inside stared back, blank and inkless, not even a mark on it.