Chapter Thirty-Nine
ELODIE
After what felt like an eternity standing in the cold, while the snowflakes danced around me, my thoughts slowly returned. I cut through the hall, passing masked people drunkenly wandering on the staircases as muffled music drummed from the great hall.
It sounded like the party had changed since I left it behind. The classical tunes we had waltzed to erupted into a wild, pulsing electronic remix.
The performer with butterflies swallowing her body was still hanging from the ceiling, her moves heavy with tiredness.
The big hand on the grandfather clock, standing lonely in the hallway, was only a few minutes from hitting midnight.
I hurried up the stairs, and was passing a mirror when it suddenly fogged.
I stilled, turning to face it. Slow curls appeared on the silver surface.
My breath stuttered.
I stared without blinking. The tale of the Monster pulsed in my head. It could be anyone, its face unknown. The cold, gnawing feeling that had been scratching at the back of my mind earlier settled into my stomach.
“Elodie.”
A hand landed on my shoulder and I stiffened, drawing back, before whirling around to face Declan’s golden lion mask.
“Finally,” he breathed, then glanced around, pulling his mask off. “You have to tell me where he is.”
I frowned. “Where who is?”
“Varden.”
Varden. The air stilled. As in my dead fiancé?
“I don’t have time for this,” I said, the mirror staring at me from the corner of my eye.
Declan twisted the rings on his fingers, his eyes flickering over the hall. “Varden Aldridge,” he whispered, leaning closer, and I drew back.
“I know his name,” I bit out. I really didn’t have time for this. I moved to pass him, but his hand stopped me, wrapping around my wrist.
“How long have you been working with him?”
I blinked, confusion mixing to my annoyance. “Working with who?”
He leaned in again, acting like a lunatic. “Varden.”
I shook my head. “You should drink some water, Declan.”
“Abraxas saw you with him,” he pushed, his voice accusing.
Abraxas? The creepy boy from the garden?
“That’s not possible. Varden Aldridge is dead. You should know that best,” I pointed out, remembering the poem of The Dance of the Flowers. I couldn’t be certain if my theory about the three families being involved in the death of the Aldridge family was true, but if it was—
“So you know.”
I blinked in surprise, then nodded, sweeping his hand off my wrist. Was he really admitting it to me? Here and now?
“Then why were you with him? He’ll kill you too!”
Kill me? It seemed Declan had misunderstood me completely.
“Varden is dead, Declan. If you can’t deal with that, you should see a therapist.” The words left my mouth flat. I had no room for Declan’s irrational paranoia right now.
“Abraxas swore it was him…” His brown eyes narrowed. “That he saw you in the Grove of Mirrors.”
The Grove of Mirrors. My brows knit, and I automatically shook my head. The only person I had been with there was—
Preston.
Cold hands clenched around my throat, choking me, forcing the air to leave my lungs.
“What does Varden look like?” I asked my voice, barely an echo of itself.
“Blonde chap, this tall.” He drew a line into the air around the top of his head, but my sight had already blurred and my stomach dropped, leaving a gaping hole behind.
“It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Declan let out a hysterical laugh, but I could barely hear it as the high-pitched ringing in my ears drowned him out.
“Because he should be dead, shouldn’t he?
” He paused, running a finger over his full lips.
“Although, I suppose, he wouldn’t be the first to cheat death… ” he muttered under his breath.
He should be dead, shouldn’t he?
A gnawing feeling twisted in my gut. Varden Aldridge. I shook my head, but the name seemed to stick, circling back like a trap. Could it be? It couldn’t. It didn’t make sense. Preston.
“Where’s your fiancé, Elodie?” I couldn’t tell if Declan really asked me that or was it my imagination tricking me.
I glanced back at the mirror to find the warning gone. The glass had cleared. The girl on the other side of the silver surface had a streak of black in her eyes, and for the first time in my life, I recognised her for who she was.
Me.
Blood poured from my palm as I gripped the knife I’d snatched off a console table. It was only a letter opener, but I didn’t care. I stormed through the hedge maze, weaving between flickering-red walls. Preston was right; it looked like I was walking through hell.
Preston.
I gritted my teeth.
Varden Aldridge. My supposedly dead fiancé, except he wasn’t dead at all.
He was the man whose lips I could still feel grazing mine.
My throat burned. I had no idea where I was going, or why. A giggling couple holding hands passed me, and as soon as they turned the corner disappearing from sight, I raised the knife and threw it into the bush ahead.
All this time I thought I was in charge, that he was helping me.
But I was nothing but a puppet in a play of revenge.
Because if Preston was Varden, and Varden’s entire family was murdered by the other three families, why else would he be here?
The question grazed my mind like a knife, breaking skin.
Just don’t cross me, would you?
I wouldn’t dream of it, poison.
He had lied. That night we got lost in the tunnels…and when else? Everything? All of it? I clenched my jaw, tasting blood on my tongue. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me.
The wind screamed between the hedges as I reached the centre and circled the sculpture, my movements numb and mechanical. I collapsed onto the cold bench, the fabric of my dress pooling around me like wet stone, anchoring me while my heart tried to tear free.
The snow was still falling, the flakes landing on my cheeks like cold fingertips. I lifted the knife that lay on the snow in front of me and clenched the blade, but even then, the pain was distant compared to the one I felt in my chest.
There are very few things that deserve your tears. Promise me you’ll never waste them on me.
My eyes fluttered shut, and I let the cold rise up to meet me. I wanted answers. But answers were for the weak. For people who didn’t understand what they could cost.
“There you are, bug.”
My eyes snapped open.
My mother sat beside me on the bench, her figure softly illuminated in the moonlight. She looked clearer than ever, her presence almost warm. Almost alive.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Oh,” I breathed, my fingers idly spinning the knife between them.
“I wanted you to know I’m proud of you. For finding the book, and for being so brave.”
I nodded once, hollowly. Preston—Varden, whoever he was—had helped with that.
“There’s something else you need to do now.”
I stilled, raising my eyes to meet hers. “What?”
She rose, then held out her hand to me. I reached for it without thinking, but my hand passed through hers, catching only air. My stomach turned, and she pulled back slightly, her eyes full of regret.
“I forgot,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. Then slowly, silently, I stood. I forgot too.
Without another word, she turned and walked.
I followed.
We moved through the maze as though gravity had shifted beneath our feet.
I didn’t ask where we were going. Her pace was calm, her steps light, almost weightless.
All I could think about was him. The boy who earned my trust. His touch, his scent—all cursed with lies.
I followed her through the garden, across the frozen path, the trees growing darker and closer with each step.
The forest waited.
I lifted my skirt to avoid dragging it through the snow, though it didn’t really matter anymore. Mud already clung to the hem like a shadow.
Branches stretched like fingers above us. The deeper we went, the quieter the world became. No footsteps. No birds. No music or people. Only the breath of the wind and her glow just ahead of me.
The trees parted like a curtain drawn back by unseen hands, revealing the mausoleum standing in the clearing—pale, still, as if carved from decayed bones. My breath caught when a shape slipped from the shadows, carrying the faint scent of lavender.
The ghost.
She slid between me and my mum, shaking her head with desperate urgency, her movements wild, frantic—like she was trying to break free of invisible chains.
I stumbled back, and she followed, her arms flailing, a silent scream trapped in her eyes. An unnatural sound shattered the forest’s fragile calm. It thrummed through the clearing like a curse spoken aloud after centuries of silence.
The trees shivered as if recoiling, their leaves whispering warnings. A shiver skittered up my spine as my skin prickled with cold fire.
My mum’s hand found mine, her fingers tightening. My gaze met hers with surprise, and then her face began to shift, fracturing like cracked porcelain, flickering between my mum and—
Cecily.
My heart jolted, a sharp pang twisting inside me. I jerked away, wrenching my hand free, my breath catching in a sudden choke. Grey eyes blinked at me from beneath snow-white lashes with panic.
Then, as if swallowed by the mist, she vanished, leaving me alone with my shock. The clearing rang with silence. Cold, unforgiving silence.
Impossible. My mum…no, Cecily—
That’s something I wouldn’t share with anyone else in this house. Not your grandmother, not any lingering ghosts.
Preston’s low rasp slid through my veins like a thousand knives. Did he know? Was this all part of some sick and twisted game?
“Hello, Agnes.” A voice curled around me like smoke, sliding into my lungs like a suffocating breath.
I spun toward the sound but there was no one there. Only the shadows pressing closer to the mausoleum’s rusted gate, and a pair of eyes, glowing between them like fire.