Chapter Nineteen
Lilith
Brackenmere Manor appeared to be an entirely normal dilapidated old house upon Lilith’s arrival. There was no flash of light,
no altered reality with the manor restored to its former appearance.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Jet lag, or maybe some strange migraine, had likely altered her vision yesterday.
She unlocked the door, which creaked open with an ominous groan that scraped up Lilith’s spine.
Had it sounded like that before?
She stepped inside and was met with the now-familiar fragrance of rushes, meadowsweet, and lavender. A hint of their existence
hovered atop the dusty floor, like a vellum overlay on the present.
Lilith blinked her eyes hard and regarded the floor again.
The image didn’t clear. In fact, now she could make out ghost impressions of images all around the room, heavy wooden furniture, tapestries hanging on the walls.
Voices snagged the air in thready whispers. Just like before, only this time they were louder.
More insistent?
Chills prickled over Lilith’s arms.
Was she entirely losing her mind…or was this what she needed to help her figure out answers?
She focused, trying to look beyond the modern-day furnishings to the translucent past beneath. The image wavered and the birthmark
at her arm tingled with warmth.
Several figures bustled about the room in long heavy skirts, hair covered beneath white linen caps, their words a muffled
jumble as they set to tasks performed centuries ago.
That familiar lightheadedness crashed over Lilith, and she reached for the table’s edge for support.
“I am in England in a creepy old house that might be haunted,” she said aloud. Her fingertips gripped the cool hard surface,
centering herself. She was not going to faint. Not when she was here alone.
And not when Asher specifically told her he didn’t want her in the manor without him.
“Get it together,” she hissed to herself.
She had to be here. Whatever the fortune teller meant, the answers—ensuring her future existence—were somewhere in this house.
A gauzy figure strode into the room, gown shimmering in green silk, dark hair swept back from her face. Though her features
were indecipherable, Lilith knew her.
Through the pull at her gut, a certainty in her soul.
The noncorporeal figure was the woman standing on the pyre in Lilith’s nightmares.
This was Sybil.
The woman opened her mouth, and her voice came like a soft exhale.
Jacinda.
Onward, she strode, directly toward Lilith.
Through Lilith. Passing through skin and bone and organs, leaving a cool, damp imprint on Lilith’s lungs and heart.
She shuddered at the sensation, then spun to follow Sybil, refusing to let the woman out of sight. Together, they climbed
the stairs, steps tandem with a muted pat of Sybil’s leather heels and the thud of Lilith’s Brooks.
A sound came from below, the clatter of a pan in the distance, followed by breaking glass.
Heat blazed at Lilith’s arm.
The same sound as yesterday.
Without thought, Lilith glanced at her watch.
12:03.
Had it been the same time as the day before? They’d gone to Brackenmere Manor around noon.
Before she could ponder it further, Lilith found herself at the landing of the second floor, looking into an open space where
the apparition of portraits from the past hung on wood paneling against the current state of empty walls with peeling yellow
paint.
Lilith swayed, torn between two worlds.
Sybil rounded a corner, disappearing out of Lilith’s line of vision.
No.
Lilith followed Sybil into a sprawling library filled with shelves of books that stretched from floor to ceiling. The past
and present cluttered together in a dizzying blend with the tease of a low fire flickering within the hearth. The smoky scent
lingered in the air from another time and mingled with the mustiness of ancient books now tilted crookedly against one another
on sagging shelves.
When Lilith turned around, Sybil was gone, but another woman was in the room with her. A young woman with red-gold hair. She was bent over the bookshelf on the opposite side of the hearth from Lilith, searching for something.
Jacinda.
The voice came from another room, too distant for Lilith to identify.
The young woman leaned her head back in exasperation and looked toward the door. Her gaze caught Lilith’s, and she stiffened.
So did Lilith.
None of the other figures in the house appeared to see her. Certainly, Sybil hadn’t before she’d walked through her.
“You’re Jacinda?” Lilith asked, her voice hesitant.
The teen’s hazel eyes narrowed, then wandered down Lilith’s body, taking in her T-shirt, jeans and messy bun. “Yes.”
The word was soft, a whisper of the past filtering into the present.
Heat radiated from Lilith’s birthmark through her entire being. “You were in my dream.”
Jacinda’s brows clenched and she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I think I need to help Sybil.”
“Help her?” Jacinda frowned. “With what?”
“I don’t know,” Lilith admitted. “I think maybe keep her from being burned alive.”
Was she really having a conversation with a ghost right now?
Jacinda paled. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “Is something going to happen to Sybil?”
Lilith recalled Mama’s ancestry notes.
Sybil Brantham—burned as a witch.
“I believe so,” Lilith replied slowly.
Jacinda took a step back, as if Lilith brought ill fortune, then glanced at the bookshelf. “I think…I think Sybil’s been hiding something from me.” She gestured to the bookshelves. “Mayhap something here? Can you look for it?”
“What do you think I’ll find?” Lilith asked.
Jacinda worried her lower lip with her teeth. “A secret Sybil doesn’t want me to know about.”
“I brought peppermint tea.” The voice was so loud behind Lilith that she nearly leaped out of her skin.
Aunt Jacqueline appeared in the doorway, the knees of her white slacks stained with dirt. Her feet were bare and muddy, and
at her side was the skunk.
“Are you okay?” Lilith gasped. “Are you supposed to have the skunk in here?”
“Tea.” Aunt Jacqueline panted, clearly exerted by her efforts even as she extended a mug toward Lilith. “To open your eyes.
The house has been waiting so long.”
Before Lilith could ask what she meant, the mug tumbled from Aunt Jacqueline’s hand, liquid spilling, darkening the floor
to its original stained color beneath the dust. The wet scent of steeped peppermint tea filled the room.
Lilith lunged forward, catching the frail woman before she landed in the growing puddle.
She had to get Aunt Jacqueline back to the manor immediately. Questions for whatever just happened could come later. So, too,
would searching the library.
Aunt Jacqueline came first.
Lilith glanced over her shoulder to seek out the young woman before leading Aunt Jacqueline from the room, but Jacinda was
gone.