Chapter 9
SAGE
Early morning comes too soon.
Not that I slept.
The storm kept me awake last night, although it’s less volatile outside now.
I can actually hear myself think. It’s so dark and quiet that it emboldens me to explore the east wing again.
I have tried a few times, but the rooms past mine remain locked.
One corridor, though, is blocked by temporary boards that look like a makeshift ribcage, so I go to stand at the end of it, trying to see deeper through the gap.
Beyond the braced scaffolding poles, the hallway vanishes into shadow. Only a lonely strip of yellow tape lies coiled like a snake on the dusty floor, with the word DANGER repeating over and over on it, like a warning. It looks like it’s been there for years.
It probably has. And I should probably take it seriously.
Or not.
I climb through the poles, moving cautiously.
I’m in my dress, and I have a cardigan and my boots on.
Since my suitcase never showed, I’ll have to ask if I can borrow something from Mrs Oakley, though she’s smaller than I am.
The alternative would be to steal a shirt from Severin, but I shudder at that thought.
I guess I’ll have to wear this dress until it falls off my body.
I can handle the cold for now; it actually feels cooler in this part of the house, though that could be my imagination.
It’s so sad that this whole section of the house looks untouched and unloved.
Why would a man who can do anything he wants buy this tomb-like house and then take so long to restore it?
The property agreement showed an enormous figure that Severin paid for this place.
On top of that, it must cost a lot to heat and maintain.
But it’s not like Severin hasn’t got the money.
Why can’t a billionaire afford heating?
Or at least finish the refurb.
Some of the walls here are still black with ash, like the fire happened only yesterday, though a layer of thick dust and cobwebs tells me otherwise. I brush one away, out of my face, and stop to try a blackened door.
Locked.
“In case you didn’t know, this side of the house is off limits.” The voice is gruff, grating.
I spin around.
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I was looking for somewhere to make a phone call.” The blatant lie is thick on my tongue, burning my cheeks the second it slips from my mouth.
It’s not Severin.
Somehow it’s worse.
Mundel has followed me through the boards. His boots are muddy like he’s just come from outside. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about my lie; he only nods.
“As I said before, if you need to make a call, you could try outside. Sometimes you can get a phone signal up by the tower.”
The remaining tower. It’s one of the places on my list to check out, since my sister’s diary was found at the bottom of it.
“Oh. That’s good to know. How do I get there?
” I give him a kind smile, the one I keep ready for the old busybodies at the family bakery when they would start asking questions about my father, I could never answer.
It’s strange to think I was only there last week, and now here I am, knee-deep in the old bones of a dying house.
He stalks towards me, dripping dirt everywhere, and reaches out. Without thinking, I pull back, stumbling away.
He scoffs, raising both hands. “No need to be afraid. I was going to show you where to go.” He reaches again, slower this time, and unlocks the door I’d been standing beside.
A blush spreads over the rest of me, making my face and the back of my neck hot, despite the gnawing tendril of fear in my gut as I look into the room he just opened for me.
Maybe he is only trying to help.
“Through here and then through those doors.” He points to the patio doors at the far end of the room. “Turn left and keep walking until you come to a set of stone steps outside the building. Climb until you get to the terrace. You should get a signal up there.”
I glance into the room. Despite the fire-damaged door, it’s one that’s newly renovated, smelling of fresh paint. A new set of patio doors has been installed at the far end.
“Is it safe? Isn’t there a storm coming?”
“It’s not here yet, you’ll be fine until the wind picks up.”
“Right.” I flash him another friendly smile. “Thank you, I’ll give it a try.”
He smiles, not a nice one, and moves away, giving me enough space to enter the room. I side-eye him, and he continues staring, lips curled up, his eyes so flinty that I suddenly want to get away. Now seems as good a time as any to escape outside.
Trying to ignore the feel of him watching me, I push past him, into the room. By the time I reach the patio doors and unlock them, I need to get away. I’m actually looking forward to climbing the terrace, filling my lungs with air that doesn’t smell like mold and secrets.
Outside, the smell of rain is intense but refreshing compared to the musty halls I’ve left behind.
It does make me feel a little better to be outside rather than in.
Since my brain has been working overtime to connect the dots, it’s getting confusing, tiring.
I’m usually at home with a book most days.
This is a lot for me.
The lawn, uneven and clover-strewn, pitted with rocks and scattered dandelions, stretches out to a low stone wall with steps that vanish into a dark line of trees. Two stone swans sit on either side of them, watching me like sentinels.
Quickly, I check my phone, but it doesn’t have any reception, even out here. Tugging my cardigan tighter, I shove my phone into my dress pocket and then take a walk. My dress isn’t warm enough to be out here for long, but this is all I have.
At least, it’s not raining.
The stone staircase is hidden behind thick ivy, just as Mundel said it would be, but the climb is daunting, with steps that are mossy and worn. One wrong move might send me to my death. Be careful, the birds seem to chirp happily at me.
At the top, the parapet narrows to a crumbling terrace, one side dropping sheer to the rocks below.
This is so very dangerous, but all is forgotten when the view steals my breath.
Below, the glades stretch for miles, sky blazing purple and white, clouds reflecting off the lake like spun sugar.
The remaining tower stands at the far end of the terrace along a narrow catwalk.
I edge along the slippery stone, gripping the wall, forcing myself not to look down.
But the door is locked when I get there, its padlock rusted, with a heavy chain around it.
The lock has a swan burnt into it. I thumb the etching, and then look through the barred window. I glimpse a spiral staircase winding up into darkness. Something moves in the shadow.
I jerk back.
It’s just a bird.
But my stomach twists as if it’s remembering something my mind refuses to.
Just standing here on the catwalk, with the wind buffeting me, makes me anxious.
Immediately, I want to run back down the steps to have solid ground beneath me.
But that would feel too much like giving up.
I came up here for answers. Not to run from ghosts.
I rattle the lock a few times too, for good measure, but it holds firm. No. This is as far as I go. Next time I come here, I need to bring bolt cutters.
Sighing, I pull out my phone. There’s one flickering bar of signal. Moving to the highest point near the tower, I stand on tiptoes, angling toward the sky until the signal strengthens. Then I dial Laine’s number, my hands trembling…either from cold or desperation to hear her voice, I’m not sure.
“Sage! Thank god, where are you?” she exclaims when she hears my voice.
“I’m at Grayfleet.”
“Where?”
The wind is loud, so I try to be louder, placing a hand over my other ear. “Severin’s house!”
“Severin, your fiancé? Are you okay? Did you…”
She’s asking if I’ve killed him yet. “I’m fine. And no, he’s still very much upright.” And brooding at me.
“Oh, right. We haven’t…heard from you…weeks. Nola’s…worried sick.” Her voice crackles down the line.
I doubt Nola is worried about me. She’d much rather I grow a backbone. But still, I’ve really missed Laine’s easy support and Nola telling me constantly that I’m in over my head.
It’s hard to believe that I only met them both over a year ago, right after I was discharged from the clinic, when it felt like my life was falling apart.
Losing Nell was like losing half my mind.
I needed an anchor then, still do, something that felt safe and mine alone.
That’s when I found a trauma group online, Stronger Together, and then later convinced my mum to let me go in person, to their church meetings.
Laine and Nola, who had both lost people they loved and parts of themselves, too, had just joined.
We instantly connected. It felt like finding my family.
And for the first time, after telling them my deepest and darkest secrets, I didn’t look in the mirror and see cracks and broken parts of myself staring back. I saw a tiny spark of hope.
And when Nola asked what I would do to make it all better, if it were legal, I didn’t hesitate.
I would kill Troy Severin, the man who took my sister from me.
She didn’t look at me funny like I expected her to.
All she said was that if I really wanted to go through with it, I should, and then handed me her address.
Instead of going to the church the week after, I went to Nola’s mismatched house to plot.
Laine came the next week, and our murder pact was born.
Only…
I’ve yet to kill anyone.
There’s line static, and then—“Sage?”
“I’m here, sorry. I just…needed to hear your voice.” Desperation stings the back of my throat.
“Oh, Sage, of course. We’re here. Always. Hell, we’ll even hand you the knife. Just say the word.”
I don’t say anything. I might cry if I do.
“Sage, are you alright?”