Page 59 of The House of Whispers

Chesmu rushed me from the main stairs, pulling me into the hidden staircase. He glanced down the spiral stairs, checking to see if we were alone before speaking.

I knew it. Something was going on.

“Where is she? Why is she going after him?!”

Chesmu tried to shush me. “She’s not—not entirely.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” I snapped.

Chesmu sighed. “This morning that Scaley beau of yours came to see Casper—”

“Nathair? Why?” More secrets.

“There was another murder. Casper and he spoke, and they believed that if they could find evidence of the crimes in Reynard’s office at the hospital, they could link it all together and catch him.” Chesmu seemed oddly calm.

“You say Nathair came to see Casper this morning?” Chesmu nodded. “When did she leave?”

Chesmu crossed his arms. “Immediately after.”

“She’s been gone all day? And no one's thought to check in on her?” She could be dead!

“Have some faith.” Chesmu smirked. “She’s powerful, and with my necklace, his magik can’t harm her.”

My head ached from the influx of information. “If Casper doesn’t return in time for her shift, Madame Chepi will have her killed.”

“You let me worry about Chepi.” Chesmu’s tone became protective. I stared at him, everything clicking into place.

“You love her, don’t you?” The question seemed to catch him by surprise.

Chesmu lowered his eyes, “I feel more for her than I have anyone else in my life.”

“Good. She needs someone to protect her. Deserves to have someone look out for her the way she does everyone else.”

He laughed. “She is a feisty one.”

“That she is indeed.” It warmed my heart to know Casper had finally found someone. Now, she just needed to return. Alive.

I had sat myself on the floor in the corner of Jakkal’s room, defeated after spending what felt like hours searching the earthen-walled room, hoping to find another way out. It was hopeless. The only way to escape was through the enchanted door.

The same record began to replay the same cryptic song, driving me insane. I’d finally had enough and blasted the phonograph with my magik, turning it to ash. My hands cradled my head as I screamed into them, frustrated with my situation. My face had already begun to heal, the bruised cheek and bloody nose from Jakkal’s blow almost nonexistent. I pulled the torn pages from my pocket and began examining them; the ink was smeared and smudged across the pages.

The female Fairfolk’s wings disintegrated as dark magik quickly burned across the metallic wings, rapidly eating away any trace of her wings. She screamed in agony, feeling every bit as it occurred…

I threw the page aside, quickly scanning the next.

…the negative effects on the Other woman seemed to occur quicker, causing a far more severe aftermath to the contact of the dark hexer magik… as soon as the magikal flame kissed her flesh, it began to eat away at it, like acid. Her screams echoed in the makeshift operating room, unheard by anyone. She eventually died, her heart rupturing due to extreme pain and stress per the following autopsy I performed.

My stomach grew sour, reading more and more about twisted experimental scenarios, each far more sickened than the last. I flipped through more pages, scanning them until I found one with slightly different handwriting.

…the hexer played into my hands, allowing herself to be easily overcome and agreed to take the White Rabbit pills herself. She became instantly addicted, seeking me out over time, begging for more. She is the perfect specimen to try my newest concoction—ignorant enough to accept the new drug and fearful enough to keep it a secret from her demeaning madame…

This entry was about me. Dr. Reynard had sought me out, purposely pumping me full of drugs, enabling me to become addicted so he could use his wretched experimental concoction on me. This was his plan all along. But why?

I continued scanning the smeared pages, searching for more information when I heard the door click, unlocking as Jakkal stepped through the doorway and into the room. He locked eyes with me as he locked the door, sealing it again with his magik.

I slowly shuffled the pages together, stuffing them in my pocket as he descended the stairs, his eyes noting the phonograph that was now a pile of ash. “You didn’t like my music?” He asked, stepping from the final step, stopping.

I swallowed, slowly rising, pulling my knife from its sheath as I tucked it into my sleeve. “It’s maddening to listen to the same record on repeat.”

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