Page 88 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
Tears stream down my face as I fall to my knees. Flashes of memories fly by.
Roslyn Street.
The party.
Caldwell kneeling next to the mask.
It comes to me in a rush. It burns. The painting scalds my eyes, and I hold my head, fingers grasping my short hair.
Margaux is there in a flash. She’s swift enough that her appearance makes me jump. Another shriek comes from my throat. It’s terrifying to see her move so quickly. I hate it.
But I still love her—and she’s here.
I cry into her arms as soon as she opens them. She’s strong—stronger than I’ve ever known, holding me tightly until I can finally find my words.
“The bird mask!” I gasp.
“Oh!” Margaux doesn’t seem to realize the paintinguntil I point it out.
I pull back to watch her.
“That’s a portrait of my father,” she says. “I suppose that’s where I’ve seen it before.”
“What?”
“I think it was a trend among vampires a century or two ago.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I wasn’t alive for it, but…”
“This is the same painting as the one at the club!”
“My father owns the club. I told you this.” Her eyes narrow. “What are you saying?”
WhatamI saying? I know Margaux’s coven owns the vampire club. It makes sense that his painting would be there—and that it’s here as well.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Do you think this is a—a protection spell as well?”
“It could be,” Margaux says.
She doesn’t share a fraction of my concern.
I don’t find comfort in her presence anymore. It’s the sad truth. I wrap my arms around myself, shaking as I hold back a sob.
“What?” Margaux presses, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Why are you so shaken up? It’s only my father and his silly theatrics.”
“Right.”
“Did you know he was an actor in those days? It must seem like so long ago now, but… I think his flair for dramatics remains.”
Through my tears, I manage to joke.
“And I think you inherited it,” I say.
“Well, I would hope so.”
I laugh weakly, but there are so many things that confuse me. I don’t understand why tears continue to stream down my cheeks. “You’re right; it’s nothing. I’m going back to bed.”
Chapter Nineteen
We haven’t left the house in two days.
