Page 61 of House of Salt and Sorrows
I shook my head. “You do so much already. Good night, Roland.”
“Pleasant dreams, Miss Thaumas.”
I turned down another hallway, as though heading for the stairs, but stopped where my candle’s light would not be seen.
Despite Edgar’s certainty, Roland hadn’t been at Highmoor the night of Eulalie’s murder. I felt like crying. I was no further along than I’d been the night of her wake, but now I was wholly on my own, with Edgar’s death to consider as well. Where was I to go from here?
Wiping my eyes, I pushed off the wall. I needed to go to bed. Everything would seem better after a good night’s sleep.
As I passed the gallery, a rustle caught my attention.
Clearly, the Graces hadn’t made their way upstairs after all.
I entered the long room. Portraits of distant family members stared down at me from elaborate, heavy frames. No amount of passing years could erase the sharp scent of oil paints and varnishes burning my nose. Small statues, busts of previous dukes on marble plinths, dotted the room.
Coming around a particularly large bust, I stopped in my tracks. “Verity?”
She didn’t respond, and I glanced around the room, wondering if Mercy and Honor had planted her there to surprise me.
She sat in the middle of a moonbeam, tracing pictures across the floor with her fingertips.
“Verity?” I repeated, struck cold and suddenly convinced this wasn’t my little sister at all. When I finally reached her side, I feared a stranger would be in her place.
A stranger with black tears running down her face.
But it was Verity, all curls and round cheeks.
“Look at my drawing, Annaleigh!” she exclaimed.
I glanced at the floor. There was no paper, no pastels.
“I think you were sleepwalking, dear heart,” I murmured gently.
She shook her head, her eyes lucid and bright. “Come here.” She patted the floor in front of her.
I knelt down, certain Mercy and Honor were poised to rush out from a dark corner to startle me. When they didn’t, I gestured to the checkered tiles between us. “Tell me about your picture.”
“It’s Edgar,” she said, pointing to a blank square as my heart thudded to a stop.
“What?”
“See, here’s where he fell…” Her finger mimed a pool of blood.
I shook my head. “You didn’t see that.”
“…and here are his glasses….”
“You didn’t see any of that.”
Verity glanced up, surprised. “I didn’t need to. Eulalie told me.” She placed her warm hand over mine, misjudging the look of horror on my face. “Don’t be sad for Edgar, Annaleigh. He’s with Eulalie now. They’re together.”
“Eulalie told you this?” I echoed, my stomach twisting into painful knots. This was not normal. This was not a phase. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with my little sister.
She nodded, unconcerned, and a memory sparked within me. Something Fisher had said.
She was never one for a short story, was she?
“Verity…when Eulalie comes to visit, how do you talk to her? If there was something we wanted to ask her…could we?”
