Page 103 of House of Roots and Ruin
I remembered its metallic clank as it struck the counter.
And in the storage room, I’d been so preoccupied with pulling down as many drop cloths as quickly as I could. It had been a moment of such flurried, singular focus. I couldn’t deny it was possible I’d torn them all away myself….
I covered my mouth, stifling back the cry that wanted to rip free. My ribs ached from the strain of holding such pressure in.
Constance had been alive and well the day of my engagement.
But now she was a ghost.
Once alive. Now dead.
What had happened to her?
A sudden scream filled the air.
It wasn’t the teakettle. It wasn’t me. And the peacocks had fallen silent.
I trembled as the cries echoed off the tiled walls. The keening pitched flat, saturating the night with a pained anguish impossible to ignore. I didn’t want to see what caused such a sound. But I also couldn’t do nothing.
Holding my breath, I tiptoed from the kitchen, unsure of what horror I was about to stumble upon.
The corridor was empty.
Until it wasn’t.
Far down the hall, I caught sight of Constance. There was a wink of blue linen as she flickered in and out of sight, like the sun playing peekaboo on a cloudy day. There for a moment and gone the next, only to reappear farther away.
She was going somewhere, deeper into the house.
“Constance?” I murmured.
She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard me atall.
“Constance!” I hissed.
Still no response. She carried on, traveling down the hall with unknown purpose, disappearing every few seconds, only to flare back into sight.
I wanted to call after her, to cry and shout and scream, but Chauntilalie’s silence stopped me short. I wouldn’t learn anything if I woke up everyone in the manor. So I kept my mouth shut and followed after her.
Constance came to a fork in the hall, then took the left.
I hurried to catch up before I lost sight of her completely.
As I got closer, I became aware she was talking, her voice low and furtive, as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear her. I strained to make out her words.
“You must do something for them. They—” Her voice cut off as she disappeared again.
She came back farther away. “You said you could help me. You said you could help them.” Her words rose in pitch, growing tremulous and tinged with agitation.
“Constance?”
This time she paused and turned, looking down the hall, worry evident. But our eyes didn’t meet. It was as though shedidn’t see me at all, as if it was suddenly I, not her, who was the ghost.
“I thought I heard something,” she murmured, her brown eyes scanning the darkened space. They fell briefly on me but flitted away again without acknowledgment. “I think someone’s following us.” She blinked out again, leaving me alone.
All around me, shadows seemed to press in, darker than before, cloaking me in their heavy murk. The silence stretched out like a line of silk ribbon, fibers pulling apart and fraying the tighter I held on. When Constance finally reappeared—this time coming up from behind me, turning the corner as she had just a moment before—I nearly shrieked aloud.
“You must do something for them. You said you could help me. You said you could help them.”
