Page 11 of House of Roots and Ruin
“Lenore?” I asked incredulously.
It looked just like her hair, worn loose and long, a sparklingcurtain of russet against the low glow of the gaslights. The children’s rooms were on this floor, and the lamps were kept burning through the night to stave off bad dreams.
I followed after her, confusion swirling within me. “Lenore?”
Had she come home? For my birthday?
We’d wanted her there, of course. I would have sent her an invitation myself, but I’d not known where to address it. The last time she’d contacted any of us had been months ago, penning a short note to Camille.
“I’m fine,”she’d promised at the end of the missive.“Everything is fine.”
She’d tucked a small flower into the envelope, pressing itsstrange red petals between a bit of wax paper to preserve its beauty.
And now she was here.
I hurried after her. It had been years since she’d left Salann. Years since I’d seen her face.
“Lenore,” I tried again. “Wait for me.”
Why wouldn’t she turn and greet me?
“Tears,” she whispered, and her voice carried strangely down the hall. For a moment, I could have sworn it came from behind me, familiar lips pressed directly to my ear.
“Sorrow,” her unseen companion agreed.
“Tears.”
“Sorrow.”
They repeated the words over and over, their whispers rising to hisses, like steam released from a kettle too hot and ricocheting through the corridor to form a horrible melee of noise so loud I was surprised the children could sleep through it.
“Lenore!” I cried out, racing around another corner to watch her descend the main staircase. “What are you saying?”
“Tears,” she repeated, pausing on her tread to look up at me.
I could clearly see the second figure now, standing beside her, their hand gripped tightly around my sister’s.
I blinked hard.
I wasn’t seeing clearly.
In fact, I was seeing double.
But neither of the figures was Lenore.
They stared up at me, concern marring their pale and lusterless faces.
“Sorrow,” my dead sister whispered, and then I began toscream.
When I came to, I was in my bedroom, staring at the canopy above my bed.
Beside me, the mattress was dented in. Someone was sitting on it and for one terrible moment, I couldn’t see who it was. Another scream tore from my throat as I envisioned Rosalie and Ligeia flanking me in sleep, their long dead limbs reaching in to cover me like a shroud.
“Stop that. Stop it this instant.”
That hiss of command, of seething disappointment. It wasn’t my not-so-recently departed sisters.
Only Camille.
