Page 97 of House of Roots and Ruin
Standing.
Walking.
I sighed. “I know you’re in here.”
Somewhere deeper in the room, obscured by the sea of sheets, something stirred.
I took a step in, breathing in the scent of long-forgotten items and dust. “Alex, I know it’s you. Just come out. Come out and explain—”
Behind me, another sound, like someone had cleared their throat.
I studied the pair of statues on either side of the door suspiciously.
Was he hiding behind one of them?
Without warning, I whipped off the sheet, revealing a trio of winged angels, flying in a cluster of limbs and beatificsmiles.
The second statue was a pair of cranes, their necks bent down at strange angles to study a small brass frog between their feet.
A soft sigh came from farther in the room.
“Alex, this isn’t funny.” My voice wasn’t as assured as I wished it was. A quaver of uncertainty reverberated my tone.
I sounded scared.
Standing on the threshold, I tried to rationalize this situation, this bizarre and bewildering predicament.
I’d seen Alex.
Walking.
But he couldn’t. I’d witnessed his struggles getting in and out of the chair, his reliance on Frederick. He couldn’t fake that.
Could he?
That was madness.
So it wasn’t Alex.
Then who?
I glanced about the storeroom, fear stealing its way across my heart like the icy creep of hoarfrost over a winter field.
There was that servant, the night of Dauphine’s dinner party. I’d seen him. Frederick had seen him. We’d both thought him Alex.
He was here again. Right now. Back at Chauntilalie and roaming the halls in the middle of the night and I’d cornered him.
A light hiss, like someone letting out a breath held for too long. The hairs on my arms rose. It sounded closer now. Didn’tit?
I bit the inside of my cheek. I had to act. I had to do something.
The young man in the hallway had been quite tall. On my own, I’d be nearly powerless against such a formidable opponent.
I needed help.
But if I went to find it, I’d risk losing him, letting him slip away.
I could scream—my voice joining the peacocks’ cries. The cries that still filled the air, unnoticed and unchecked.
