Page 85 of The Ordeals
‘Imagine, an actual pint …’ Greg says, swallowing as he sidles over.
‘Whatever gets you through the Ordeal,’ I say, bumping his shoulder. ‘All I want is a room in a main hall so I don’t have to trudge up and down those damn steps twelve times a day.’
‘Big dreams. Aim high.’ Tessa sighs. Then she clicks her tongue, looking at both of us, eyes shining. ‘Seriously though, please don’t die.’
‘I’ll avoid it at all costs,’ I promise, giving her a hug. I bury my face in her hair, hoping this isn’t the last time I’ll be with her. ‘And Greg, next full moon? If you survive, I’ll bring the tea and biscuits. It’s a date.’
‘It’s on the calendar.’ He chuckles, scooping me up in a hug as well before releasing me.
‘Right, well …’ I say, watching as the first hopeful skips to thefront door of Alabaster House. Of course it had to be Fion. Obviously the rumour swirling around the last Ordeal that she’d failed was false information. She turns to us all, winks and disappears through the crack in the door, closing it behind herself.
Frances follows behind her, and then one by one, hopefuls disappear inside. As Knox strides towards the steps, we give each other a farewell nod, his features crinkling into something akin to warmth. As he passes, he mutters, ‘Get in, get out, don’t get caught. If you see a cold one, you fucking run, yes?’ Before hopping up the steps.
Those words, that phrase hit me in the chest. Exactly what the Collector used to say before an assignment. Another reason to survive this and win one of those twenty places; now I know the truth, I have so many questions to ask Knox Darley.
‘Sophia, I …’ Alden says and I look up at him. I catch a flash of something that could almost be regret and he reaches out a hand towards mine. But then he jerks his hand back, stuffing it in his pocket. ‘That note you left. I didn’t, I don’t—’ He takes a steadying breath. ‘I wanted to say, good luck.’
‘And to you as well,’ I say softly. His gaze locks with mine and for a handful of heartbeats, everything drops away. He leans down, brushing a kiss across my lips, and my heart stutters as I reach out, gripping his arms. I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes, hoping the gods are watching over us today. That we’ll both survive.
Then he turns, walks swiftly up the steps and disappears. I swallow, my heart like the beat of a butterfly’s wing, thrumming inside my chest. I settle into that part of myself that carried me through every assignment, every close scrape. Yes. There is more after this; it can’t be the end. This may be impossible, but in any impossible thing there is always a way through.
I take my turn, walking up the steps of Alabaster House and pull in a brisk, steely breath before plunging into the darknessbeyond. The door closes with a click behind me, and I find myself utterly alone. I expected the hallway of Alabaster, the gentle tick of a grandfather clock, the scent of polish and books … but instead, a stench fills my nose, making me gag. I clap a hand to my mouth as my eyes adjust to the space I’m standing in. Not the genteel, hushed hallway of Alabaster. No. I bolt for the door, clawing at the handle as all around, this space comes into focus. And the smell … copper and animal, laced with desperation.
Warm blood.
I’m back in the house in the city, the one on the wrong side of the river. The house where Dolly was murdered. I whimper, backing away from the door, my mind fracturing with panic. I know I should breathe. I know I should focus, keep calm. I place a hand on my chest, feeling every thrash of my heart, and close my eyes, listening to the thick silence, calming the aching churn in my stomach. The nausea, hot and stifling, begins to subside and I blow out through my nose, reminding myself this is an Ordeal. Only a test. I need to keep my shit together. Somewhere, there will be a subtle shimmer of magic, the gleam that will tell me this is all simply an illusion—
‘Just an illusion, that’s all this is,’ I murmur. ‘Nothing more than magic and memory given form. Alchemy of the mind.’
I take a single step away from the door, flexing my fingers before bunching them into fists at my sides. The parlour door on my left stands slightly ajar, just like the night that … the night—
I take another step, shutting down the thought before it takes root. There are no shimmers that I can discern, but it has to be because I’m too panicked. Not able to focus as well as I have before. I narrow my eyes, training my gaze on the walls, the floor, the staircase—
A scream pierces the air.
I leap back, plastering myself to the door, knowing it’s coming, the cold one. It’s here again—
But there’s only silence. The thick, oozing kind … and I know what I must do. I lift my gaze to the staircase, the dark maw of the second floor looming over it. I have to face what’s in the room I didn’t go in the first time I was here.
Maybe this time, I can save them from their fate.
The smell of warm blood,humanblood only intensifies as I climb the staircase. I gag again, forcing myself to keep going and find the three doors from my memories on the first floor, all closed. Not a sound comes from any of them, not a breath or a whimper. The stake is already in my hand, and my heart is thudding in my ears. I throw open the first door—
To reveal that hideous rocking chair, swaying back and forth.
This time, I stalk into the room and give it a solid kick, sending it sprawling on its side. The satisfaction leaves a curl of flame in my stomach, a small moment of victory in this cold, cold place. The room has damp, whitewashed walls, rough floorboards and a window that looks out over nothing. I cross to it, intrigued, and find only endless, billowing smoke … and a faint, iridescent shimmer.
‘I knew it …’ I breathe, my mouth lifting at the corners. I’m not in that sad little house that Dolly died in. I haven’t walked from an alchemist-made portal, back into the same house on that same lonely street amidst the brothels and broken homes. This is all my personal Ordeal, a reflection of my innermost terrors. I’m facing the fear that will strip me down, cut right to the bones of my soul and test me beyond all else. ‘You’re not real,’ I say, louder this time, and slam my palm into the glass. I narrow my eyes, forcing every sliver of those glints in my own blood, the magic I am able to wield into my outstretched hand, and brace myself.
The illusion shatters.
All around me, the walls shiver and rearrange themselves, the scent of warm blood turning to wood polish and citrus. I’m standing in a room overlooking the back of Alabaster House, a courtyard speckled with rose bushes under a layer of frost set out below. A far cry from the stinking, cramped desperation just across the river. A world away.
The room looks to be some kind of upstairs sitting room. I prowl through the room, noting the absence of any personal touches, anything to give this room a flush of life and love. It feels staged, poised on the edge of its true purpose, whatever that may be.
Another scream rattles the very walls. There’s a strangled cry, then a thud … as though something heavy, something made of flesh and bone, has thumped to the floor. I cross to the door, pulse leaping in my fingertips, still gripped around the stake, and I yank the door back, finding a corridor suffused with winter light from a huge window with a window seat set into it, the staircase peeling off to the ground floor. But there are still two closed doors. I brace my arm against the second door, gritting my teeth as I push … but find it empty. A room similar to the one I was just in, except this one is shrouded in white sheets.
There’s a scuffling and I look up sharply, knowing where it came from. The final room. Before my courage leaves me, I stalk for the door, turn the handle and throw it back against the wall.
