Page 72 of The Women of Wild Hill
“What are you waiting for?” Sibyl was right behind her.
Phoebe looked back at her. “Do you think we should?” she asked. “Do you think it’s time?”
“If it’s open, it’s time. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
It was. And yet it had never occurred to Phoebe that she would be the first inside the mansion. Her hand shook as she turned the knob and opened the door.
She and Brigid spent their childhoods fantasizing about whatmight lie behind the vine-covered windows of the mansion. Brigid imagined giant cobwebs spanning entire rooms, with monstrous black spiders that ate all who stumbled into their traps. Phoebe liked to think that the pretty ghost who lived in the mansion had fashioned it into her own magical castle with talking mirrors like the one inSnow Whiteand a bewitched prince lying on a bed of roses.
“I can’t believe it,” Sibyl said. “The whole place is perfectly preserved.”
They were standing in a servants’ passage, on the threshold of a grand dining room, where a table with thirty-nine place settings stretched from one side to the other. The crystal glasses were as clear as the day they were made. The silverware was untarnished and not a single mote of dust appeared to have settled on the plates. Cards handwritten in swooping letters on heavy stock directed guests to their places at the table.
“Who is Nessa James?” Sibyl wondered, but her mother had already left the room.
In the front parlor, velvet-covered love seats faced one another, and a clock kept the time on the mantelpiece. A study, billiards room, library, and conservatory followed. On the second floor, they counted ten beautiful bedrooms, with majestic wood beds and fresh logs in the fireplaces.
“This place was supposed to be home to a family of four?” Sibyl marveled.
“And their army of servants,” Phoebe said.
When they reached the last room on the second floor, Phoebe stopped at the threshold. Bessie stood at the window where Phoebe and her sister had spotted the ghost countless times in the past.
“Hello!” Bessie appeared to cheer at the sight of them. “Come in! Come in! Are you pleased with the house? I’ve kept it in very good shape, have I not? I hope it will suit your purposes.”
“Our purposes?” Sibyl asked.
“I don’t understand,” Phoebe told the ghost. “This has been your mansion since it was built. We already have a home.”
“Oh no,” Bessie said. “The mansion was never meant for me. I enjoyed the library right enough, but I’m a simple girl with simple tastes. I would have been happy with a nice, strong tree.”
“So what is it for, then?” Phoebe asked.
“It’s for all the others, of course,” Bessie told them.
One of Many
Brigid took a detour on her way home from Liam Geddes’s house and cycled along Danskammer Beach Road. Before all the billionaires began moving to Culling Pointe in the nineties, the road had been nothing more than dirt, sand, and shells. She and Phoebe were allowed to ride up and down it as long as they obeyed Aunt Ivy’s rules: no swimming at Danskammer Beach and stay away from the Pointe. Just as there were places with powerful good energy, there were also those where dark forces dominated.
Brigid knew about the inferno that had recently destroyed the buildings on Culling Pointe. Fires these days were so common that most barely made the news, and Brigid doubted she’d have heard anything about this one if not for the scandal. A wealthy art dealer had murdered at least three young women. There were rumors that other rich men on the Pointe had been involved as well, though the lawsuit-wary media steered clear of the stories. The dealer died in a helicopter crash days before the entire Pointe was destroyed by a mysterious fire that killed the billionaire who’d founded the community along with his longtime girlfriend.
Brigid only remembered the first house on the Pointe. She’d seen pictures of the finished community, but she’d never visited. As she cycled closer, she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting. A burnt-out wasteland, maybe, with the skeletal remains of two dozen mansions. But as it came into view, she saw a stretch of land that looked much as it had when she was little—granite boulders and tall native grasses. Two deer nibbled at the vegetation. The only difference, as far as Brigid could tell, were bushes covered with brightyellow flowers the color of caution tape. Nature had reclaimed the stretch of land. No trace of humans remained. Brigid couldn’t help but think it was meant to serve as a warning.
She pulled her bike to the shoulder of the road. A well-worn trail led through the scrub and down to the beach. She laid her bike on its side, where it disappeared into the roadside grass, and walked through the trees toward the crashing of waves.
The first thing she saw when she reached the beach was an altar halfway between the scrub and the high-tide line. Constructed of rocks and driftwood, it appeared hand built and well-maintained. A large chunk of schist bore a bronze plaque.In Memory of Amanda Walsh, Faith Reid, and Mei Jones.
Brigid looked up and around. She hadn’t made the connection until that very moment. The killer’s three victims had been found nearby. The Old One had brought her to a sacred place of death and justice. She sat down on the sand a little ways from the altar and pulled Calum Geddes’s diary out of her bag. She didn’t need to have it authenticated. She remembered the leather-bound book well. When Calum lived with them, he would bring it out at quiet moments to write.
For the memoir, he’d joked. Back then, the thought had been funny.
She opened the journal to a sketch of her mother. Just a little portrait in pencil of Flora tucked into a chair with a book open on her lap. It was obvious she hadn’t been aware that her image was being immortalized. Her forehead was furrowed and her lower lip between her teeth. And yet she appeared almost impossibly lovely. There was no doubt that the artist had been deeply devoted.
There were others. Just little, everyday moments captured on paper. Then came the final entry, followed by empty pages.
I had one chance for happiness and I chose ambition instead. If only I’d taken the second vial. I suspect there are others hidden somewhere on the estate.
BRIGID LOOKED UP TO SEEa woman strolling down the beach toward her. As she drew closer, Brigid began to question if her visitor was fully human. Her wild wavy hair shone gold, silver, and platinum. The face behind giant Celine sunglasses appeared bronze. She was wearing a large scrap of fabric tied artfully around her torso.
