Page 68 of As Many Souls as Stars
For a moment, nothing happened. He only stared at her, and she stared at him, while the string quartet continued to play the country dance. It was a short knife, sharp, and Esther could hardly tell whether it had met its mark. Then she felt something warm soaking her hand. Thomas said, ‘Oh,’ very faintly, and he dropped her.
Esther landed heavily on the floor. She scrambled away from Thomas, leaving bloody palm prints on the marble. He stood half bowed, arm twisted over his abdomen, the ivory handle of the knife protruding from his waistcoat.
Miriam said, reverently, ‘I knew it would be beautiful.’
Thomas screamed. The crowd around them immediately fell silent. The quartet faltered and then stopped playing. The dancers paused. Hundreds of people had stuttered and stilled, Carroway House trapped in amber.
Someone cried, ‘Esther!’ as he elbowed his way through the crowd. It was Isaac. He lunged toward her and pulled her up to standing. Then he looked at Thomas, who was staring down, silent and stricken, at the blood saturating his waistcoat. ‘Oh, Lord. You’ve really done it now.’
‘I know,’ Esther replied.
And then there was chaos.
18
Someone in the crowd screamed, and then there was a great deal of screaming, as if everyone had been awaiting permission to become hysterical. A woman yelled, ‘Assault!’ and another, ‘A doctor, a doctor!’ Esther felt a hand drop to her shoulder—some enterprising young man who had thought to apprehend her—and she elbowed him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor.
‘Run,’ Miriam said, turning to the crowd. Esther required no further instruction. She vaulted across the table, sending a dozen trifles smashing to the floor. Isaac yelled in alarm and tried to chase after her, but he slipped in the puddles of cream and fell flailing to the ground. Esther glanced desperately toward the terrace—there was a large crowd gathered there, all of whom had stopped to stare inside, expressions almost comically shocked.
So, then, to the entrance hallway. Esther dove for the door, dodging would-be apprehenders. Behind her she heard a great crash and a cacophony of glass breaking; she looked over her shoulder to see that an entire chandelier had fallen from the ceiling, scattering the dancers to the corners of the room. Miriam, clearly the culprit, still had her hand raised in supplication to the shadows. Isaac remained on the floor, clutching his ankle and groaning.
Miriam caught Esther’s eyes, smiling. Then every candle in the room went out, and all went pitch-black.
Esther found the handle of the door through feel alone. She spilled out into the corridor, gasping for breath. It was dark here, also;everywhere was dark, all light smothered by Miriam’s shadows. She could hear shrieking and clattering as confused guests attempted to navigate.
Esther paused, disoriented. The past was pressing against her mind, bleeding into it like ink into fabric. She was Esther, she was Cybil, she was at Carroway House and Harding Hall.The roof, she thought, deliriously.My mother is on the roof. And so, when her foot met the base of a set of stairs, she ascended, imagining balustrades and blustery night air.
The first floor was as dark as everywhere else, but at least the yelling of the people downstairs was quieter. Esther wandered aimlessly until she saw a glass door leading to a terrace. The moon illuminated the space dimly, just enough to see by. She opened the door with a shaking hand, ignoring how her fingers were singeing the wooden knob, and spilled out into the open air.
The night was clear and idyllic. The terrace was high up; directly below, the cold marble of the ground-floor patio reflected the sky in a hazy pattern of pinprick lights. Beyond that was the flat green of the courtyard, the gates at its edge closed shut. The iron railing surrounding it was at least twice Esther’s height.
Esther stumbled over to the terrace railing and leaned against it, catching her breath. For a moment, clarity returned—and with it came panic. She had no idea what to do. When she was found, she’d likely be sent to the madhouse. What other than insanity would drive a woman to stab her cousin at a Society ball? She’d ruined her reputation entirely, not to mention Isaac’s. And your reputation was your entire existence in this place. Esther had, in essence, killed herself. She’d killed her brother, too, or at least ruined his future. She’d failed to do anything to lift the curse—spent years casting petty rituals and praying for deliverance—and now here was the price of her failure.
But for some reason, none of it seemed to matter, not really. Esther could still feel the wordCybilin her mouth, lingering there; and she could feel Cybil the person too, wandering the edges of her mind. She knew, somehow, that she was Cybil, but she remained unsurewhoCybil was. It was paradoxical and disorienting. She imagined that if she returned inside, every guest at the ball would be apaper doll, propped up against the wall. Only Miriam would actually be real, and she’d be laughing at her, saying,Oh, Esther, you believed me! You truly believed this ridiculous place was genuine!And then she’d awaken from this dream—to find herself in Harding Hall, risen from its ashes—
The door to the terrace opened. Esther turned, expecting Miriam, but it was Thomas Harding, the oyster knife held in one trembling fist, his other hand still pressed to his belly. He was pale as a piano key. As he approached her, his steps faltered, his face twisting with pain.
‘Why?’ he whispered.
Esther wanted to increase the distance between them, but the railing was at her back. She curled both hands around it in case he attempted to pull her closer. ‘You frightened me.’
‘So youstabbedme?’
‘It isn’t as if— You wanted me todie, Thomas. For Lily, and her soul.’
‘I offered you an opportunity for atonement,’ he replied, ‘and you refused to take it. I should have expected that. I was a fool for expecting compassion from a witch.’
They regarded each other warily.
‘You ought to see a doctor,’ she told him.
‘It is only a shallow wound.’
‘You’re bleeding.’
He chuckled and snapped his bloody hand towards her. She turned her head. Droplets sprayed across her cheek.
‘You disgust me,’ she said.
