Page 116 of The Seven Rings
And the lights went off.
Chapter Fifteen
Not just rainy-day gloom, Sonya realized. Even that miserable light faded toward deeper. Not pure dark, at least not yet.
She tried to level her breathing, tried to remember Dobbs wanted her fear. Wanted to feed off her fear.
“Don’t give it to her. Don’t.”
Cold swept over her like an ice floe. She watched her breath come in clouds.
Through Shawn Mendes, Clover urged Sonya to “Hold On.”
“Doing my best.”
As she started for the door, white-draped furniture slid across the floor. The draping billowed as whatever it covered seemed to growl its way over the floor.
It moved to block her, and she felt panic rising when she turned, and it moved again.
“It’s my damn house! It’s my damn stuff!”
But her voice wavered enough to push the panic closer to the surface.
Furious, she shoved a piece out of her way and started forward. It slammed back into her hard enough to knock her back, and nearly down.
She watched the ballroom doors begin to glow, and the elegantly carved wood bow out, bow in, bow out, and heard the deep inhale, exhale as it did.
Like some nightmare monster’s breath.
Overhead, the chandeliers swayed, crystals clicking, snapping together in a sound like ice breaking. The ceiling that held them seemed to groan.
Heart hammering, Sonya pulled out her phone. Time to call in the troops.
One of the white drapes whipped out, slashed like a whip at her hand. The shock sent her phone clattering away.
Breath shattered now, Sonya dropped down, grabbed for it. It skittered away from her fingers.
Leave and live. Stay and die. Stay and die, and fill my throat with more Poole blood.
The voice whispered, more terrifying than a shout.
I am mistress of the manor. I am death to Poole brides. My curse took seven, and holds strong as the first. Run away from this place, and I will spare you.
She shook, from the cold, from the fear, but she shouted back: “Kiss my ass.” She shoved a hand in her pocket, closed a fist over the hag stone she habitually carried now. “Show yourself, you bitch. You coward. I’m not going anywhere.”
As she scrambled to her feet, the undraped display cabinet tipped toward her. Boxed in, unable to evade, Sonya planted her hands on it, pushed.
Her feet skidded as she lost ground, and lost it, she realized, because the cabinet weighed heavier than it should have.
This is going to hurt, she thought, struggling to prepare herself. It’s really going to hurt.
In the cold, hard air, she caught the scent of a meadow.
The cabinet tipped back, just a fraction. Sonya set her teeth, pushed harder.
And nearly lost her grip when she saw Lilian Crest, Clover, her grandmother. With her young, pretty face fierce, blond hair streaming, Clover pushed with her.
“Push!” To Sonya, the voice sounded like music. “Come on! Harder!”
