House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)

“A magic door?” Honor repeated, dubious of my claim. Her eyes shifted to Camille.

The eight of us were in the solarium, enjoying an impromptu tea party Fisher brought in. We’d found the triplets there, reclining on wicker chaises, reading poems and snorting with laughter. I caught the last two lines, and it appeared they’d found more of Eulalie’s contraband volumes. Rosalie, spotting the Graces, slid the book in her skirts.

Mercy munched on a biscuit and mimicked her sister’s skepticism. Her dark hair, pulled back with a bow, fell to the side like silk. “Like in fairy tales?”

“Yes, but for the gods to use,” Camille said. “And it could be anywhere, so we’ll have to look very hard.”

“What does it look like?” Verity asked. Even she seemed doubtful.

I’d been certain the triplets would be the hardest to convince and that we’d have to rein in the Graces.

“It will be fun!” Fisher promised. “Or would you rather stay here with Berta? I’m sure she can dig up more lines for you to copy while we’re out.”

The three quickly changed their tune and downed their tea with gusto.

“Where should we start?” Rosalie asked, helping Lenore and Ligeia up. “Where would a god keep his door?”

“You said Pontus used it for meetings about important matters. Maybe Papa’s office?” Mercy reasoned.

Lenore wrinkled her nose. “He always keeps it locked. We won’t be able to get in.”

“What about the cove on the far side of the island?” Ligeia suggested. “Maybe he comes directly out of the sea.”

Honor rolled her eyes. “It’s too cold to go into the water. Besides, when the door opens, all the ocean would flood in.”

Fisher nodded. “Good thinking, Honor.”

Camille skimmed her fingers around the rim of her cup. “It must be concealed somehow…otherwise we would have seen it before now.”

Rosalie’s face brightened. “I think I know where it is!” In an instant, she was racing down the pathway, pushing through fronds and low-hanging vines.

The rest of us trailed behind at a more leisurely pace. The solarium was too humid for sprinting.

“Come on, come on,” she urged from the top of the stairs. “And we’ll need our cloaks!”

“It’s freezing!” Verity squealed, holding the flaps of her cloak tightly across her body.

A brisk wind whipped across Salten, bringing the brine up off the sea. The long grasses were yellow and dry, and a skim of ice crackled across the fountain. It wouldn’t be long till Churning.

“Where are we going, Rosalie?” Camille called out, fighting to be heard over the gale.

“Follow me!”

We trudged after her in single file, heading directly into the gusts. It was easier to just keep my head down and follow the trail made by the feet in front of me. The grass died away, and we were on black rocks. Specks of dirt and salt blown about by the wind stung my eyes.

When I dared to look up, I saw we were heading for the Grotto. A narrow path veered off the cliff walk, taking us down, down, down to a small cave hollowed out of the crag. Inside was our family’s shrine to Pontus. Four times a year, at the changing of the seasons, we brought offerings of fish and pearls and left them at the silver altar.

I hated those trips.

The trail was precarious. One wrong step and you’d plummet to the surf below.

Our little game suddenly seemed like a terrible mistake.

My eyes fell on a slab of rocks rising out of the sea like an angry fist. That’s where Eulalie’s body had been found. If Edgar was to be believed, she was pushed off the cliffs not far from where we now stood, and her killer was still on the loose.

Once inside the cave, I breathed a sigh of relief. We just needed to search the shrine and head back. There should still be enough weak sunlight for us to see the path. We could continue the search safely at Highmoor, until everyone tired of the game.

“Where should we start?” Rosalie asked. She’d marched us here so full of triumph. Now that she was here in the crowded space, doubt crept over her features.

There was no door.

“You said it was probably concealed, right?” Fisher said, sensing our flagging spirits. “Let’s look around. Maybe there’s a strange rock or a symbol or…something.”

The far wall of the cave behind the altar was covered over with chips of sea glass, forming a wave that crested over a statue of Pontus. Cast of gold and taller than even Fisher, the sea god raised his trident high above his head, as if ready to strike. He looked like a man, mostly. His chest was broad and muscular, but his lower half was a riot of tentacles.

The twisting arms reminded me of the horrible bathtub dream from the day of the triplets’ ball. Even now I could feel the rows of suction cups along my legs, gripping and grasping. With a shudder, I turned my back on the golden statue.

“Does anyone see anything?” I asked, shifting my focus back to my sisters.

Verity and Mercy stooped low over the sides of the stone benches. Honor knelt beside them, running her fingers over the seashells decorating the bases.

“Nothing yet.”

Rosalie shook her head. She and Camille traced their hands across the stone walls, looking for catches or hidden hinges. Ligeia was at the mouth of the cave, peering at the cliffs surrounding the entrance. Fisher stood nearby, ready to catch her should she lose her balance.

I joined Lenore at the altar, caressing its silver top. “Where else could it be?” I asked. “Maybe in the gallery? There’s the painting of the Brine. Or the bathroom on the fourth floor? The tub is a big clamshell—maybe Pontus put the door there?”

“I thought for sure we’d find something here,” Rosalie said. Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her head, sweeping her gaze over the small cave. “Did anyone try the statue?” She circled around it, appraising every angle. “Is it me or does it look like the trident can move? See the gap between his fingers?”

Fisher was the only one tall enough to properly inspect it. “I think it actually does….” He reached out on tiptoe and grabbed at the metal rod. With a rusted shriek, the trident spun around so its jeweled front now faced the back of the altar.

And then the wall began to shift.

It looked like a trick at first, the chips of sea glass glinting and sparkling in the dying afternoon light. But they were moving, spinning on unseen pins. They twisted and twisted until freed from the wall, spilling onto the stone floor with a shower of sparks and revealing a gaping tunnel entrance.

We watched the transformation in stunned silence until Verity darted forward and bent down, pressing her hand to the ground.

“It’s wet!” she exclaimed. “The sea glass turned to water!”

“That’s impossible,” Fisher said, stepping in. He patted the area around Verity. When he looked up, his brown eyes were wide with wonder. “How is this happening?”

“There really was a door,” Camille whispered before breaking into a grin. “We found the door!”

“We found a door,” I clarified, staring at the open maw in front of us. “But where does it lead?”

Honor crept closer, peering down its length. “There are torches….”

Her voice was flat, almost as if she was in a trance. As she approached the entrance, Fisher scooped her up in his arms, waylaying her. “Not so fast, little one.” He carried her over to the triplets’ safe embrace. “I think I should be the one to go in first. Just in case.”

He stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. His breath sounded ragged, and for a moment, I thought I could see puffs of it in the air, as if the tunnel was much colder than the shrine. He glanced back at us. “Do I just think about a place as I go through?”

Though Camille nodded, she looked horror-struck, sickened at what her desire had brought about. “I suppose?”

With one last look at us, Fisher entered the tunnel, ducking beneath the low ceiling.

“Oh!” we heard him gasp, his voice thick with astonishment.

Then he was gone.

Verity looked down the passage, as close as she could without actually going in. “He’s not there!”

We all stepped forward then to look for ourselves, but she was right. The tunnel appeared to stretch for miles through the cliffs. Torches hung from the sides, their flames flickering and lush, but there was no trace of Fisher.

“What have we done?” Lenore murmured, clutching her hand to her chest. Her face grew white, her eyes too wide. She stumbled back to one of the shrine’s benches. “Where is he?”

“He’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” Camille said.

“You don’t know that! What if he never comes back?” Verity sobbed. She pressed herself into my skirts, trembling. “What if we killed him?”

I reached out into the tunnel as far as my shaking fingers would go. A cry of alarm choked my throat as my hand disappeared before me. There was my arm, my elbow, but at my wrist, I ceased to be. I waggled my fingers, certain I was moving them, but saw nothing.

Seeing my missing hand, Honor let out a shriek and ran into Ligeia’s arms. I jerked my arm back, suddenly terrified something on the other side might pull me in. For a horrible moment, my flexed fingers looked as if they were a stranger’s.

“Are you all right, Annaleigh?” Ligeia twisted Honor around to show her my hand was still attached.

“I think so?” It was in one piece but felt strange, full of pins and needles.

“Where’s Fisher? Why isn’t he back?” Rosalie asked, pacing in front of the entrance as the minutes ticked by. “Someone should go in after him.” She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on each of us. “Shouldn’t we?”

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed. I stroked Verity’s curls, ashamed I wasn’t brave enough to volunteer.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Rosalie said with a snarl and was through the opening before any of us could stop her.

Just like Fisher, she was there one moment and gone the next.

“Rosalie!” Ligeia screamed as she threw herself down the tunnel.

She disappeared in the wink of an eye, and Lenore howled. Camille caught her before she too could fling herself into the great unknown. Her cries of despair echoed through the shrine.

“It’s cold, it’s so cold,” Lenore moaned, her teeth chattering.

The triplets often claimed to be able to feel exactly what the others did, no matter how far apart they were. Most of the family scoffed it off as a childish game, but I remembered once, while I was teaching her scales in the Blue Room, Ligeia grabbed her hand, clutching a finger in surprise. Rosalie had gone fishing with Papa and overzealously gutted her first catch, slicing her pinkie.

Camille placed her wrist on Lenore’s forehead. “She feels fine.”

“Where are they?” Lenore continued to wail. “They need to come back right away. Something is wrong. I can feel it! Something is horribly—”

“What’s going on?” Rosalie cut in, skipping suddenly into existence, a wild grin plastered across her face. “You’re acting as though you’ve never seen a magic door before!”

Then Ligeia appeared, with Fisher on her heels. Both looked dazed and happy.

“Where have you been?” Lenore demanded, leaping up to pull her sisters into a panicked embrace. “I couldn’t feel you. It was so cold, like ice!”

“It was cold at first,” Ligeia acknowledged. “But it was also…so wondrous.”

“Where did you go?” Camille asked, edging toward the entrance. She looked as though she wanted to see for herself.

“We’ll show you. Tonight!” Rosalie said, beaming.

“Tonight?” I repeated.

She reached into her pocket, withdrew a stack of silver envelopes, and passed them out. “Yes! At the ball. We’ve all been invited.”

“Ball?” Camille flipped over her envelope and ran her fingers under the edge. She scanned the thick, creamy paper within. The edges winked with gilding. Her eyebrows jumped. “This is real?”

“As real as me standing here before you,” Fisher said, smiling widely. “It really worked! You said you wanted to find a beau, so when I walked through the door, I tried to think of an elegant ball—the music, the gowns, the dancing. When I opened my eyes, I was in the middle of a palace courtyard, the grandest I’ve ever seen, and they were preparing for a party.”

“And I got us invited!” Rosalie crowed, laughing at our dumbstruck faces. “Well, come on! We have to get ready! I do not intend to miss the first waltz!”