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

“Annaleigh!”

From somewhere far away, in the depths of my swoon, I heard shouting. I just wanted to stay where I was, in the deep and silent dark, but the voice kept yelling my name, louder and louder. My shoulder jerked back as if shoved.

“Annaleigh, you have to wake up!” Another shove. “Now.”

I came to with a gasp, fuzzy with confusion. My mouth was dry, and a sour, metallic funk coated my tongue. I squinted against the glare of my bedroom’s sconces.

“What time is it?” I muttered to Hanna, sitting up, ready to push myself off the bed.

But I wasn’t in bed.

And Hanna had not woken me.

“Cassius! What are you doing in my room? Papa will have your head if he finds you here.” I blinked hard and used my hands to shield the light away. Why did the room feel so bright?

He knelt beside me, grabbing my shoulders, his fingers sinking in deep.

“Look at me,” he demanded, pushing back my hands. He took hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. His face was deathly pale; a sheen of sweat beaded his brow. He looked terrified.

“Let go of me. That hurts.” I wrenched free from his death grip.

Instantly, he jerked his hands away from me. “You’re awake?”

“Obviously. Why are you in here?”

I pushed myself up, wincing. Had I rolled out of bed while I slept? Or somehow fallen asleep on the floor after the ball? My body ached, and as I took a step toward my vanity, a stab of pain shot up my foot.

Lifting the hem of my dress—why hadn’t I changed into a nightgown?—I winced. My feet were raw with bruises and blisters. We really did need to get new shoes before going dancing again.

I froze as the memories came slamming back, hitting me with the force of a storm-swept wave.

The ball.

The bloody massacre at the banquet tables.

The Weeping Woman.

I sank down on the chair as a cry escaped me. The Weeping Woman had been at the ball. Not in my dreams, but actually there, beside me, her long fingers clasped over my wrists. I closed my eyes, struggling to remember what had happened after I saw her.

I’d fainted. But then what?

“Did you help bring me back after I fainted—did you carry me back?” Cassius’s blue eyes were dark with incomprehension. “Did you see me faint at the ball?”

He pressed his lips together, forming his words with care. “Annaleigh, there was no ball.”

It suddenly felt as if the temperature had dropped several degrees, and I pushed back a flurry of shivers. “You didn’t come? I could never find you there. Was the door closed once you caught up?”

Cassius knelt beside my chair, taking my hands in his. “There was no door to go through. You’ve been in your room all night long.”

I pushed back the tickle of a laugh threatening to escape. “That’s absurd. I was in Lambent. I can tell you anything you want to know about the castle. I was there, and so were Camille and the Graces, and—I was dancing. Look at my feet!”

He glanced at my tattered hemline and blistered heels and nodded slowly.

His silence was infuriating. “How do you explain that if there was no ball? If you didn’t go—you fell asleep or forgot or whatever—just come out and say it, Cassius. I know I was there. We all were. Except you!”

He stood up, jaw tightening, and held out his hand. “I think you need to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Annaleigh, please. You need to see this for yourself.”

With wary hesitation, I followed him out into the hallway. The sconces were at their lowest setting, giving just enough glow to highlight the portraits hanging along the walls. I’d never noticed how my sisters’ eyes seemed to flicker with life, as they did now, following our passage with knowing stares. With a shiver, I hurried after Cassius.

He stopped outside Camille’s room. Her door was ajar.

“What am I meant to see?”

He nodded at the bedroom. “Go on.”

The room was dark, and I was about to turn around, not wanting to disturb Camille’s sleep, when I spotted her. My mouth fell open, as though icy water had been thrown over me, snapping me to my senses.

She was dancing.

In the middle of the room.

Not with anyone but also not entirely by herself.

Her arms were out, positioned as if resting on a phantom partner. The silk of her gown trailed after her like a ghost as she spun around the room. Her eyes were shut tight, a beatific smile on her lips. Was she sleeping?

“Camille! What are you doing? What are—”

I turned back to Cassius to see if he could make sense of the scene. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“What is she doing?” I whispered.

“Dancing.”

“But with whom? Camille—”

He reached out, stopping me. “Don’t. If she’s in a fugue, jarring her awake could hurt both of you.” He rubbed at a reddened patch across his cheek. Had I struck him? “Have you ever known her to sleepwalk before?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

As we watched, Camille maneuvered through a series of intricate steps. This was not the make-believe dancing we’d played at in our youths, with our skirts twirling around us until we were breathless with laughter.

She flung herself backward, dipped by a partner who was not there. Her back arched far enough for her feathered hair clip to brush the floor. Impossibly, her right leg kicked up, and she was balanced in this painful contortion on the ball of her left foot. Had she been in the arms of a handsome consort, the pose would have been stunning. But with no one supporting her weight, she looked abnormal.

Unnatural.

Possessed.

Cassius tugged at my sleeve, pulling me down the hallway. I followed after him reluctantly, not wanting to leave Camille alone in such a state.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Where are the little girls’ rooms?”

I frowned. “Down the hall.”

“Show me, please.”

“That’s Mercy’s room,” I said, indicating the closed door to our left. I kept a watchful eye over my shoulder, certain Camille would come gliding after us in her eerie solo pas de deux.

“Perhaps you ought to be the one to go in.”

I palmed the doorknob, a painful knot of worry digging under my ribs. What was I about to find?

Mercy’s curtains were drawn, and it was too dark to see anything at first. Then a white figure flashed through the shaft of light spilling in from the hall. I jumped back, bumping into Cassius.

Mercy was dancing in her sleep, just like Camille.

I watched her for a minute before racing across the hall to Honor’s room. She was performing a pretty pirouette, eyes closed, mouth slack in sleep.

I crept to Verity’s room, my eyes on fire with unshed tears. With trembling hands, I opened the door and waited for my eyes to adjust.

Verity was scared of the dark and always kept the curtains partially open, allowing moonlight to spill in. Her room was still, and I tiptoed in, praying I’d find her snug and secure in bed. Cassius remained at the doorway, his figure silhouetted against the hallway gaslights.

Pushing back the bed curtains, I wanted to cry. The bed was empty; the sheets were undisturbed.

“Annaleigh,” Cassius murmured as a small figure glided by me.

Verity was waltzing, her steps graceful and far surer than I’d ever seen them in real life. I fell back on the bed to keep her from running into me. As she passed through a beam of moonlight, she turned and smiled at me.

Her eyes were open. Wide open and pitch-black, weeping dark, oily tears.

“Care to cut in?” she asked, but it wasn’t Verity’s voice. It was the thing from my nightmares, somehow inhabiting my sister.

“Verity?” Tears of my own streamed down my face. What had happened to my little sister?

Cassius turned the gas knob fully on. Just before the sconces flared to life, the Verity-thing whipped around, glaring at him, but as the room lit up, the Weeping Woman’s face was gone, and it was just my little sister once more.

She collapsed to the floor like a marionette with slashed strings, up one moment and in a tangle of limbs and tulle the next.

“Verity!” I howled, racing to her. I cradled her small body against mine, choking on my tears as her eyes flickered open. They were green, not black, and I brought her up to me, embracing her as tightly as I dared with a sob of relief.

“What are you doing in here, Annaleigh?” she asked, her voice thick and raspy.

Just as mine had been when Cassius woke me….

“Are you okay? Are you all right?” I asked, stroking her curls, needing to reassure myself it truly was her.

“I want to go back to sleep,” she muttered drowsily, her eyelids fluttering shut.

“No!” I patted her cheeks, trying to keep her awake, but she nuzzled against my neck and drifted off once more.

“What is happening?” I asked, turning to Cassius. “What’s wrong with my sisters?”

“I think it might be—” He paused, ducking back out into the hallway. “Do you hear that?”

I cocked my head toward the door, listening. I seemed to hear a series of knocks, but they were muffled, too far away to properly discern. “The front foyer?” I guessed.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving us.

I sat in the middle of Verity’s room, clutching her to my chest. I was terrified to let her go, certain she’d rise up and start dancing again. I wanted to keep her safe and snuggled next to me, but as the minutes passed by, she grew heavy, pressing uncomfortably into my hip bones and fidgeting in her sleep. I staggered up, hoisting her prostrate body to the bed.

I brought the quilt up to her chin and watched the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes danced beneath her lids. She looked so content, it was difficult to imagine she’d been waltzing about the room, with that thing using her face, moments before.

The knocks turned into indistinct shouts, and I heard footsteps race up the stairs. Someone must have been going for Papa.

I drifted toward the doorway, wanting to keep an eye on Verity but also hating to miss what the commotion was. I heard Papa’s muttered curses mingled with the thud of his feet in the stairwell.

“Papa?” I called down the long hallway. “What’s going on?”

“And you’ve woken everyone in the house!” he chided Roland. They were both still dressed in bedclothes. “Go back to sleep, child. It’s only a messenger.”

A messenger in the dead of night?

I threw a glance over my shoulder to Verity, still peacefully slumbering. Dimming the sconces—I didn’t want her to wake in total darkness—I dashed out of the room, bolting past my sisters’ doors. If they were still twisting and twirling with their phantom partners, I did not want to know.

By the time I arrived in the foyer, a crowd of cooks and footmen, maids and groomsmen, had gathered. They circled around a ragged-looking sailor. He was soaked to the bone, with a wool blanket thrown over his shoulders. Still, he shook, nearly frozen from the cold night. He frantically searched the room until he spotted my father.

“My lord!” the sailor cried. “I bring awful news. There’s been a shipwreck just off the northern coast of Hesperus. Many have died. They’re trying to salvage the cargo, but the clipper is taking on water fast. We need help.”

Papa stepped forward as those gathered gasped at the news. “Why have you wasted all this time coming here? Silas needs to light the distress beacon. Men from Selkirk and Astrea will come to your aid.”

“We tried Hesperus first, my lord, but something is wrong there. That’s why the clipper ran aground. The light was out. Old Maude has gone dark!”