Читать книгу Serafina and the Splintered Heart - Robert Beatty - Страница 16

Serafina sat alone at the bottom of the basement steps, her head on her hands. She had to figure out a way to get back into the world and warn everyone that they were in danger. She’d been attacked, and clearly Braeden had been attacked, and she was sure that there were more attacks to come.

‘But what can I do?’ she asked herself. How could she talk to the people she loved? How could she warn them?

She had found Mr and Mrs Vanderbilt, Braeden, Gidean, and her pa, but there was one more person at Biltmore who might be able to help her. She went up the back stairway to the fourth floor and down the corridor into the maids’ quarters.

When she came to the particular maid’s room she was looking for, the door was ajar.

As Serafina paused, a bad feeling crept into her.

‘Essie?’ she asked quietly. ‘Essie, are you there?’

Finally, Serafina slipped slowly into the room.

Her friend Essie’s room was empty and lifeless. Essie’s books and newspapers weren’t on the nightstand by the bed. Essie’s drawings of flowers and plants weren’t on the wall. Essie’s clothes weren’t strewn across the floor and chair. The bed had no sheets or pillows.

Serafina’s heart sank.

No one was living in this room any more.

Essie was gone.

Remembering her friend’s old mountain stories of haints and nightspirits and other strange occurrences, Serafina had hoped that maybe Essie could help her, that maybe she could even talk with her in some way, but it was all for naught.

It just seemed so unfair, so wrong. She was home, but she felt homesick. Why couldn’t everything just stay the way it had been? She’d made friends and found new family. She’d worn beautiful dresses and had English tea with lots and lots of cream! She’d met her mother and run at her side. She’d nuzzled her head and felt her purr. But what had happened to her mother and the cubs? Were they gone like Essie? Serafina couldn’t bear the thought that something bad had happened to any of them.

As she stood in the room, she noticed the mirror on the wall.

As soon as she saw it, she froze where she was and her heart began to pound.

‘Oh, no, I’m not doin’ that . . .’ she said firmly.

She didn’t want to move towards it. She was too frightened to put herself in front of it and look at it.

What would she see?

Her old self ? A whispery haint? A grave-walking ghoul bloodied with the wounds she could see on her torn, bloodstained dress? She was a ghoul. Suddenly she was sure of it. The last thing she wanted to see was the bloody, corpsy sight of her walking death.

Get hold of yourself, you frightened little fool, she scolded herself. You’ve got to figure this out! You’ve got to look!

She pulled in a long, deep breath.

Then she took a step towards the mirror.

Then another.

Finally, she slowly moved a little bit in front of it and looked at herself.

All she could see in the mirror was a glint of light, a faint blur of motion when she moved, as if she was nothing but air itself.

She had no reflection. She was nobody and nothing.

She remembered back to the time she’d looked into this mirror and noticed her amber eyes starting to change, and her black hair starting to come in, and how proud she’d felt of the beautiful dress she’d been wearing. Now she had no eyes, no hair, nothing.

So much of what she had come to know and love had just slipped away. Was this the work of the sorcerer, or was it simply how time passed?

It felt like it was more than that. It felt as if her world had been shattered into a thousand pieces like a Ming vase on a tiled floor. She kept wondering if she could pick up the pieces and put them back together again.

‘Stay bold,’ she told herself sternly. Stop this nonsense, feelin’ all sorry for yourself. Dream or real, dead or alive, you don’t give up, you don’t give in to hopelessness. You keep fighting!

Then, even as she was thinking these thoughts, she saw something very faint in the movement of light and air in the reflection of the mirror. There was something behind her. When she turned to look at what it was, she noticed the tiny particles of dust floating in random motion in the rays of morning light coming through the window.

She stepped towards the floating dust.

She marvelled at how she could see the shape of each particle, the way it turned and caught the light as it tumbled through the air. The dust reminded her of the words spoken at funeral rites when a loved one was buried.

‘And we commit her body to the ground,’ the pastor would say. ‘We all go to the same place. All come from dust and all return to dust. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’

As she studied the slow swirling motion of the dust in the sunlight, she whispered, ‘That’s what I am now.’ Specks of dust floating in the air.

She lifted her hand and passed it slowly through the rays of light. Her hand caused no shadow, but she could swear that the motes of dust whirled up in little clouds around the movement of her hand.

‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘Just a little bit . . . I’m still here.’

Even if I’m just a minuscule speck of dust or a gust of air, then I still exist. There’s still hope.

She looked around at Essie’s empty room. The past was behind her. The future unknown. But what now?

She looked out the window towards the mountains. Great banks of dark clouds were rolling across the peaks, vast sheets of rain drinking up the rays of the sun. The water of the French Broad River had risen so high in the last few nights that the ancient river had burst its banks and flooded the lagoon. The lagoon had been drowned in the water of the rains and completely swept away.

The storms are coming, she thought.

And I’ve got to stop them.