“You look troubled, Saige.”
Aunt Prue watched her niece, her brow furrowed.
Saige focused on the roses that surrounded them. The gardeners really had done an exquisite job this summer.
And they should. My father pays them a small fortune to maintain the grounds.
No matter how hard she focused on the flowers, though, Saige couldn’t ignore her aunt. She felt Prue’s gaze biting into her.
The temperature had dropped dramatically as the afternoon slipped closer to dusk. Saige hugged herself, wishing she could thaw the cold out of her chest. “I’ve been on this island for less than five hours, and its already started.” She laughed, half in surprise, half in despair. “I’m seeing things.”
Aunt Prue took up both of Saige’s hands. “My dear girl. It’ll be okay. Wolvercraft Manor is just a house. Ashvall is just an island. Yes, some terrible things have happened here. Tragic accidents.” She wrapped her delicate fingers around Saige’s cheek, gently wiping some of her niece’s tears away. “What you see isn’t real. Your brother’s wedding is a happy occasion. Focus on that. It’ll remove the negative energy.”
Saige offered her a weak smile in return. “That’s what Dr Grigori said. She told me to come to the house. See it for what it really is. Just bricks and wood and glass. But how am I supposed to ignore these… things when they seem so real to me?”
No one understands.
Worse. No one had answers.
Aunt Prue’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. “Your father told me what happened on the yacht. He wants you to sleep in Aunt Violet’s room tonight.”
Saige shook her head. “Aunt Violet snores. Can’t I stay with you?”
Aunt Prue lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of Wolvercraft’s estate. Unlike the rest of her family, she hadn’t followed her brother’s success to the mainland but remained on the island, a curator, librarian, and historian. She loved Ashvall Island and worked hard to help the National Trust keep the tourist trade alive.
The knot of fear in Saige’s chest tightened when Prue didn’t answer. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that I stay in the house,” she persevered.
Her aunt bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry, Saige. I invited Dr Reynolds, a fellow historian, to the wedding. She’s staying with me. I have no room.”
“I could sleep on the couch.”
“I discussed that option with your father. He wants you to stay at the manor.”
The revelation made Saige feel like she’d been shoved off a high diving board without warning. Of course her father wouldn’t want to inconvenience his sister. Saige was a handful. A diagnosed handful. As a teenager, she woke up screaming from nightmares. She’d had panic attacks and migraines throughout her twenties. The medication had helped, but the only time she had ever truly been free of her “problem” was when she’d been with Jasper. She’d felt safe with him, happy, comfortable… at home. She hadn’t seen anything that wasn’t real. Sure, Jasper had wanted to keep their relationship a secret, but so had Saige. If the media hounds had gotten even a whiff of it, rumours and gossip would have been plastered all around social media. Saige could have imagined the headlines: “Rock Star Bad Boy Dates Deranged Schizophrenic. How Long Will It Last?”
Yes, keeping their relationship a secret had been the right call. Saige had wanted to share the news with her family first, then let the world know. It turned out she needn’t have worried. After Jasper left without any communication, her depression resumed. The nightmares, sleep paralysis, and panic attacks returned. The media had gotten word about her condition and splashed it online. Medication and psychotherapy could only do so much when the entire world thought you were crazy.
Yes, I’m a handful my aunt doesn’t deserve.
Saige tipped her head back and looked at the sky. “It’s been a really long day. I think I might go inside, find my room, and take a nap.”
She would absolutely not do that. Saige had been asleep for most of the morning. What she planned to do was find her bedroom and cry. Her throat felt sore and swollen, her eyes barely holding back unshed tears. Today had been hard. Tonight’s dinner promised to be harder. How could she pretend to be all right when she most definitely was not okay?
Aunt Prue squeezed her shoulder. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Saige turned to face her. “No. I’ll be fine.”
It's time to face the house.
She stood there for a moment, unsure whether she should ask. She trusted Aunt Prue, more than she did her father or Aunt Violet. Even Xav. They had all looked at her like she was a poor, disturbed little girl, but Aunt Prue was different. Her favourite saying was “There are always two sides to every story.”
Perhaps she would listen to Saige’s story now.
Prue brushed her fingers through her impeccable side parting, seeming determined that the wind wouldn’t ruin her hair. “What is it, dear?”
Saige’s voice was so small, she struggled to hear it herself. “Mum saw the same things as me. Maybe I’m not….”
Crazy.
Maybe I’m sane, and everything I’ve seen in the past is real.
Aunt Prue watched Saige with careful consideration. “Saige, no one can ever truly trust their eyes, ears, and brains. Your mother was ill. That illness took her life. You have the same condition, but you’re not like her. You’re stronger. Perhaps you’re right. Go inside and get some rest. I’ll come and get you before dinner.”
Saige nodded. The hope in her stomach dropped to her feet.
She walked back to the house, remembering the story her mother had told her.
About the woman she’d seen hanging from the tree.
* * *
The upper floors of Wolvercraft Manor had always been, in Saige’s opinion, too dark. She remembered as a child that even on the warmest summer days, with the windows open and the curtains drawn back, the sun could never seem to reach the manor, as though the house preferred to remain in eternal darkness. Now with dusk settled in and night approaching, Saige wandered the halls and passages with the acute sensation that she was being watched. It was the same feeling she’d experienced as a child. Her mother had told her they were spirits—entities that remained in the house. Elaine Wolvercraft, with her stunning blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes, had been a dedicated mother, but there were some things she insisted her daughter never tell her father, or her brother for that matter. The ghosts who walked Wolvercraft Manor were to remain their little secret.
Saige shivered and rubbed her arms.
Ghosts? Or madness?
She turned down a passage where the shadows seemed to close around her like hungry, cavernous monsters and fought to ignore the queasy tap dance that bounded in her stomach. Wolvercraft Manor hadn’t been accustomed to housing guests in decades, and each door had been marked with a number tag hung around the handle. Saige had been told in the foyer by her father’s hired concierge that she was in room twenty-two. No way was she staying with Aunt Violet. She’d never be able to deal with her aunt’s energised, bubbly personality, the way she verbalised all her thoughts and feelings, or her squealing, high-pitched laughter. Honestly, Saige had seen that woman’s squawk terrify a flock of birds.
She found her room, stepped inside, and fumbled for the light switch. Soft light lit her surroundings. Saige gasped as the memories took a moment to settle. This had been her bedroom as a little girl. She’d had a pink princess bed in the corner with a white canopy, her doll’s house sitting beside it on a small, rectangular table. On the opposite wall, her dolls had been arranged in order from favourite to least favourite. Saige wondered how she’d managed to sleep with them all staring at her.
The room had changed, of course. Thick draperies now shielded any light from the outside. A four-poster bed with a rich mahogany headboard was placed along the wall, the matching dressers on either side decorated with a glass vase of white flowers. The room was large and airy, with high ceilings and light fixtures in the shape of rosebuds. A fireplace that Saige recalled had never been used was stacked with timber.
Just for show.
She was positive no one would actually be allowed to light a fire.
Saige dropped onto the bed, feeling as though she’d been sucked into a memory where nothing made sense. Someone—probably one of the many staff her father had hired for the wedding—had brought her suitcase up and placed it near the wooden duchess. On the chaise lounge beside it was a wrapped package. She moved from the bed and picked it up. There was a note.
Please put some effort in tonight. For your brother’s sake. Zoe chose the dress. Also, I want you to sleep in Aunt Violet’s room tonight. She is next to you in twenty-one.
Love, Dad.
Inside was a light purple silk gown, the kind of frock worn at cocktail events. Saige bristled, her entire body stiff.
Put some effort in?
I don’t even want to frigging be here.
She dropped the dress, wishing she had scissors to cut it into large chunks. She flopped back onto the bed, but staring at the ceiling didn’t relax her.
Put some effort in, indeed. I’ll put effort into not showing up.
She closed her eyes, urging her brain to turn off, the way she did whenever she didn’t want to face her emotions. They were too overwhelming. Too suffocating.
The wind picked up outside, casting an eerie howl around the house. She shut it out. She didn’t need nature screwing with her mind too. The wind developed into a gale, which made Saige pause.
Why does that sound like it’s coming from inside the house?
From above?
Why does that sound like…
Crying?
Horrible, mournful cries that iced her to the bone.
Saige sat up.
The lady in the attic!
Saige had followed the voice once as a child. It had led her to the attic, but she had never gone up there, too afraid of what she might have found. She’d often heard those painful, wailing sobs at night, as though her ear were pressed right to the attic door.
Saige scrambled off the bed, found her wireless earbuds in the front pocket of her suitcase, and connected them to her phone. She found a track to listen to and dropped back onto the bed, shoving the pillow over her head, determined to drown out those miserable cries. She knew no one else could hear them.
Block it out. Block it out. Block it out.
She closed her eyes.
* * *
The dream started in Wolvercraft’s rose garden. Saige was eight years old again, playing dolls with her mother. Elaine had her hair loose, and it shone golden in the warm sunlight. She was still dressed in her white nightgown. She’d been ill, and Saige was afraid that playing outdoors would be too much for her mother, but Elaine had insisted. She was still beautiful, her lips full and plump, her eyes alive and perceptive, her skin creamy and smooth. How could Saige’s mother be sick when she looked so… healthy?
The pair pretended that Saige’s dolls were fairies in a rose kingdom. Butterflies flew among the flowers. Insects buzzed. Birds chirped. It was a little girl’s dream come true. But when clouds drifted over the sun, something changed in Elaine. She dropped the doll. It landed on a stone, a huge crack ripped through its porcelain head.
“Mum?”
Elaine didn’t answer. She stared at the trees. The huge maples and oaks no longer looked tranquil or inviting but twisted and gnarly. The hanging branches and roots were a gigantic web, and Saige imagined the forest preying on people like a spider. Sunlight had filtered out of the forest, replaced with cold streams of dark as the clouds coasted across the sky.
“Mum?”
Elaine stood up. She moved toward the forest, her long gown trailing over the grass like a ghostly bridal dress.
“Mum? Where are you going?”
Elaine never answered.
Saige discarded her doll and followed her mother out of the rose garden. She tried to slide her hand into her mother’s, but Elaine’s fingers were stiff and cold.
Like dead hands.
Saige was afraid. She’d never seen her mother act this way.
It has to be a fever, right?
Saige had read in a book that people could behave strangely under the influence of a fever. She dashed after Elaine. They crossed the lawn and approached the Hauteville Woods. Saige stopped. Her parents had always told her never to enter the woods alone, and yet her mother was doing exactly that.
Mum, stop. What are you doing?
Her father would never forgive her if something happened to Elaine. Saige made the uncomfortable decision. She stepped into the forest after her mother.
Saige had always admired the deciduous trees, blanketed by white and blue wild flowers, ferns, and moss. The stories of fairies and witches had always excited her, but now she wasn’t so sure. The forest didn’t smell sharp and earthy but of rotting vegetation and decay. Saige could have sworn her mother wasn’t walking but floating, her white nightgown twisting around her legs in the breeze. She continued to follow, struggling against the branches, using her small arms to slap away overhanging vines. She could no longer see birds or small animals skittering through the underbrush. The woods were empty, abandoned by all living things.
“Mum? Please come back.”
Her call went unanswered.
Tears of panic ran down her cheeks. Misery and silence encompassed her as she stumbled through the remainder of the woods and came out to the Cliffs of Eden. Her mother was standing at the tip of the peak.
Saige froze all over, her feet cemented to the grass. “Mum?”
Elaine turned around. Her eyes, which had always been a dazzling blue, were milky white orbs. Her blonde hair flapped in the breeze like reeds. There was nothing kind in the way her lips pulled back into a grisly smile. “Don’t let the wedding go ahead, Saige. Love is a curse.”
She fell back like a snapped tree, silently spinning into the depths.
Saige screamed.
She sat upright, the remnants of the dream still staining her eyes. Her skin was drenched in cold sweat, her breath heavy in her chest. She’d had this nightmare—memory—before, but it had never been so vivid. And her mother had never spoken to her.
“Don’t let the wedding go ahead, Saige. Love is a curse.”
She tore off the bed on shaky legs. Saige stilled as her eyes met the window, the blood suddenly icy in her veins.
No. That’s not possible.
The curtains were pulled back, and the window was open. Saige had a clear view to the Hauteville Woods. For a moment, she caught something white hanging from a tree, but it vanished in an eyeblink.
Saige stepped away. She most definitely had not drawn the curtains or opened the window. She backed into the bedroom door at the same time something pounded against it from the other side. Saige shrieked. She looked around the room for something to use as a weapon.
The door opened.
Saige held her breath.
Her father’s head popped in. “Saige, what’s wrong? I heard screaming.”
She collapsed onto the floor and sobbed, her heart giving in to violent shudders.