Meg dreamed of swimming in warm water. She paddled under a gentle waterfall that splashed down on her head. All around her, warm red coral lit the dark-blue depths, and stars sparkled amongst the fish. The warm water rippled as the stars formed themselves into letters, and then into words. Meg couldn’t quite read them, but she almost understood. If only she could see them a little more clearly.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Above her, arched walls of brick reached up towards each other and joined in a glass dome. Dimly, she studied the pattern in the border of the glass. Too dark to see, but its intricate jewelled tones glowed dully.
Something touched her forehead, light as a feather. Then again.
Immediately above her, the iron crossbar, the four big hooks. Something dark and conical hanging from them.
Of course, Radcliffe Estate. She must get it finished. Brad would be here.
Meg’s thoughts lazily wandered. She smelled the faint fresh scent of winter jasmine.
Brad was here. He’d come to see her and … the secret room.
She’d been the one to discover it.
The room was finished, so beautiful.
Meg felt a glow inside, thinking of her hard work. The beautiful house, its hidden room. Here in the attic with all its secrets. She longed so to explore them further, but she was so lazy. So warm and sleepy.
She was swimming again. Stars and planets swam with her. The mermaid—the one with the smashed face—swam with her now, whole again.
Meg felt tears in her eyes, a great love and longing in her breast. Her name was Isabella, known as Petal. She lay just like this, long hair spread beneath her, as her beloved husband painted her portrait.
As her husband drew her blood, night after night.
Collected her blood, for the ritual transformation.
It had happened at midnight.
What time was it now?
Charles, I love you.
I love you, Petal.
Why do you kill me?
I want you to live forever, my darling.
I don’t want to live forever, Radcliffe.
But you must, my love.
Why, dearest?
Be quiet, my love, and trust me. I am here with you. Always.
Meg opened her eyes again to see a glistening drop of red fall from the tip of the cone. She heard it touch her forehead. It would trickle down now, brush her ear, run across the back of her neck.
But it didn’t.
Instead, the falling droplet grazed her skin and then infused itself into her body, her bloodstream. Her own blood thickened with its power, each drop strengthening a pounding sense of anticipation … of deliverance.
She began to feel sexually aroused.
Around Meg, in a faint ring, multiple ghostly figures hovered. The woman Meg had seen running towards her, in her bedroom, when Harper had disappeared. White gown waving gently around her ankles, flowing dark hair. Several copies of the woman, like multiple photographic exposures, stood around Meg in a circle. Meg had the feeling again of being peeled away in layers …
Who was Meg? Who was Isabella? Which layers were real, and which were not? The ghostly women spun around her, making Meg dizzy. As they revolved, words formed on their lips, and their words flowed upwards where they joined the stars. The dazzling union of words and stars was blinding. Meg’s mind and soul were sucked into the brilliance. Coloured light and pale faces streaked past as a chorale of crystalline voices filled her to the brim.
The sun rose and set, and the moon came up. A great panther leapt towards the moon as if to eat it.
Meg cried out.
Or was that the wind?
Or the angels singing?
Or bells ringing or clocks chiming?
Or children crying?
Meg’s brain was stitched with fear but cushioned in fog. Nothing was clear. She had to do something, but what was it?
Penny and Harper, where were they?
What had Lean said? In case of something untoward? Be careful what you drink?
Metempsychotic pharisee.
Meg struggled to call Lean’s words out of the fog, but she could only see his shaking limbs, bald fear writ plain in his wide eyes.
Penny’s warnings. What had Penny said to do?
Get the inhaler. Get out of here.
Meg swam in a red tide. So sleepy. Get something else … go somewhere …
Another drop of blood kissed her forehead. Above the cone, the crossbar shifted and groaned. The cone dropped down slightly with a clunk of its chains. Dust filtered into Meg’s eyes and mouth.
She closed her eyes. The warm drops came gently, one by one.
The crossbar groaned. Creaked. The stone vessel canted.
Someone was whispering. Alec? Brad?
The stars formed circles, then words, then circles of starry words that took Meg away.