I shivered as I looked down at the doll. “I’m so sorry.”
The woman shook her head and smiled. “My Emma Jane was pretty beat up though, not like that one.” The woman jerked her chin in the doll’s direction. “It looks brand new.”
Her smile wilted for a moment as she looked back in her mind to some memory I could not see. “Our house burned down when I was in sixth grade. Everything was lost, including Emma Jane. You probably think I’m silly, crying over a stupid doll. But when I had Emma Jane with me everything felt less hopeless, you know.”
I thought of the violin now hidden in the back of my closet. Of the music I’d played on it that helped me through the difficult times. Yes, I did know. It must have shown in my face because the woman smiled at me again through her fast-drying tears.
“I’m in a good place now,” she said. “Seeing that doll there, looking so much like Emma Jane, it was like coming full circle.” I could tell by the soft expression on the woman’s face that whatever the phantoms of her past were, she had come to terms with them long ago. Nothing was left now but bittersweet memories of a much beloved childhood toy.
The woman put out a hand and rested it ever so briefly on my bruised shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For noticing.” The woman nodded silently to me before walking away. I watched her exit the Postmodern Doll Room and head back toward the entrance hall.
Noticing. I was good at that. Most of my life, I’d been too sick to be anything more than a spectator on the sidelines. It made me very perceptive.
I glanced at the Cabbage Patch Doll that I now thought of as Emma Jane. She didn’t seem so plain and inanimate to me anymore. She was more powerful and precious, somehow.
Like a living thing.
That’s when I remembered the rogue reflection. I glanced around me trying to locate it. But the sunburst I’d followed into the room had managed to vanish completely during my conversation with the woman. Almost as if the light meant to draw my attention to her distress, then disappeared when its task was complete.
Chapter Eight
My need for food had grown desperate. I had to find Aunt Victoria, or at the very least a kitchen, before my strength collapsed on me completely. As I stumbled sluggishly through the many rooms and twisting hallways that made up Kensington House, they all started to look frighteningly alike.
Just when panic began to nibble at the edge of my nerves, I stepped into a hallway that was different. It seemed darker than the rest, like a couple of light bulbs had burned out and nobody bothered to replace them. The rest of the house was so light and airy—but this hallway—it didn’t feel right somehow.
There were fake candlesticks with small, flame-shaped light bulbs mounted along the walls. Every one of them seemed to be in working order. The hall before me stood vacant, except for a curious patch of shadow cast right in the middle of the floor. It was about three feet across and only a few steps away from where I stood.
It was the same sort of shadow cast by a dead fly caught inside a light fixture. Blobby, distorted—barely even there. It was as if someone had stood in that spot only a moment ago and left a mere shadow of their self behind when they went away. Looking at it gave me a twitchy feeling deep inside my bones.
Giving the shadow as wide a berth as possible, I continued on my way. An eerily familiar feeling followed me down the hall, creeping after me like a hungry animal at the edge of night. I paused a moment and glanced over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was stalking me.
The shadow had moved.
It sat only a few steps away from me—exactly the same distance it had been when I first noticed it at the other end of the hall. It wasn’t going anywhere at the moment, but I had the irrational feeling that it might start creeping forward again if I didn’t keep my attention firmly glued to it.
“Why don’t you just admit it,” an angry voice suddenly exploded from the room next door. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of me from the first day I got this job!”
Distracted, I turned back to the open doorway up ahead. Who was that? It sounded like a girl. Possibly a teenager.
“No one is out to get you, Kat. Least of all, me.” This voice sounded older and calmer than the first. Definitely a grown woman.
I sent a quick glance behind me, noting that the gray patch hadn’t budged while I wasn’t looking. That was reassuring. I moved silently over to the doorway and peeked into the next room over. It looked like a gift shop filled with cheap porcelain dolls, music boxes, oversized books with slick covers, and a large variety of old-fashioned candies and gourmet chocolates.
With arms crossed, Gabrielle stood before a small cash register in a corner. Behind the register was a young woman, just out of high school maybe. She had dark hair streaked through with electric blue highlights. Chin down, eyes up, the girl ground a piece of gum between her back teeth while giving Gabrielle the most scathing I-couldn’t-care-less-what-you-have-to-say look.
“I understand your difficulty,” Gabrielle said, still perfectly calm.
“Oh, sure you do,” the girl said in a nasty undertone. “Got a little brother with medical conditions yourself, have you?”
Gabrielle frowned, but she didn’t lose her temper. In fact, she sounded even more relaxed and reasonable when she finally spoke. “You were hired to work every Friday. In order to keep your employment, you must work those hours assigned to you. If you can’t fulfil that obligation—then perhaps employment somewhere else would be a better fit for you at this time. I’d be happy to give you a glowing recommendation.”
In response, the girl chewed her gum and few more times, then leaned forward and calmly popped a large blue bubble in Gabrielle’s face. The beautiful curator didn’t even flinch. I waited for the explosion to come. Yelling, screaming, or at the very least a long lecture with the words “you’re fired” thrown in at some point. To my amazement, Gabrielle said not a word, but smoothly turned and strode out a side door, her platform heels clicking sharply against the wood floor. Clearly the conversation was over.
What exactly had just happened?
I hesitantly took a step closer, hoping to get a better look at this strange creature who had the guts to stand up to her boss like that. The blue-haired girl didn’t look all that scary.
The shadows on the floor in front of me dimmed and shifted for a moment, as if someone had stepped between me and the fake candles at my back. A silhouette, vaguely resembling a head and shoulders, slid along the floor under my feet. I watched, frozen in horrified disbelief, as it stretched and grew, swallowing up my own shadow with its towering size. A feeling of warmth tingled along my skin as someone stealthily leaned in behind me, so close, their body heat radiated through the back of my t-shirt. A soft breath stirred lightly against my skin. I let out a yelp as I whirled around to face the sneaky intruder, a scream mounting in my throat. The sound died before it could emerge, snuffed out by stunned surprise.
There was nothing but an empty hallway behind me.
I scanned the floor, trying to locate the creepy gray patch. It had vanished without a trace.
Shocked, I stumbled clumsily backward into the gift shop, staggering madly to catch my balance. I only just managed not to fall flat on the floor. I glanced over at the blue-haired girl in embarrassment. She’d stopped chewing, her dark eyes riveted unblinkingly to my face.
“What are you trying to do, scare me to death?” she demanded angrily.
I glanced down at my shadow which sat all by its lonesome beneath me. I blinked down at the thing in disbelief. I’d seen the silhouette of a person slipping up behind me. How could I possibly have imagined something that looked so real? I folded my arms, trying to hide the fact that my hands were now shaking. I really needed to eat something as soon as possible.
“He-lloooo,” the blue-haired girl said, snapping her fingers in my direction.
“I-I w-was looking
for my aunt,” I stuttered, trying to regain my composure. “Have you seen her?”
“What do I look like, a missing persons investigator?” the girl demanded. “How should I know where your aunt is?”
“I thought she might have come through here.” I bumped down a hill of rambling nervousness, picking up speed as I went. “Or maybe she said where she planned to go, and you heard her?”
That was me, all right. Absolutely brilliant under pressure.
The girl placed both hands on the cash register table and leaned toward me. “There are people running around all over this lousy museum. How could I possibly know which one of them was your aunt even if I did see her?”
“Because my aunt happens to own this museum.” I could barely get the words out past my dry throat.
The girl blinked. She blinked again. Then she broke into a big, sunny grin. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, instantly transforming her from a glaring gargoyle to a warm and smiling angel.
“Get out! You’re Wren, Victoria’s mysterious niece?” she laughed, a light airy sound that did not fit the rude and short-tempered creature who had snapped at me not one moment ago. My confusion must have shown on my face, because she laughed again, waving one hand in the air as if shooing away any invisible doubts I might have about her sanity.
“Sorry about getting in your face like that, I thought you were one of the guests,” she explained. “They drive me crazy, asking stupid questions all the time. If they really want to know where the restroom is, they might try reading a few signs.”
If that’s how she treated guests, I couldn’t imagine the gift shop making too many sales. The girl came out from behind the cash register and offered me one of her hands. Her nail polish was a perfect match for the blue streaks in her hair. I hesitantly reached out and shook hands with her, hoping she wouldn’t notice how clammy my palm was. She squeezed so hard I swear I felt my bones grinding together.
“I’m Katherine Saunders, Kat for short,” she said. “Working the gift shop is my summer job.”
Kat wrinkled her nose as she glanced at a frilly porcelain doll nearby. “Dolls aren’t really my thing, but antiques are. You’ve got to start somewhere if you want to get places in this business, you know?”
I didn’t. And it must have shown.
Kat paused to look me over head to toe. I fidgeted uncomfortably under her careful scrutiny. I tried to see myself as she did—baggy, black t-shirt and jeans that didn’t fit me anymore because of all the muscle loss, unfashionably short and fuzzy red hair, pale and sickly. For the first time, it occurred to me how truly odd I must seem to those around me.
“Love your refugee cut.” Kat gave an approving nod. “Wish I could get away without wearing make-up like that. I don’t have the kind of natural beauty it takes to pull off a look that severe. It’s really sick.”
I wasn’t sure if I should take her assessment of my looks as a compliment or be completely offended. Refugee cut? A look that severe? Of course, this came from a girl who obviously thought electric blue hair was the height of awesome. I decided to err on the side of caution, just in case.
“Uh—thanks?”
“Your aunt is the coolest lady I’ve ever met,” Kat said excitedly. “Ms. Chasswell started at the bottom working part-time in an antique shop and worked her way to the top of her game without so much as a college degree. That’s just lit!”
I nodded silently, not sure if Kat knew it was my mother’s fault Aunt Victoria had to drop out of college.
“Victoria traded her way up the ladder one item at a time and made a real name for herself in the world of antiques,” Kat continued. “It takes a shrewd dealer to make it in this game. Now she’s filthy rich and the owner of her own museum. Career goals—you know? I totally want to be her someday.”
I nodded again. Even though I already knew all this, I figured it might be better to let Kat go on about a topic she seemed to like so much. If it kept her from snapping my head off again, it was worth a little review.
Kat stopped and gave me another once over. “Funny that Victoria never mentioned you before now. Is there bad blood between your family and her?”
I didn’t trust myself to answer this extremely rude question, so I just shook my head firmly. Aunt Victoria was extremely private about her personal life, so I wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t shared.
“That’s weird,” Kat said thoughtfully, as if she could not imagine Aunt Victoria ever keeping anything from her. “So, you’re staying until the end of summer, I assume? It’ll be nice having someone closer to my age. Gabrielle said you were sixteen, right? I just graduated, but I guess you’ll have to go back home once school starts, huh?”
I just wobbled my head in a noncommittal fashion. Obviously, she didn’t know anything about why I was really here.
My stomach gave out a loud growl. I’d become so used to pain and discomfort over the years that I’d learned to block it out without even thinking. I usually ignored all warning signs until I was in a bad way. Like now. I felt lightheaded, as if I was going to keel over any second. I needed to get some food into my poor cancer-ravaged body as fast as possible.
“Kat, do you happen to know where the kitchen is?”
“Sure.” Kat bent forward and pointed at the doorway Gabrielle had just marched through. “Two rooms over that way, last door on the left. Your key should get you inside.”
“Thank you,” I said in sincere gratitude.
Kat smiled. “No prob. Any time.”
I gave the hallway behind me, now eerily empty of any rogue shadows, one last dubious glance before heading off to find the elusive kitchen.
I don’t know if anything followed me because I didn’t look back.
Chapter Nine
Feeling much better after breakfast, I wandered off to look for Aunt Victoria and quickly found her in the main lobby, slyly observing the general chaos going on in the museum with a bemused smile on her twitching lips. She noticed me standing nearby and beckoned me over to join her in watching the entertainment.
“Come to revisit the scene of your crime?” Aunt Victoria said, raising one mischievous eyebrow in my direction.
“It was an accident,” I said defensively. “I didn’t mean to scare all those kids so bad.”
Aunt Victoria chuckled to herself, clearly finding the whole thing extremely humorous. “Where’s your bandage?” She nodded in the direction of my sprained wrist.
“It’s fine. I don’t need it anymore.” I’d left the bandage lying on the study floor, stubbornly deciding I was done with it. I waited for Aunt Victoria to protest my decision, but she didn’t say a word.
The day campers had finished their tour with Matt and were now wandering in and out of every room, talking and laughing loudly together. Inspired by my sudden appearance earlier, one freckle-faced boy was hiding out behind Fiona, scaring anyone who passed too close—whether they were in his class or not. One of his younger victims was so frightened that she burst into tears.
“Where are those kids’ teachers?” I asked under my breath.
“I think one of them just ran past, in hot pursuit of a group of boys playing tag,” Aunt Victoria said. “It’s quite a lively group they’ve got.”
Lively? Completely out of control was more like it.
“I had no idea museum guests would all be so jumpy,” I said, watching the crying girl’s irate mother drag her terrified daughter away from Freckle Face and into another room. “Who exactly is supposed to be haunting this place, anyway?” I tried to make it sound casual, like I’d asked out of passing curiosity and not because a seriously creepy grey shadow had followed me down a deserted hallway not too long ago.
“Popular opinion says it’s Xavier’s spirit that does most of the haunting. But I’ve talked to a fair few psychics and ghost hunters who feel quite strongly that Emily and Margaret might still be hanging around as well.”
Three ghosts? Was she kidding me?
Catching the eye of a
group of girls who were using a nearby bench to try and reach a small china doll high on a shelf above their heads, Aunt Victoria slowly but firmly shook her head. The girls jumped down and backed off quick, casting sheepish looks in her direction as they retreated into the next room.
“Has anyone actually seen the spirits that haunt this place?” I asked, trying not to let my rising apprehension show.
“Of course not,” Aunt Victoria said with a chuckle. “Ghosts never do anything as straight forward as show themselves in public. They’d quickly lose their mystique if they did.”
Her jovial sarcasm had an immediate calming effect on my nerves. Clearly, Aunt Victoria thought the whole haunted house thing was a delightful joke.
“How do any of these people even know who the ghost is supposed to be? If they can’t see them, I mean.
Aunt Victoria raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. “Most people who claim to have ghostly encounters report nothing more than a feeling of being watched, or the sound of footsteps when nobody is there—nothing very specific as far as gender or age. But each museum visitor is very definite about who they think the ghost is. Some sort of ghostly intuition that I was obviously born without.”
Reluctantly, I thought about the broad shadow I’d seen earlier. Much too tall to be the silhouette of either a petite Victorian doll maker or a young, murdered girl.
So not good.
“If it’s only a matter of choosing, I vote we make Emily Kensington the official museum ghost,” I said.
“Why Emily?” Aunt Victoria asked, cocking her head to one side in curiosity.
“If I have to live with a spirit haunting my house, I’d prefer a sweet, innocent nine-year-old girl to a full-grown murderer.”
“Or a slightly unstable doll maker,” Aunt Victoria said quietly under her breath.
“Say what now?” I turned to my aunt in surprise.
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