Only yesterday, Miss Vesper had all but said the exact same thing about Irréelle. She wondered if there was a word that had once woken her, brought her from the dark and the nothing into being. If so, then perhaps there was also a word that would collapse her bones, steal the thoughts from her mind, and extinguish her very existence.
“Like me.” She had not meant to speak the thought aloud.
“Exactly like you. Though you are considerably more destructive.”
“I’m sorry. Truly and deeply.”
“That may be, but you have taken things too far, Irréelle. Sometimes, it is not enough that you try so very hard to please me. I am most displeased.” Her shoulders went rigid, her features sharpened. She looked less like Miss Vesper and more like a stranger, still pretty and fair, and at the same time not.
Yet hearing her name spoken aloud gave Irréelle some hope, even if the rest of the words hit her painfully. She clambered to her feet. “I will do better. After all, you have kept me all this time.”
“I have not been keeping you. What a ridiculous thought. No, you are simply still here until I create another to replace you.” The words came out clipped between the tight lines of her mouth. “Which now must be sooner than I had planned.”
Irréelle felt all the blood drain from her face. She swayed on her feet, so light-headed her vision blurred, dark at the edges, like she was back in the underside of the graveyard.
“I—” Irréelle began, but Miss Vesper spoke over her.
“You are too troublesome. I find it distasteful to look at you.” However, she kept her cold eyes on Irréelle as she lowered her voice and said, quite determined and decided, “I am done with you. I will cut the tether. I will burn your bones. You will be no more.”
7
Candlewicks, Firewood, and Bone
Irréelle shuddered. Each word pierced her, just as sharp as any blade. She felt her heart constrict. Erratic as it was, she did not know how it still managed to beat.
I am not a real girl, thought Irréelle. I am only a girl of dust and bone. It should not matter what becomes of me. But she could not convince herself of this last point, because it mattered to her very much. More than anything she wanted to be real, and she had ruined any chance of Miss Vesper making her so.
Oh, but she was dizzy. No need to spin in circles for the world to tilt. Round or not, she was about to fall off the very edge.
“Please,” she said. “Miss Vesper, please wait.”
Miss Vesper ignored her plea. She clasped her hand on Irréelle’s arm and dragged her to the attic door. The grip was firm and Irréelle could not pull away, though she did not try very hard, not allowing herself to believe Miss Vesper could actually mean what she had said. She must only be trying to teach Irréelle a lesson.
Down, down, down the spiral staircase they went, faster than she would have liked when she was already so dizzy. She lost her footing, sliding instead of stepping. Thoughts of the careless girl who spilled down the stairs and snapped her neck flashed by. Grasping the railing, she regained her balance on the next step.
Miss Vesper seemed not to notice, but she did slow near the bottom, as if she too might have been thinking of that long-dead girl. Her heels clicked as they always did, an almost reassuring sound. Irréelle could barely keep up. She tripped again and stumbled right into the very straight back of Miss Vesper, who neither slowed nor misstepped, and only continued to pull Irréelle along. It felt like her arm would be ripped from its socket.
She could not keep a straight thought in her head. All she could think of was the chill of Miss Vesper’s hand on her arm. Icicles for fingers. As if Miss Vesper’s blood ran cold.
They passed by the study and through the dining room and into the kitchen. One-handed, Miss Vesper rummaged through the drawers. She opened one without closing another (the disorganization and haste was most unlike her), and pawed through silverware and wooden spoons and all the other utensils she never used, until she found what she was looking for.
Her fingers closed around a book of matches.
Irréelle shook at the sight of it. “What are those for?”
“They are for lighting fires,” Miss Vesper said. “They are for burning things, such as candlewicks, firewood … and bones.”
“You cannot really mean to…” Irréelle choked on the rest of the words.
“Oh yes. I can,” said Miss Vesper. She lit a candle left out on the counter and tucked the matchbook away in one of the little pockets of her black dress. “Take it.”
Irréelle lifted the candle and Miss Vesper dragged her forward once more, back into the hall and through the door into the basement. The door closed, and Irréelle heard the old tarnished key that always rested unused in the keyhole turn in the lock. And then they were going down the last flight of stairs, into the cold, into the dark, into the basement.
Never before had Irréelle been frightened of the basement or the dark. It was a place like any other. In fact, it was one of the places most familiar to her. She did not mind the dusty corners or the cobwebs or the old-potato smell. Of course, it was not as warm or as cozy as the study, with those down-filled armchairs before the fireplace and the fresh lilac air breezing through the open windows, but she knew she did not quite belong in a room so nice as that.
However, as they descended into the basement, she began to tremble.
“Miss Vesper,” said Irréelle. Her voice was muffled in the enclosed space. “I have learned my lesson well enough. Please let me help you with the other task. I will stay out of sight. No one will know I am yours.”
Miss Vesper took the last three steps in quick succession, almost skipping down them. She turned on Irréelle, pinching her arm between tight fingers as she did so. With Irréelle still on the steps, they stood almost eye level to each other. The candle’s flame flickered between them.
Miss Vesper placed her hand to her chest, right over her heart. “Listen to me one last time. You would draw all the neighbors’ suspicious eyes to my door. I will not allow it. If anyone were to see you lurching through the graveyard, they would think they had seen a ghost.” She yanked Irréelle down the last few steps. “Or worse. No one should ever set their eyes upon you.”
She pushed Irréelle ahead of her. “Sit,” she said, shoving Irréelle down onto a crate of potatoes.
Hot wax dripped onto Irréelle’s hand. It stung for a second, but dried so quickly on her skin the pain was gone the very next second. She thought it would hurt much worse, that the wax would sink into her bones and begin to burn them, just as Miss Vesper was threatening to do.
Although she wanted to deny it, it was beginning to sink in that Miss Vesper was entirely serious. Irréelle’s heart tightened up into a little ball, and she wanted to curl up around it, protecting it.
Miss Vesper walked into the shadows. “Now where is the kerosene?”
Irréelle’s head snapped up. She gripped the rough edge of the crate beneath her. Her mind raced. She needed a plan, but every idea that came to mind she discarded. She could not run back up the stairs because Miss Vesper had locked the door and hidden the key in her pocket. She could not snuff out the flame because Miss Vesper would only light it again. She had not even the broom to defend herself.
And then, when she had almost lost hope, she knew what she had to do.
She took a deep breath to gather herself. Then she slowly stood up, careful not to make a sound or tip the crate and send the potatoes rolling. She set down the candle so Miss Vesper would not notice the light flickering from one place to another.
Miss Vesper moved boxes here to there, rattling cans and shifting crates as she searched the shelves for the tin of oil. The noise covered the sounds of Irréelle’s creaking bones and her footsteps across the floor.
She touched her hands to the brick wall, but they were shaking so badly, and she kept looking back over her shoulder, so it took her longer than it should have to find those indentations in the wall. When at last her fingers l
atched on, she pressed down with all her might, and the door to the tunnels swung open with a whoosh of stale air.
The passageway was as black as night.
At the same time she went for the candle, Miss Vesper turned to face her. Irréelle did not hesitate. She swiped the candle up in one hand and darted for the door. But she had gone no more than a few steps when a terrible tugging (so very different from the pull of the bones) drew her backward.
“Come,” Miss Vesper said.
Though she strained to go forward, Irréelle shuffled back another step. It was frightening, to be commanded by the very thread that connected her to Miss Vesper. Irréelle struggled against it, leaning toward the door. She had never felt so small, so insignificant, in all her life.
“Come,” Miss Vesper demanded.
Irréelle’s feet betrayed her again, but she still had control of her hands. When she came even with the crate, she gave it a great shove. As the crate toppled, potatoes tumbled to the ground. Miss Vesper leapt out of the way. Her focus faltered. The tugging sensation melted away, and Irréelle raced for the door.
“Where do you think you are going?” Miss Vesper called out, her voice fatigued. “You know there is no way out.”
Anywhere else, Irréelle thought, though it broke her heart, for she loved Miss Vesper even then. She did not want to, but the feeling was not one she could shake loose, for it was settled deep in her bones.
Candle in hand, she shut the door, leaving Miss Vesper in absolute darkness. Something heavy thudded against the wall from the other side. She thought she heard Miss Vesper shout her name, but it sounded very far away through the earth and bricks, so she could not be sure.
She did not wait to see if Miss Vesper would follow her into the passageway. Irréelle ran.
8
The Midnight Creatures
She had never run so fast in her life or been so light on her feet. It almost felt as if she were someone else. Someone who did not let crooked bones or fear slow her. Someone who defied orders and made her own choices. Each footfall, though not altogether quiet, was purposeful. She flew down the passageway, white hair streaming behind her.
The candle’s flame fluttered. Shadows bounced across the walls.
Irréelle slowed and stole a glance over her shoulder. Nothing but darkness. She listened for any sound other than her breathing.
From the gloom came the groan of the hidden door.
Irréelle backed away. She could not pull her eyes from the pocket of darkness. Within it, the smallest flame sparked to life. Miss Vesper had struck a match. It hovered there a moment, glowing red, and then dropped through the air, touching oil as it landed.
All at once the light swelled and then snaked closer, a line of fire along the wall. It burned in the metal trough, chasing after Irréelle.
At the far end of the passageway, Miss Vesper stood in the doorway, a slim silhouette. The flames leapt, throwing shadows and light upon her face. Her eyes glittered orange, reflecting the fire.
She glared at Irréelle but made no move to come after her. Not even the tips of her shoes entered the tunnel, as if Miss Vesper could not bear the confinement. Holding very still, she lifted her hand.
Irréelle tensed, expecting her feet to listen to some instruction from Miss Vesper and march her back to the basement, but they continued to follow Irréelle’s wishes. Although something tugged in her belly, the distance between them must have been too great for Miss Vesper to overcome. But there was little time to savor the moment.
Around them, the walls trembled. Irréelle stumbled as dirt broke off in great chunks from the ceiling. It clumped together in midair, shifting and pulsing, as if it breathed in sync with Miss Vesper’s temper.
With a twist of her wrist, another tremor shook the tunnel. The dirt scattered and re-formed into familiar shapes—the creatures of the night Irréelle was used to seeing hanging upside down from the eaves of the house. Only these earth-forged bats were misshapen things, with lumpy bodies and terrible, pointed ears.
They glowered at Irréelle with empty eye sockets and gnashed their ugly dirt-made teeth. Miss Vesper pointed one long finger at Irréelle. In a black cloud, the bats flew down the tunnel, so many of them they blotted out the figure of Miss Vesper.
Irréelle shrieked, staggering toward the other passageways even though she knew no way out of them. Always she had returned to Miss Vesper after collecting bone dust. The thought of escape had never crossed her mind in the past, but it spurred her on now.
One more backward glance confirmed the bats were gaining on her unimpressive lead. They flew as if they had always known how to do so.
Irréelle lumbered forward as if she still had not mastered her form. Her legs pumped an awkward rhythm. Her breath hitched. She ran until she thought her lungs would burst with all their wheezing, but she could not outrun Miss Vesper’s monstrous bats.
Their oversized shadows reached her first. She flinched, as if something immaterial might still be able to touch her.
Then the bats swooped closer. Their wings beat the air, a lacework of dirt and cobwebs. They brushed past her cheeks and darted between her ankles. Irréelle recoiled, losing her footing. Her shoulder slammed into the wall and a sharp pain shot down her arm. But she did not fall.
She clutched the candle tight, protecting the flame as best she could while swatting at the bats with her other hand. They crumbled when she struck them. Dirt spattered her face.
But they kept coming, tiny claws pinching, as if Miss Vesper meant for them to snatch her by the arms and drag her back to the basement.
Irréelle would not let them. She had come this far already, striking out on her own, and the free-fall feeling of escape rushed through her.
The glow of her candlelight danced across the entrance to the diverging passageways just ahead. She charged forward, elbowing the bats flying close by her side and knocking the creatures from the air. They fell soundless beneath her boots. She darted into the closest passageway and took the first turn. The rest of the bats followed, although some were not as swift as others and crashed into the walls, scattering dirt as they broke apart.
They did not know the tunnels the way Irréelle did, how sharp the turns, where the ceiling lowered, the smaller paths leading from one passageway to the next. And they were moving too quickly, so eager to catch her that some flew right past as she took another turn and then another.
Her feet led her deeper, toward the tunnels that wound and twisted beneath the oldest part of the graveyard. Here, her favorite skeletons rested, and though she hated to disturb them, Irréelle felt safer the nearer she came to the hum of their bones, as if they would watch over her and ward off Miss Vesper’s bats. Though the bones thrummed kindly at her heartstrings, they could not slow its over-fast beating.
Something cold and crumbly touched her neck. A bat sneaking closer and the whisper of its wing. Its fangs bared, ready to strike at her throat.
Irréelle batted it away, swallowing a scream as more of them formed, wings and bodies and mouths tearing loose from the ceiling.
She sped up, winding a confusing path farther and farther into the underside of the graveyard. The midnight creatures fought one another for the lead, scratching and clawing and biting their way forward. It slowed them, briefly, and Irréelle stole away, slipping out of view before they rounded the corner.
She took several quick turns. Behind her, the raging of bat wings softened. She could not tell how far behind they had fallen.
Every sound in the dark warned of their approach, or something worse. She told herself it was a lone bat and nothing more. Yet what if it was not a bat? What if Miss Vesper found the courage to enter the tunnel, spreading fire in her wake? Irréelle sniffed the air, but the only smoke came from her candle.
However, fire was not Miss Vesper’s only tool. If she grew tired of the chase, she might whisper one word and still Irréelle, just as she had the Hand. Miss Vesper might have thought this all a game, one she could w
in at any moment.
But it was a cruel game.
Irréelle knew there must be goodness in Miss Vesper, for how could Irréelle love her otherwise? Did a creator not need love to craft its creation? But any glimmer of goodness or love seemed to be locked away, something she was unwilling to share with Irréelle.
Irréelle stopped quite suddenly, caught by the heaviness of her thoughts. She looked left and then right. Each path was equally dark. And each path echoed with the whooshing of bat wings striking air. Though she stood perfectly still, her heart pounded.
She tore around the next corner.
And ran headlong into the army of bats.
Her hand flew up to cover her face, but it was too late. They swooped close, rushing over her body, grabbing at her hair and dress. Her skin prickled wherever they touched her.
“Get off! Let go!” she cried, slapping and squirming as they gripped tighter, dragging her several feet. She dug her heels into the ground and thrust out her arm, smacking several bats into the wall.
The rest fought their way closer. She swatted at the ones clutching her shoulders and kicked at the ones circling her ankles, and at last broke free. Without once looking back, she charged down the nearest tunnel. Her feet clomped. Her legs teetered.
And then the toe of her boot struck something across the path. She stumbled, but caught herself against the wall. A draft blew her hair into her face.
She stood in front of the one archway that she always, always avoided.
The whisper came on the breeze. That ghostlike call. It sent chills through her body, like the worst tickle. She started to edge past and away, but then, in the darkness, closer than the beating of the bats’ dirt-made wings, she heard rustling.
9
The Whispering Passageway
The rustling drew closer, a scuttling sound that filled the tunnel so Irréelle could not determine from which direction it came. It could be approaching from ahead, and of course, the bats attacked from behind.
The Bone Garden Page 4
