by Anya Allyn
Balled sheets of paper littered the floor beneath the desk. On top of the desk sat an aged, discolored sheet of paper filled with scratchy, blotchy writing—much of it crossed out. Molly replaced the quill into a bottle of ink, her hand stained black.
“I don’t know how people ever wrote with those things.” She smiled ruefully at me. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I just didn’t want to believe what you were telling me.”
I attempted to return her smile, grateful she’d forgiven me for shutting her out like I did. Bending over the desk, I read what she’d written:
Universe 1
Contains the Ice World. Where Cassie grew up and lived before the moment of her escape from the dollhouse. Somehow, the Ethan and Sophronia of this world escaped the dollhouse. We don’t know what happened to the others.
Universe 2
The world where I grew up. An exact copy of the Ice World up until the time Cassie entered into the cave of the serpent. The Cassie that was born to this world died in the cave of the serpent. The Ethan of this world is in prison, as is his grandfather.
Universe 3
If no police records in the world could match Sophronia or Prudence, and universe one and two were identical up to a point, could they both come from another universe?
Where we are now
? ? ?
Serpent cave
The cave is a portal. It exists only in the world of the serpent?
She gazed up at me. “I’m trying.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you—if you hated me now.”
“That won’t happen. We’re in this together... even if it’s across universes.”
Nodding, I drew a deep breath. “You’re incredible. I showed you insanity and you made sense of it.”
“I've been awake for hours. I had a lot of time to think. And I thought of something that made me see the truth. Do you remember how Sophronia was walking at the museum?”
“Yes? With the limp.”
Molly nodded. “I asked the hospital about her, after I came out of my coma. They told me the cast had just come off her leg—they had reset her leg months earlier. Why would she still be walking as though her legs were different lengths?”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re right. The Sophronia we saw at the museum had never been in hospital.” I pointed to Molly’s words underneath the title, Universe 3. “That would explain why Sophronia refused to tell anyone her full name. Maybe she didn’t exist in this world before she was brought to the dollhouse, and she knew it.”
Molly’s eyes were distant. “She was always so full of secrets.”
“Why did she treat us like she did, at the museum?” My stomach tightened.
“Whatever she’s protecting, she’s protecting fiercely.” A shadow crossed Molly’s face. “Is it possible… that she has the book? The book that Henry and those people are looking for?”
I met her gaze, my breath catching in my chest. “If she has it, why doesn’t she just… destroy it?”
Molly shook her deep red locks of hair.
"And what about what we heard Henry and the others say? They can reach five other earths. Two parallel earths that are in the fourteenth century and three others. We know what one of the others are--a parallel earth that's in the same time as this one. That just leaves two more that we don't know about…."
We fell quiet for moments, puzzling on Sophronia, puzzling on the words Molly had written down, puzzling on the impossible concept of other earths—thoughts that flashed in my mind on a knife’s blade.
“Molly?” I said quietly.
She eyed me attentively.
“Am I different? I mean, am I different to the girl you knew in the dollhouse?”
She went to answer and then pulled back. She answered with a question instead. “Am I?”
We looked at each other with a troubling shadow of doubt. I was just a copy of the girl she’d known. And she was a copy of the girl I’d known. We were like newborns who’d heard and felt the distant murmurs of unknown places beyond the womb, and had just been thrust into it.
I exhaled softly. "Maybe those are the wrong questions for right now. We have to find a way out of here—get away from the castle."
“Yes.” Molly tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. “We need to plan our next move. Just like we were doing before. Everything’s changed, but we can’t let them keep on planning what happens to us.”
My head thudding, I nodded.
A faint scuffling noise sounded above us. For the first time, I noticed two narrow slits in the ceiling—one above each bed. Someone was staring down, watching. They moved quickly away when they saw me looking up.
Molly followed my gaze, startling. “Those are murder holes. I read about medieval castles in Jessamine’s library. They’re supposed to be there to drop things down on invading enemies. I haven’t read of any being in bed chambers.”
“And those are directly above where we sleep….”
We said no more. Whoever had been listening had already heard enough.
We made our way out and down the stairwell. The families of the castle were already seated in the dining room, eating bread and eggs. And drinking wine. It seemed they drank wine with every meal.
Zach kept his gaze fixed downwards. Sienna stole furtive glances at him. Aisha and Lacey picked at their food—Aisha’s hair and clothing disheveled, as though she’d drunk far too much the night before. I suspected she was spending much of her days here drinking. Viola giggled as Maypole stole pieces of food from everyone’s breakfast plates. Molly and I seated ourselves at the table, but ate little.
Henry strode in with heavy boots and an armful of guns. “It’s the morning of our monthly hunt.” He dumped the pistols and rifles on the table. “If we don’t keep the traditions of the castle, then who are we? Come, descendants of Lord Balthazar Batiste. Choose your weapons.”
My spine tensed at the sight of all the guns. They looked antique—long bodied, with polished wood and floral silver carvings. Emerson and Parker grinned at each other at the selection of weapons on the table.
Zach reluctantly took the pistol that was handed to him. His parents selected guns and walked off hand-in-hand—the two of them dressed in antique hunting gear.
Viola marched up to Henry in her thigh-high boots, short skirt and hunting jacket—Maypole on her shoulder and Lucy the dog at her feet. She demanded to be given a pistol too.
“You are more likely to shoot one of us than shoot any game,” said Henry derisively.
“Piffle. I am an expert shot and you know it.” She took two pistols and spun them in her hands. She gave Henry a look of mock-contempt as she followed the others out—the monkey turning around to blow a raspberry at Henry.
“Don’t go outside,” Zach said in a low voice as he passed Molly and me. He hadn’t bothered wearing hunting gear like the rest of them.
“He still cares for you,” whispered Molly.
“He just feels guilty,” I replied. “But if he says we shouldn’t go out, maybe that means we can. Like, maybe there’s no one to stop us.”
Aisha and Lacey and a few others remained at the table—looking like scattered and lost chess pieces. Molly and I rose and followed the shooters through corridors and halls. The people stepped through an enormous archway onto a wooden bridge.
“My God, it’s an actual drawbridge,” breathed Molly.
Fog closed around Zach as he turned to stare back toward the castle. The people disappeared one by one into the white mists.
Gunshot echoed across the moors.
“How can they even see out there?”
“I don’t know.” Molly frowned deeply as she gazed out into the fog.
We jumped as we noticed Francoeur standing behind us. “You two must remain in the chateau.”
“We wanted some air—it’s a bit stuffy in that old castle,” said Molly.
He gave a single shake of his head. “There are places everywhere
out there where one who is unfamiliar with the moors might fall to their death. I cannot allow you to venture out in such a thick fog.”
He ushered us back into what he called the parlor. The others were already seated in there on the plush chairs and daybeds. Aisha took a book from the library shelf and sat to read it, looking bored and weary. Satisfied that he had steered Molly and me into where we were supposed to be, Francoeur bowed and stood back.
Molly pulled a wry expression at Aisha. “Not so different from the dollhouse, your life now.”
Aisha gazed blankly at Molly. “You accepted your fate in the dollhouse. You’ll learn to accept it here too.”
Molly shook her head. “I refuse.”
Through the French doors of the library, I watched Lacey seat herself at a grand piano in the Great Hall. She played something dark and gloomy—maybe something of her own creation.
I turned to Francoeur. “May Molly and I take a walk? We don’t feel like reading.”
He rose a gray eyebrow. “You are free to roam the castle. At your will.”
“Thank you.” I tried not to show surprise.
Molly and I headed quickly from the library. Lacey turned as we walked away, her blue eyes soulful. I hadn’t seen her eyes change color again, and I was beginning to believe that she was right—that I harbored such resentment against her that I’d imagined her as some kind of monstrous being.
“Let’s try the room immediately above our bedroom,” Molly whispered. “Maybe we can work out who was spying on us.”
I nodded. We found a staircase that led upward. Like the floor on which our bedroom sat, this floor held at least twenty bedrooms. The first room was lit by a single candle. Cracked and peeling wallpaper revealed the stonework beneath the walls. A faded 1918 circus poster adorned the wall. Stealing inside, I lifted the filmy pink lingerie from the bed. This had to be Henry and Audette’s room. Why a ghost needed so much lingerie and clothing was beyond me. All that effort—to pretend to be human.
Molly picked up a box of photographs. The photos were all sepia, on thick paper—cracked and curling at the edges. They told stories of an age long past—old circuses, big tops, clowns and bearded ladies. I studied a photo of a magician with clown’s makeup together with a blonde girl in a leotard. They were Henry and Audette. Other photos were of Henry’s sisters standing on an elephant’s back in the ring. My fingers lingered on a photo of a young girl in an antique showgirl outfit, staring soulfully at the camera—Jessamine.
We replaced the pictures and left the room.
I was grateful that our room was at the end of a corridor, as it made finding the room above ours so much easier. The room with the murder holes ended up just being a storage chamber, with nothing remarkable about it—just candles and lamps and dusty old paraphernalia. Kneeling on the floor, I put my face to the narrow slit. I could see my bed immediately below. If anyone were to drop spears down these holes, they’d kill us as we slept. We dragged heavy barrels over the slits—but we had no way of sealing them permanently.
Just as we were leaving, Molly peered at a large wooden box on a high shelf. With two hands, she lifted the box down. Roughly made and with a handle for carrying, it looked out of place in the castle. Shrugging, she placed the box on top of a barrel and opened it. Inside were old papers and ledgers, the figures and writing faded.
A name on top of one of the ledgers caught my attention. Thomas James McAllister. I'd heard the name before. At the courtroom trial, Ethan's Granddad had mentioned his father, Thomas. The ledger was full of dates and times worked at the Fiveash estate in Australia. I remembered then that he'd worked there as a gardener.
My breath caught as Molly found a work diary at the bottom of the box. Together, we read through the entries. They were little more than short descriptions of the work he'd done—putting in flower beds and hedges. But then came the days he began speaking of Henry and Audette and Jessamine:
November 31 1920
Tobias left abruptly yesterday. I don't know whether Henry's going to keep me on, and I sure don't want to stay on with him and Audette as my employers. But with a baby on the way, Lottie and I need the money.
December 2 1920
Something odd happened today. Jessamine told me that Henry fired Nurse Daniels. But I found her nurse's bag lying in the shrubbery. I told Henry she'd forgotten her bag, and he shrugged it off. She must have left in an awful rush.
December 7 1920
At Henry's request, I improved the gravel road leading from the bridge to the house. Appears that Henry is expecting more of those guests that keep arriving at the house.
I don't like them and I don't like it that Jessamine is around those people. Poor kid, she hangs around me like a lost pup.
Last week, Nurse Daniels told me that Jess's showing signs of recovering from her brain injury. She said that Jess's starting to remember she's a young lady and not a little kid of five. I think she's right. The other day I planted some roses for Jess and she kissed me. I suspect she has a little crush on me.
Audette was watching from the window when Jess kissed me. I know Audette is still sore from me turning her down months ago. She made a pass at me out in the garden, and I told her I love my wife. She didn't take that well.
December 10 1920
I don't know what these people are mixed up in, but there's some kind of strange happenings down in that underground shelter that Tobias built for Jess. Whether it's séances or voodoo or something else, I can't tell. I followed them down there today and I heard chanting and noises that didn't sound human or animal.
I heard talk of some inheritance that's hidden somewhere on the estate. Audette said they're planning on stealing it from Tobias.
Charlotte wants me to leave this place and never return. She's just about ready to pop the baby and she's feeling scared and uncertain.
I'll quit as soon as the bub's born. Somehow I'll get word to Tobias about what's been happening here. I'd feel bad just abandoning Jess to this insanity.
December 12 1920
Our baby, Seth James McAllister was born last night at 9.14pm. A more beautiful baby boy was never born. Lottie and I are on top of the world.
I'll be just one more week at the Fiveash estate, then I'm taking my little family and heading up North to work on the sugar cane plantations.
December 17 1920
My damned curiosity got the best of me. I went down to the underground dollhouse again. They sure are doing some weird stuff down there. They've been burning something, and there was a book with some strange mumbo jumbo translations about universes and conjuring shadows.
I found something stuffed in a cupboard in the kitchen. I think it's a body, but there wasn't enough light. Tomorrow, I'm going to take a torch down there and have a good look. I have a terrible suspicion it's Nurse Daniels, but I want to be sure before I go to the police. I'm not meant to be working there tomorrow, so I'm going to wait in the forest and wait for Henry and Audette to leave the house. They go out nearly every day. Audette never stops complaining how bored she is.
Then I'm heading into the underground.
December 17 was the last entry. My blood chilled as I turned to Molly.
"God, that's so sad." She bit her lip, her eyes moistening. "They must have found him and killed him, as well as the nurse."
"Ethan told my father they'd killed his family when he came to the Batistes' house. In the courtroom, Ethan's granddad tried to tell them that his daughter found Thomas's diary. She thought he'd been murdered by those people. On the day she died, she was taking it to her father's house to show him."
"I remember that." Molly nodded somberly. "Seth McAllister said that he'd given his daughter some old things belonging to his father. She found the diary in a false bottom of the toolbox—or something like that. On the way to Seth's house, she got run off the road by a truck—and she and Ethan's dad died." She gave a regretful sigh. "That day in the courtroom, I didn't know whether Seth was just a crazy old man or wh
ether there was truth to what he was saying."
A stone settled in the pit of my stomach. Seth had believed his father, daughter and son-in-law were murdered and here was proof. These people from the castle had murdered them in cold blood. They must have taken the toolbox from the wreck of the car while nine-year-old Ethan was bleeding to death in the seat behind his dead parents.
It was strange to read Thomas's diary and hear him talking about Jessamine like that—as a living, breathing person. I'd only known her as the ghost, as the cruel warden of the prison that was the dollhouse. In Thomas's diary, she sounded like a lost and lonely young girl.
Molly and I stole back down the stairs. Francoeur and the other servants were nowhere in sight. We stepped quickly down a corridor that led to the eastern wing of the castle. A set of heavy, paneled doors stood at the end of the corridor. Heaving our shoulders against the doors, we pushed them open. There were no windows in the corridor ahead—the space plunged into a murky darkness.
A growling, hissing noise shot under my skin. Something prowled toward us—black and lean—eyes yellow and intent.
Molly and I stumbled backward, slamming the doors closed.
“A panther? Here?” Molly breathed.
“Okay, not that way.” My mouth was dry.
Heading back the opposite way, we opened another set of doors. Two black panthers slept in the weak sunlight of a sitting room.
“More of them.” My breath caught in my chest.
We closed the door carefully.
“So that’s their idea of protecting the castle while they’re gone,” said Molly.
An old library sat inside a tiny room off the corridor. With nothing else to do, Molly and I decided to take a look. The books here were ancient—spines falling away from crackly, yellowed pages.
We poured over the books.
“Look at this one.” Molly craned her neck. “They’re drawings of a castle. Maybe this castle—but it’s hard to tell when we haven’t seen it from the outside.”
