by Kat Ellis
“Why would I do that?” I don’t need to see him to know he’s humoring me.
“Because if it is Ty, I can tell him you didn’t make it out of the house. And, no offense, but I think he’s more worried about me escaping than you.”
“Or we could both hide until we know who it is.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess that could work.”
The pieces tumbling from above grow larger, until finally a shaft of light shines down into the well. It’s not bright—starlight cutting in through the pavilion windows, I’m guessing—but after the dense blackness of the water pipe, it’s like a floodlight.
The smoke surrounding us swirls, thick and hazy. I don’t know much about smoke inhalation or when it becomes life-threatening, but I’m hoping we’ll be out of here before I find out. Dominic and I huddle together inside the water pipe, out of view of whoever might look down.
The banging stops.
I hold my breath. As soon as I do, I have a fierce urge to cough. It burns inside me, like my lungs are actually on fire. I start hacking. I wrap my arms around my face, but there’s no way whoever’s up there hasn’t heard me. I look pleadingly at Dominic, hoping he’ll get the message and go farther into the pipe to hide like I originally suggested, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring out into the well, jaw set.
The smoke begins to drift up through the hole in the wooden boards. It’s easily large enough for us to climb out through. As the air clears around us, my breathing grows easier, but my heart still races. I expect a face to appear at any moment, and the fact there’s nobody peering down at us only sets me more on edge.
Dominic and I lock eyes.
“Who’s there?” I call out, voice raspy from the smoke.
No answer.
“Mateo?” Dominic tries, a definite note of doubt in his voice.
When there’s still no response, I shout, “TYLER THORN!”
I brace for . . . well, something. But there’s nothing, just the slow drift of smoke escaping through our makeshift chimney.
I glance at Dominic. He looks perfectly calm, as always, but I know him well enough now to notice the tightness in his jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders. He’s just as freaked out as I am. But there’s only one way out of here.
“Give me a boost up?”
THIRTY-NINE
Filthy and shivering, I drag myself to my feet. I hear a faint roar coming from outside—the waterfall, yes, but something else too. It takes me a moment to realize that sound is the manor burning. The smell of smoke and apples poisons the air, though it isn’t nearly as choking now I’m out of that damned pipe. Through the windows, the accusing fingers of the blood-apple trees cut lines in the haze.
Dominic’s head appears over the edge of the hole, and I help pull him up.
“Thank you,” he says, but I’m too busy looking at the state of the pavilion to respond. The stone bench where I found Freya’s body lies in pieces, the seat cast aside and one of the legs lying near the hole in the well cover. It looks like whoever broke through the concrete (inch-thick chunks of which litter the floor) and boards used the stone bench leg to do it.
“Where do you think he went?” I whisper because it feels necessary to stay quiet, even though my ears are still ringing from all the banging.
“I have no idea. But we need to get out of here.” Dominic nods toward the arched pavilion doorway. Outside, through the trees, I see a flickering orange glow. I’m confused for a moment because I shouldn’t be able to see the manor in that direction. Then I realize the orchard is burning too. All this dead wood—despite the snow, it’s going up like a tinderbox.
I lead the way through the trees, heading away from the manor and the worst of the smoke. Soon the rushing sound of the waterfall grows louder than the fire, but that awful sour smell of burnt apples keeps hitting the back of my throat, making me gag.
Through some wordless communication, Dominic and I stay in physical contact—my fingers gripping his sleeve, his hand on the small of my back.
Then Dominic halts me with a touch on my shoulder, one finger held to his lips. His eyes scan the trees around us, looking for something. Now I hear it too. Twigs snapping, like someone walking toward us.
A figure steps out right in front of us.
“Cas!” Dominic yells, grinning. Casper looks at me, his eyes go wide, and he turns and starts running the other way. He only makes it a few steps, though, before Mateo is blocking his path. Mateo looks over at us, frowning, then he meets my eyes and crosses himself.
“She’s not Dead-Eyed Sadie,” Mateo tells Casper gruffly. “It’s just Ava Thorn looking like shit.”
I turn to Dominic. “What’s he talking about?”
Dominic shrugs. “Your face and hair are streaked with some black oily stuff. You look like you just crawled straight out of a Japanese horror movie.” He doesn’t get a chance to say any more before Mateo smothers him with a hug. Casper is still eyeing me warily from behind them, but he gives Dominic a very bro-ish slap on the shoulder.
I feel a painful twinge watching them—how they obviously have each other’s backs. Because I used to think I had that with Ford, but did we, really? If I’d called him and said someone was trying to kill me, would he have rushed over to try and save me? Would he have smashed through concrete to get me out of danger? I look at the cuts and grazes covering Mateo’s hands, and I know the answer.
“Where did you go after busting open the well?” I ask Mateo once he and Dominic have disentangled themselves. He grimaces when he looks at me, but I get the impression it’s because of my general appearance rather than the usual dickish attitude I’d put it down to. He answers as we push our way out of the orchard, the brittle branches clawing at us like they’re desperate for us to stay. But the fire is still spreading. It will swallow the orchard within an hour, I’d guess.
“I couldn’t see a damn thing with all the smoke pouring out of there, and I was coughing too much to call out,” Mateo says, and his voice does sound hoarse. “I wasn’t sure what to do, so I went to get Cas. He was standing watch in case your uncle and aunt heard all the banging.”
“Where are they now?” Dominic asks. “And where are the cops?”
At that moment, sirens sound in the distance. “Looks like they’re almost here,” Casper says. “And, last I saw, Ava’s aunt was watching the house burn from near the bridge.”
“What about Uncle Ty?” I press.
Casper shrugs. “Haven’t seen him since we arrived, and we did a full circle of the house trying to find you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t try to go inside,” Dominic says.
“We did try,” Mateo answers. “Place is a fucking inferno . . .”
I zone out of what they’re saying, watching my family’s home for generations burning, eyes hot with tears and smoke.
This was the place I thought I’d always live. Where I last saw my parents laughing. Where Grandpa taught me to play poker.
Where I grew up thinking Uncle Ty loved me like a little sister.
I turn away, my gaze drawn through the smoke and drifting snow to Burden Bridge. I know Carolyn is there, alone. And I know what I need to do.
I set off for the bridge, footsteps crackling over the frozen ground like I’m walking through fire.
* * *
* * *
Ash and snow swirl together against the dark sky. They drift into patterns that for moments at a time seem to peer back at me. Evil eyes blink, become empty sockets, become nothing but smoke. But in the distance, far from the orange glow of the manor, I see her standing near the bridge.
I don’t think she notices me right away. The orchard at my back casts a strong silhouette, and I’m just one shadow walking among many. But then part of the east wing of the manor collapses, and I turn just in time to see the flames flare outward. When I look back at Carolyn
, her hand is clasped over her mouth, and somehow I know she’s seen me. Well, good.
I have no plan in mind beyond wanting her to know I’m alive, that she and Uncle Ty did all this for nothing. A tiny voice in my head says she could be armed, could still hurt me, but it doesn’t slow my stride. Because I just escaped a burning house by crawling through a goddamn water pipe into a sealed well, and I don’t think anything can hurt me right now. I’m still at least a hundred feet from her when I open my mouth to call out, but Carolyn backs away.
No you fucking don’t.
I start to run—or as much as I can with legs aching from crawling for so long—and she staggers backward. It’s like she wants to get away but can’t tear her eyes off me. Carolyn reaches the bridge. I close the distance between us.
“Stop! I’m not one of them, not really! I’m not a Thorn!”
Say what now?
Confusion finally slows me down, but Carolyn doesn’t stop. Her momentum carries her back toward the guardrail of the bridge. If she takes another couple steps, she could fall right over the edge. Instinct forces me to call out to her. “Stop!”
“Ava?”
I see the moment realization hits her, because it mirrors mine. I look like some creature pulled from a tar pit; she must’ve thought I was Dead-Eyed Sadie. But she sees her mistake too late. Her back hits the rail, and she loses her balance.
Teeters.
For a second, I think she’s going to fall, but she finds her footing.
“The cops are coming!” I scream at her. “You’re going to . . .”
I fall silent. Behind Carolyn, in the haze of water vapor, a figure takes shape. It looms up behind her, a girl made of shadows, with two deep gouges where her eyes ought to be.
Carolyn’s eyes widen. Perhaps she hears some telltale sound above the water’s roar. Or maybe it’s Sadie’s cold breath on the back of her neck. Whatever it is, Carolyn doesn’t turn around. She stares at me, frozen, as two clawed hands reach from behind her and plunge deep into her eye sockets. Blood oozes down her face.
Carolyn screams. So do I.
The waterfall roars.
With Dead-Eyed Sadie still clinging to her, Carolyn flips backward over the rail and disappears into the rising mist. I rush forward, but by the time I lean over the guardrail, there’s no sign of either of them.
FORTY
Patrol-car lights turn the snow into a kaleidoscope. It almost makes a pretty sight of the burning manor.
That’s it—the final piece of my family history literally going up in smoke. No more Thorn Manor. No more Bloody Thorns. Weirdly, I think I feel okay about that. Our legacy isn’t one I want to continue, frankly.
But I can’t get the echo of Carolyn’s scream out of my head. She definitely fell, I know that, but was what I saw real? Or a hallucination? The deep chill in my gut tells me I saw something otherworldly, but I can’t trust my gut right now—if I ever could.
“Ava?”
I look up, startled. Daphne pulls me into the fiercest hug. A moment later, Carla does the same.
“Oh my God, when I heard Dad get a call to come in because the manor was on fire with people possibly trapped inside, I just had the worst feeling it was you,” she says, the words pouring out almost too fast for me to follow. “I should’ve seen it coming—the cards are always so dark when I read for you. I should’ve known it had to be something like this. Dad told me not to come down here, but there was no way I could just wait at home to see if you were okay, especially when you didn’t answer your phone, and I thought—” She puts a hand over her mouth, and I see she’s crying.
“I’m okay,” I say, even though I feel about thirty seconds away from collapsing. As for my phone, I’m guessing that’s a puddle of melted plastic by now. “Carolyn . . . she—”
Daphne nods briskly. “We heard. It’s horrible.”
But they haven’t heard—not all of it. I’m still trying to process seeing Sadie clawing Carolyn’s eyes, dragging her back, tipping her over the edge . . . Was it real? Will I ever know for sure?
“What the hell happened?” Carla asks, in her usual blunt manner. “Carolyn called the cops and told them you’d freaked out and said Sadie told you to burn the manor so the Millers couldn’t have it. That’s not . . . I mean, none of that’s true, right?”
“Not even remotely,” Dominic says, and I’m relieved to feel the warmth of his hand in mine. Judging by the raised eyebrows I get from Daphne and Carla, they don’t miss it, either.
“I’ve already told the cops what happened. From planning to murder my parents and me a year ago, to the fucked-up attempt to blackmail Madoc Miller, to murdering Freya and Ford and trying to pin the blame on me by drugging and gaslighting me,” I spit. “I guess they’ll just have to figure it out if they don’t believe me.”
Carla frowns. “You know we believe you, right?” Before I can answer, she and Daphne both have me caught up in another tangled hug. It eases something in me, knowing I have them on my side. We don’t need blood between us to be family.
“Why did they even listen to Carolyn?” Dominic says. “I spoke with the police earlier and told them Carolyn and Ty were the ones who killed my sister and Ford.”
Daphne grimaces. “They thought you might’ve been under duress when you made that call. I heard you sounded pretty out of it.”
Dominic glowers. “I had just been hit over the head with a crowbar.”
“We need to get someone to take a look at you,” I say.
“The EMTs already tried to drag me away, but I’m not going anywhere until we get this cleared up with the cops,” Dominic says. “The camera on the bridge would’ve kept running even with the power out, so it will have caught everything that just happened here. There won’t be any question about you being to blame.”
Wait—will it have captured Sadie too? Or will the video show something else? Either way, I feel like I need to see it.
I shiver, leaning into Dominic.
“Where did Uncle Ty go, though? We can’t just let him walk away from this.”
As though to punctuate that statement, there’s a sound of glass breaking. What looks like a dining chair is hurled through a first-floor window of the manor and lands smoldering on the front lawn. Then a figure emerges after it.
Uncle Ty looks like something from a nightmare. His face is striped with blisters and soot, and part of his hair seems to have been singed away right to the scalp. A trail of smoke follows him as he staggers toward the mass of cops and firefighters who can only gape at him for a moment before launching into action. Several of them approach to try and help him, but he keeps limping straight ahead. For an awful moment, I think he’s coming for me, but he veers instead toward the bridge.
“Carolyn!” he bellows, then starts hacking up a lung. “You left me to burn!” Uncle Ty sinks to his knees in the snow. “I did all of it, all of it, for you—and you left me to burn! Carolyn!”
Holden signals for his officers to move in, and a group of them haul Uncle Ty to his feet and take him to where the squad cars are waiting. I guess he’ll need treatment for his burns before they drag his ass to jail, but I’m having trouble caring too much about that right now.
I can’t shake off what I saw, and not just Carolyn dying.
I saw Sadie. Like, really, truly saw her. At least, I think so. And I have to wonder:
Is she done with my family now?
FORTY-ONE
Uncle Ty claims Carolyn was the one who murdered both Freya and Ford. He says she threatened to kill me if he didn’t go along with her plans. That he’s acting like he has any concern at all for my well-being is almost funny. Or it would be if it didn’t still hurt so damn much.
I always knew Uncle Ty had his weak spots, but deep down I believed he loved me. Carolyn too. We were family. But I guess that meant something more to me than it did to them.
Underneath it all, they just wanted money.
Seems like Carolyn thought she was marrying Big Money when she met Uncle Ty, with his flashy sports car and the manor. And I guess the shine eventually wore off when she realized there was nothing to back up all of his bullshit. Maybe that’s why she left him to burn.
How could Uncle Ty do that to Freya, though? And let Carolyn murder Ford? How could any amount of money be worth the deaths of two people? Four, if you count trying to kill my parents, which I very much do. So do the cops. And then trying to kill me and Dominic . . .
Uncle Ty is looking at some serious time.
The evidence is all coming together now that the cops know where to look. The security camera above the French doors where Uncle Ty and Carolyn admitted everything to me didn’t record the audio, but it showed Uncle Ty hitting Dominic with the crowbar. They also found the phone he was using to text Freya, and have DNA evidence from the crowbar tying him and Carolyn to Ford and Freya. And there’s the testimony from me and Dominic, so it should be enough to convict him.
* * *
* * *
After spending a long night at the police station while Dominic got treated for a concussion and I was interviewed for what felt like years, I finally see him the next morning in the police station lobby. He looks tired and smells of ash and sour apples, but I don’t care. I’m still streaked with corpse water. I reach up and touch the side of his face, tracing his jaw with my fingers. He allows it for a second, then pulls me into his arms.
“How you doing, Thorn?” he says into my hair.
“Freaked out,” I say honestly. “But I guess that’s just something I have to live with until I figure out which parts of the wild shit I’ve seen over the last weeks are real, and what was thanks to the PCP.” Dominic is quiet for a moment. “What?”
“I might be able to settle a little of that for you,” he says quietly. “About what happened to Carolyn on the bridge.”
