The Hallowed

by Lani Lenore

  “Wretch! Stay back! I won’t eat, I tell you! I won’t! You’ll poison me!”

  Celia wasn’t sure how to react to this voice that hissed with fury, but she knew she couldn’t retreat simply because she was a coward. The one in this cage was human—a woman—and Celia had to assist her in any way possible.

  “It’s alright,” she promised, swallowing hard. “I’m going to help you.”

  She lifted up the cloth again without as much fear, though the appearance of the woman inside was hardly something to enjoy. It was possible that the woman was fairly young, though the dirt on her face and the stress on her brow made her look much older. Her hair was matted and flat with grime, and the space within the cage did not even give her enough room to sit up. How long had she been here in the dark, frightened and suffering? And why? Celia reached for the padlock that was holding the door shut, but just after she had taken it up, the woman’s bony hand shot forward and struck her. Long and jagged fingernails stabbed her wrist and Celia jerked back in surprise, shocked by the woman’s speed.

  “Stay back! You’re one of them!” she croaked.

  “No, no I’m not. I’m as much of a prisoner as you are,” Celia declared, but just afterward felt terrible for saying it. She was given warm meals and allowed to walk about the house with limited freedom. Was this cage her next stop? “Please, how did you get here? Let me help you.”

  She reached for the lock once again, but the woman lashed out and knocked the keys from her hand. They didn’t go far, but Celia was so stunned that she could only stare at the woman.

  “No! You and your lies! They and their stories! They said there was an accident along the road. I—I was the only one who lived. The dark! It comes alive at night! They tied a rock to my forehead and made me think! But I hid my secrets from them! I…!”

  The wilted woman stopped suddenly, looking at Celia as her eyes widened in horror. She looked as if she wished to speak, but could not get the words out, making odd sucking noises through her teeth until a drop of saliva rolled down across her chin. She lifted a finger and pointed toward the girl, her wide eyes drifting from Celia’s face to her neck—and then the woman halted, pulling in a deep breath before falling backward, clutching her chest.

  “Oh!” Celia cried, taking up the keys from where they had fallen near her. She sent her hands immediately to the padlock, but they were shaking even worse now than before, and she could hardly get any of the keys into the lock.

  The woman began to convulse, her breath shallow. With nervous fingers, Celia fumbled with the lock, trying to find the correct key as the iron bars themselves began to quiver. She fought with it, hardly aware of which keys she had already tried. From the corner of her eye, she saw the woman’s thin hand clutching one of the bars.

  “Don’t…please!” Celia managed to sputter out a few words, but she knew they would do little good. Even if she did get the door open, she knew of no way that she could help the woman. She panicked, and as she began to feel helpless, her movements slowed. She cast her eyes up from the lock just to see the woman’s clammy hand slide limply from the bar, and immediately afterward, the padlock popped open in Celia’s hand.

  Adam hung back in one of the hallways to the side as he waited on Celia, thinking of the third floor’s layout. The rooms seemed to be built in blocks amidst the halls, and he was fairly certain that if he’d gone along the one he was standing in, he would eventually be turned around toward his own room. When she’d been showing him the house, Celia had told him that the third floor consisted mostly of bedrooms, but it seemed strange to Adam that he hadn’t noticed to whom the other rooms belonged. He had never thought, before now, that the room on one side of him might belong to Baltus or Maynard. He sighed lightly, concluding that it wasn’t something worth thinking about. Either way, he was confined to this floor by night no matter what he tried.

  Casting his gaze down the hallways once more, he let his dark eyes settle on the door Celia had gone through. The thick wooden panels kept sounds from escaping, but nevertheless, he wondered what she had found in there. She nearly insisted that the family was keeping people locked away in cages, but he had trouble buying that—though why his suspicions cut him short on this, he didn’t know. There was plenty that he wouldn’t be surprised to learn about this family. But of course, most of all, he had noticed their special interest in Celia.

  As he stood there, looking at the door of the mysterious room, he began to feel uneasy. How long did it take a woman to look around a single room? Even a curious one might have been out by now. Before he’d commanded himself, his foot lifted to take him a step closer. Perhaps he had been wrong about the maids. They may not have been downstairs at all, but were shut up inside the room when she’d unlocked it—and he’d let Celia go in alone.

  What am I doing? Am I that much of a fool?

  Adam advanced on the door, reaching for the handle long before he’d come to it, but before he’d put his hand on it, the door began to open and a familiar shape emerged. Celia’s light-colored dress parted the dark, but when she stepped out into the glow of the lamplight, her face remained grim. She did not run from the room in terror, tearing aimlessly down the hall in a panic, but walked out as if nothing were amiss. Her eyes were downcast. Her breathing was short, but not too quick, and she held her hands clasped together at her chest. To Adam, she had the appearance of a woman who was shocked to near disbelief. She appeared almost calm, but that was only an illusion. The sound of a simple footstep would startle her into releasing her contained fright. He waited for her to look up at him before he spoke.

  “Is it as you thought?”

  Celia had not bothered to close the door behind her, and as he approached, he could smell the terrible stench that wafted out. She gave a short nod.

  “There was a woman in there,” she said in a quiet voice, “in a cage. Sh—she died right in front of me.”

  Another woman in the house? An outsider, like them? Dead? He was about to move around her to look for himself, but Celia raised her sad blue eyes up to his, and he was able to see her true fear resonating within.

  “Adam, what are we going to do? They’re not beyond hurting us. I know that now.”

  She was making a plea to him, once again needing him to promise her that nothing horrible would happen. He was convinced that he was just strong enough to make that promise.

  “We keep looking,” he said decisively. “There must be more than one way out of this place, and if we can find one, we’ll take it when the time is right.”

  She gave a little nod and then gulped, as if swallowing down sickness. Holding out the keys, she put them into his hand. Celia looked positively ill, swaying a bit where she stood, and seeing this, he gripped her shoulder gently. It brought her eyes to his again.

  “I may just need to sit down a moment,” she told him, and he silently admitted that it may have been a good thing. He nodded understandingly as she drifted down the hall to her room. He would join her, but had to see into the room for himself first.

  Stepping forward with little reservation, Adam peered into the shadow-laden room, seeing what Celia had seen, and without any sort of reaction, he pulled the door closed and locked it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Celia sat on the edge of her bed, listening to the steady tick of the clock. She felt more at ease as the minutes passed, staring at the low fire beneath the mantelpiece, but she hadn’t forgotten about what she had seen.

  That poor woman. Who was she?

  How am I supposed to know? I don’t even know who I am.

  The girl relented that there may have been no way to know who that unfortunate lady had been, but whether there was or not, the situation Celia had found her in was not an acceptable one. It was certainly foul, and there was no excuse for it. As images of the dying woman drifted through her mind, she closed her eyes in an attempt to banish them, reminding herself that she was safe. Adam was with her.

  He was standing near the window,
peering out at the trees in the distance. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d come inside. Had he looked into the room as well? Had he seen what she had seen? Yet he had nothing to say. He didn’t even look at her. Suddenly, she could no longer bear it.

  “Adam…” she said, calling for his attention. He did not respond immediately, and she didn’t wait for him to acknowledge her before she continued, turning back to gaze into the fire.

  “That woman mentioned something about an accident on the road. Do you think she might have been involved with us?” This thought was not something that had come to Celia immediately after seeing the woman, for the shock had been too great, but time had brought it along to her naturally. Though the answer seemed fairly obvious in her mind, she needed Adam’s opinion, and hoped he would have some reasoning that would ease her mind.

  “It’s possible, I suppose,” he admitted after a brief period of thought, though by the sound of his voice, he didn’t put too much stock in it.

  “I mean, I understand by now that the accident might all be a lie,” she said, “but still we may have known her, and now she’s dead.” Celia did not enjoy how sorrowful and defeated her voice sounded.

  “Did she say anything else?” Adam asked, refusing to let her stew over it for too long. His breath fogged the pane.

  “Nothing I could understand,” Celia said, recalling some of the woman’s nonsense. “She just had some sort of attack all of a sudden.” She paused, shaking her head as she tried to think past the image of the filthy woman convulsing. “I don’t know. She looked like she’d been there for quite a while though. Much longer than the few days we’ve been here.”

  Celia looked back toward Adam, observing how he was leaned against the windowsill with his arms crossed, looking out. His eyes were narrowed as if he was in deep, unpleasant thought, but despite that, she found herself thinking about his arms—how nice it would have been to have them around her for comfort.

  “There was something else I was thinking of, which may or may not be off,” he said abruptly, bringing her from her warming thoughts.

  “What?” she inquired, leaning forward a bit.

  “Where exactly is the true master of this house? They mentioned him once. Said he was ‘absent’.”

  The master would be Irving’s father; Baltus’s brother. They hadn’t mentioned his name. But Celia remembered that they’d spoken of him. It was the first night at dinner. Irving had brought attention to the fact that the man wasn’t there—and he’d even repeated it when Adam had come in. Why had Adam brought this up? Did he think it was significant—that instead of the man being out of the house, the rest of the family had done something with him?

  “You don’t think…” she started cautiously, but didn’t manage to finish.

  “I don’t know,” Adam said. “Not too much would surprise me at this point.”

  It was all upsetting, indisputably, but Celia felt strangely composed. She knew she wasn’t ready to confine herself to a corner to cry and mutter just yet. Still, she couldn’t help but think of the calm before a storm. It was like the still air before violent winds rushed in—like hearing the thunder in the distance, knowing what was coming and yet refusing to fear it until it arrived.

  Feeling somewhat uneasy by what she believed to be insensitive thoughts, Celia urged herself up from the bed without bothering to smooth down her dress, carrying herself toward Adam.

  “Then we must try to find a way out. Where do you think we should search first? We’ve seen much of the house already, and I haven’t seen any exit other than the front doors—and of course windows. But there must be others. Who builds such a large place and only fixes one entrance?”

  “A madman,” Adam said irritably, and even though his anger was not directed toward her, the mention did not help her thoughts. She stared at him as he turned to look at her, a hard expression on his face—but then his eyes softened a bit. He didn’t say it, but he apologized with his eyes for upsetting her. Celia could do nothing but forgive him. Sometimes he said things that weren’t very helpful, but she understood that he didn’t mean to be cruel. It was only his response to feeling trapped and helpless. He couldn’t be blamed.

  Standing next to him, Celia reached for his arms, forcing him to uncross them as she stepped into his embrace. He returned her affection without words, holding her protectively and resting his chin against her head. She remembered the words engraved on the watch, as well as those of the letters she’d uncovered. She was comforted by them once again, knowing that she belonged with Adam, and not only did she care for him now, but had before she’d forgotten it. If it was not the very essence of love to fall for the same person twice anew, Celia would have to believe that the only thing left in life was fear.

  Adjusting herself in his arms, she turned her face up to his, peering at him.

  “Should we go now?” she asked, but it was hardly a suggestion. It was an inquiry that she hoped he would refuse. She longed for this man, but knew that their need for escape may have been greater than her need to remain here in his arms, safe and comforted.

  He understood the tone of her voice, sliding his hands down her back to rest along her waist. He kissed her once, firmly, though not without desire. He drew back to study her eyes, and Celia watched his face attentively, but knew the moment had been refused when he took in a deep breath.

  “We shouldn’t linger,” he said, and she understood that he had forced himself to utter this. She felt foolish for thinking so carnally then, for she knew there were more serious matters at hand. Hearing the sound of the rain in one ear and the crackling of the fire in the other, she stepped back and freed him.

  “Perhaps we should look for a cellar,” she suggested, setting her mind to the task of escaping.

  “No doubt there is one,” Adam agreed, following her thoughts, “and likely a servants’ quarters and dungeon too, for the size of this place.”

  “I thought that the cellar might open to the outside,” she said, thinking that she had already seen the dungeon of this house—their own rooms. “Somehow I feel like underground stores are designed to open—but that might very well be wrong.”

  “No, you may be right,” he said thoughtfully, turning toward the door. She took steps to follow him, but he had only progressed halfway before he stopped abruptly.

  “Yes,” he said suddenly. “There’s a passageway down there that leads off. Perhaps it will take us to the outside.”

  He picked up his feet to move toward the door again, but Celia was stuck, looking at his back.

  “A passageway?” she questioned. “How do you know?”

  Adam halted once again, and Celia continued to stare. Had he already been down into the basement? If not, how could he have known that there was a passageway there? She considered it, and she was silent as he did so as well. After several blank moments, Adam looked at her over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know. But it’s worth looking into.”

  On the edge of a bed, in a room that was cold without fire, Maynard sat, slumped over his knees, staring at his hands. He was troubled within, his conscience getting in the way of what he was taught to believe. Leaning forward, he let the blood run to his head, and as he did, he imagined Celia’s face.

  Such an amazing and delicate girl. I knew she was perfect from the first moment—better than the rest.

  Could none of the others see what she was? That she was alive and beautiful; that she was human? How could they treat her as they were, as if she were nothing but a flesh puppet to be manipulated? Did she not have her own thoughts? Did she not deserve to have her own life? This troubled Maynard; it enraged him. He could not have cared less about the Adam creature, but he could not allow something terrible to happen to Celia—sweet, pure Celia. It was not her fault that she was unfortunate enough to find herself here. And things would only get worse for her if he did not take things into his own hands. He had to save her.

  Yes, I must.

  Time was running o
ut, he was sure. Soon, it would happen, and he would lose his chance to intervene. Irving did not care what happened to her, as long as he got what he wanted. But Maynard was better than that. He would toss back the evils of his kin!

  Tonight, I must act, he told himself.

  Lifting himself up from the bed, he moved toward the sculpture he’d been working on—his latest piece. It had merely been a hunk of marble until he’d transformed it into something far more beautiful. The curvature was correct, though perhaps there was an imperfect spot along the nose. Maynard would work until it was perfect, until it was an exact copy of Celia, but even then, the stone was never as lovely—or as warm—as the flesh. He lifted the chisel, tapping away small bits from the statue’s lips.

  Don’t worry, my love. Soon we will be together. He would work quietly until then.

  The kitchens seemed the logical place to find an entrance to the cellar. Celia had followed Adam and allowed him to choose their route, but her mind had been stuck on other things. For the first time, she found herself wondering about the LaCroix family themselves. Who were they? What was their agenda? Could there have been any one among them that didn’t have a part in this horrible plot to keep them here? The thoughts led her nowhere, which disturbed her, and she reached out in the hope of catching Adam’s arm, but he had already moved on several steps in front of her. Celia hastened her step, bringing herself to follow him more closely, unwilling to be left behind.

  To their luck, the kitchens were deserted, but dark. The room was clean, save for the windows, which were so thick and crusted with dust upon the outside of the glass that very little daylight was let in. Adam had been of the good mind to bring a lantern, holding light which splashed about as he walked. Without a word, he moved to a door at the back of the kitchen that was flanked on each side by a wooden shelf. There was a bar across the door, which he removed easily with his free hand, and setting it down, he pulled the door open. Celia peeked in behind him, looking forward to see their destination. She saw only darkness.