by Anya Allyn
Running to the bathroom, I slammed the door behind me.
I let my back slide down the tiled wall, hugging my knees close to my chest. Part of me had torn away—screaming down the passage like a mad thing, yelling and fighting.
I’d crossed over to some other side. A place where beings such as ghosts and mythological serpents roamed.
But I was alive again, blood coursing and pumping through the dry deserts of my veins.
25. SHRINE
Sophronia watched anxiously as Aisha and I reentered the ballroom. Philomena still slept. Aisha bundled herself into a tight ball on the daybed, eventually falling into a fitful sleep, a sleep that seemed laden with nightmare visions. I watched her as the hours withered. In my mind, wild thoughts surged. Desperately, I tried to fit things together, things that shouldn't be real or true, but were.
Jessamine fidgeted with her hands.
Sophronia struggled to her feet, lifting the sleeping Philomena into the pram. She then stepped over to her desk. I knew that was the signal that she wished to communicate. The thought came to me that even now, at a time when I was close to sharing death with this person, I didn't know her in the least. We'd die together, but as strangers.
Rising, I strolled as casually as I could manage to my desk. I lifted out paper and pencils.
Jessamine sat in her rocking chair—observing us silently for a time—then she decided to stroll backwards and forwards like an army sergeant. It was going to be impossible for us to write messages to each other.
Sophronia drew an oval-shaped sun shining down on a rose—coloring in the sun with intense shading. She penciled in a ribbon around the stem of the flower, in the shape of a bow. Next she added another rose with a ribbon, and then another and another—until there were five roses.
Frowning, I stole a long look at her page. Why draw ribbons on flower stems? It didn't seem Sophronia's usual style. She was more likely to draw something ugly than something so trite.
The penny dropped. The roses were us. We wore ribbons in our hair. And the sun—it was oval rather than round. The sun was the locket? No, it was the picture inside the locket—Jessamine. The sun was Jessamine.
Each time Sophronia added a rose, she rubbed out a little of the sun’s color.
I stared back at my own page, scribbling as Jessamine passed.
What was Sophronia trying to tell me? The more roses—girls—that were added, the more the color of the sun—Jessamine—drained away. Did color meant energy?
Next to the roses, Sophronia added a strange person – with button eyes, a clown’s mouth and a square grid-like body.
I peered closely at the figure as Jessamine stepped away from us. The clown’s mouth could only mean Clown—but he didn’t have button eyes. But Raggedy Ann did. So the figure was part Clown, part Raggedy and part something else. The body resembled a grid—like the bars of a cell. It had to mean the cell. The grid was meant to be the cell—and Ethan.
She rubbed out so much of the sun it was barely there—just a pale ghost of a sun.
Sophronia’s dark eyes flickered over me.
I gave a cautious nod, looking out for Jessamine.
Doodling, Sophronia tuned the ribbons into leaves and rubbed out the figure—until the picture just looked like any other drawing of flowers.
I sketched aimless circles on my pages, trying to think, trying to make sense of what Sophronia was trying to tell me.
So, everything Jessamine controlled in the dollhouse was draining her. Watching us, guarding us, keeping the cell locked up—maybe even keeping The Dark Way blocked. She’d had more energy since she’d released Aisha from her cell—now I understood why. The empty cell had to be one less drain on her reserves.
Staring down at my page with the heavily outlined circles, my spine stiffened.
Circles—the carousel.
If Jessamine controlled everything—then she must also be keeping the exit carousel from turning.
Taking another page, I drew a carousel unicorn—it was clumsy and childish—but Sophronia understood. The unicorn was only on the exit carousel.
I drew a question mark, then scribbled over it.
Jessamine marched over.
“Calliope, don’t bother to sketch if you are just going to deface the page.”
I stared down at my page. Manic circles surrounded the clumsy unicorn.
Jessamine stayed close by us after that, keeping an eagle’s watch on everything we did.
The day dripped on.
Aisha woke with a quick intake of breath, and stole away from the room. I knew she was going to see Ethan.
She truly loved him, I mused. What I’d thought I’d felt for Ethan had faded until I could barely remember it. Until the only thing I had left was the memory of the frozen kiss in the mountains. There was nothing else—none of the dreams I used to have about him. I was relieved, not to feel it anymore. But at the same time, it was disturbing to have something so potent drain away like that. Maybe I was just like Lance and my father—unable to remember love long enough to keep it safe.
Philomena climbed from the pram. She played for a time with her skittles—knocking them every which way. She then ran about the room banging into things, much to the dismay of Jessamine. Philly had been almost aggressive since Missouri moved to the bed chamber. I tried to settle her—read her a book—but she flung herself away, spinning like an out-of-control top. Climbing onto the carousel, she began kicking into one of the carousel horses.
Aisha ran into the room.
“Missouri—I think she’s unconscious!”
Jessamine stood. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s in a coma.” Aisha twisted her hands into her skirt.
We all rushed down the passage to Missouri’s side.
Missouri slumped still in her bed, floppy and unresponsive.
Philomena stood on tiptoes to reach Missouri’s arm, shaking it. “Wake up, Missy. Wake up!”
Jessamine stood behind us, her mouth pulled to one side. “She’ll just have a nice long rest and be better for it.”
Aisha wrapped her arms around herself. “No. She may never wake out of this.”
Jessamine shook her blonde head. “I had a long sleep like that once. I’d been ill and I slept forever. I woke in a dreadfully strange place. But I was quite all right. You do wake.”
Aisha and I exchanged long glances.
“Jessamine,” I said. “Don’t you want her to wake up now? We could take her to a hospital, and then we could all come back here—and have tea together.”
Her eyes clouded. “We must be patient. You’re safe, here. Perhaps we can make our own sanatorium. I don’t have any nurses’ outfits, unfortunately, but we can make do.”
I held Missouri’s hand. Don’t die, Molly Parkes. Don’t die.
Jessamine commanded that everyone return to the ballroom.
Something hardened inside me. We couldn’t just go back there—to sit and read and daydream while Missouri lay here comatose. While we all slipped further into death.
Make your own chances. There's no time to wait for chances to come to you.
I exchanged glances with Aisha and Sophronia. I put my hand over my mouth, silently pretending to be sick. They nodded at the signal.
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I made loud puking noises. Jessamine whirled around, glaring at me, repulsed.
I ran to the bathroom—Aisha and Sophronia dashing after me.
“We’ll go help her,” Aisha called back to Jessamine.
Jessamine herded Philly down the passage. I knew she found the thought of vomit vulgar and would want to get away as quickly as possible.
Stepping from the bathroom, Aisha, Sophronia I went to Ethan’s cell.
Ethan sat on the floor of the cell, his head resting on his knees. His eyes rose to us—his eyes questioning, especially at the sight of Sophronia with us.
“We need to talk—all of us,” I said quickly. “We need to figure out what to do.�
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Ethan nodded—veins in his neck straining. He stood unsteadily.
Aisha's face was rigid. “Prudence didn't escape. She's still down here... with us.”
Ethan shook his head slightly, his eyes confused. We didn't have time to explain —that would have to come later.
I fished the locket from my bloomers—unlatching it and holding it to him. “We all know what she is, right? She had this hidden inside her carousel horse.”
Ethan let his eyes rest on the photo. “Yeah. I know about her. In here, I've had lots of time to think... and watch. It bent my mind in two. I saw you struggling with the truth too, Cassie. I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn't talk to me. You wouldn't talk to anyone."
"I was stupid. I almost lost my mind."
He shot me a sympathetic smile. "I think we've all almost lost our minds." Threading his hand through the bars, he took the locket. Deftly, he picked the photo loose. The name Jessamine was engraved in lavish, tender letters.
"I worked out why I've been kept in the cell," he said. "It's because she thinks I'm likely to stab her—and she isn't exactly going to bleed now is she? She pretends even to herself she's flesh and blood.”
Sophronia looked over her shoulder, checking if Jessamine was coming.
“We should all run at her with knives,” said Aisha darkly. “Maybe she'd just disappear altogether.”
Ethan nodded. “I'd like to see you girls do that. Except she can't be hurt, can she?” His eyes flicked over Sophronia, softening. “And you can't run.”
Sophronia gazed downwards. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her dress above her left knee. The knee joint jutted out at an odd angle, her leg twisted.
We gasped at the bent leg. Aisha crisscrossed her arms tightly around her shoulders.
“That’s a break that didn’t heal properly.” Ethan's brow furrowed.
“Yes,” said Sophronia.
“You spoke.” I gazed at her in amazement.
“I did.” Sophronia gave a half-smile. “I always could.”
“Then why not speak?” demanded Ethan.
“I gave myself the task of being the silent eyes of this place. To see everything. To stand in the shadows and observe.” Her voice was melodic, soft.
“How did you do that—your leg?” said Aisha gently.
“I fell in the ballroom. Have you seen where the fireplace goes? Can you guess?”
Ethan banged a fist against the bar of his cell. “It goes up to the house, doesn’t it?” Frowning, his mouth fell open. “It goes up to the fireplace in the house.”
Sophronia nodded. “I found out about the house above when Philomena came. She woke briefly as she was being brought here and she saw the house. They must not have given her as much of the stuff—chloroform or what have you—as the rest of us were given. Before that, Missouri and I believed that Henry drove out to the cave to bring supplies—we did not know he lived above.”
“So you climbed up inside the chimney?” I couldn't imagine climbing up inside there. The chimney soared at least twenty foot high—with no footholds.
“Yes. It goes up and up and up. Then you hit a rock ceiling with holes drilled through it. There is no way through.”
“Oh God,” said Aisha. “You fell from up there? I didn't know.”
Sophronia’s eyelids settled downwards. “Angeline, you were so wild when you were brought in, Jessamine kept you dosed on tea for weeks. You were barely awake during that time. But yes, I lost my footing. There was a fire, in the fireplace above. Hot ash fell through the holes. It fell into my eye.”
My mind recoiled at the thought of Sophronia having to suffer a broken leg here—without the barest medical help.
The muscles under Ethan's eyes tensed. “I remember seeing smoke coming from Henry’s fireplace—the night we searched his house. But his fire was cold. It was the smoke of the fire from down here—only I didn’t know it.”
“I heard voices up there—muffled—but lots of them, after Angeline came in.” Sophronia’s face was pinched. “Missouri and I took pots from the kitchen, and we carried them to the fireplace. We bashed on them with the big metal spoons—as hard as we could. We hoped that because of Angeline’s disappearance from the world above, the voices were those of rescuers.”
“They were,” I said softly.
“They didn’t hear us,” said Sophronia. “I think Henry might have covered up the holes while the people were there. Our fire smoked a lot then, as I remember.”
She closed her eyes, her forehead smoothing. “But we cannot speak more of myself and my folly. We must make a plan. It is the first time ever I can perhaps see a way.”
Ethan gripped the bars of his cell. “Tell us what you know.”
I glanced at Sophronia—she nodding at me.
“So we know what Jessamine is,” I said. “We know we're being held prisoner by a ghost. But Ethan and I are not supposed to be here. We've upset the balance. We're using up all Jessamine's energy.”
“She sleeps more than she ever used to,” said Sophronia. “It is taxing on her... to control so many of us. And the toys and the cells... and the carousels.”
A spark entered Aisha's eye. “The carousel. The one with the monsters. If her energy controls that—what would happen if she had no energy left?”
Sophronia nodded. “That is what we need to do. Drain her completely.”
Ethan's jaw clenched. “How?”
“Of that I am not sure.”
He paced the cell while Aisha, Sophronia and I stared down the passageway. We couldn't linger here much longer.
Ethan stopped in the center of his floor, his eyes wild. “The locket. The locket will remind her she isn’t flesh and blood.”
“She went to great pains to conceal it,” I pondered.
Ethan nodded. “Which is exactly why it might be the card that will send the house of cards tumbling. The card that might make her disappear. It must hold some power against her if she has to keep it hidden, even from herself.”
Aisha sucked her lips in. “We could maybe make her disappear... but that's no guarantee she'll release her hold on the carousel. It might just make her angry.”
“We have to try,” said Ethan. “We have nothing else. And we should rip those toys apart at the same time. Leave them all to me, if you like.”
“No,” said Sophronia. “You cannot hurt the toys. Have you not noticed the parts on the rag doll that have been sewn back together? Missouri tried to cut the doll up once. It did no good at all.”
“Missouri did that?” I blinked.
Sophronia nodded in response. “You do not know what she is capable of. I see it in her eyes. She would kill to protect any one of us.”
“So,” said Aisha, “do we just walk up to Jessamine and hand her the locket?”
“I have a thought,” said Sophronia quietly.
We stared at her, waiting for her to speak.
She breathed deeply. “The Dark Way. I haven't been there myself, but I have long suspected she goes there to recharge her energy. Also, I think she goes there... to wait. She speaks of patience a lot—as though she’s waiting for something.”
I frowned. “There’s a statue, a shrine, down there. It could be important to her—something important from her past life.” The mossy features of the statue sifted through my head. “We could lay the locket in the hand of the statue.”
Sophronia nodded her dark head.
Aisha turned to me. “You and I will go. We'll take the locket there.”
I swallowed. “Even if this works, if we were to get past the carousel, Henry might be waiting for us.”
“Can’t wait to see him again.” Ethan’s eyes were bright above the hollows of his cheeks. “So when do we do this?”
“As soon as Aisha and I can get down The Dark Way without Jessamine seeing us,” I replied.
“I will distract Jessamine.” Sophronia clasped her hands together.
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying
to figure out what he was about to say.
“This is going to sound crazy,” he said. “But just listen. I think it could be dangerous for you two going down The Dark Way. There’s this thing—this thing that’s been wandering the corridors. Maybe I am going nuts. It’s like a shadow on the walls. And, yeah, I remember that poem of Prudence’s mentioning a shadow.”
My chest constricted. “Ethan, what does it do—the shadow?”
“It comes in here. Like a thief. I feel it—feel that it wants something. An enormous want. That’s the only way I can describe it. Then it flees.”
Aisha’s face was frozen. She held her hands up to Ethan’s as he moved towards her, and she closed her hands around his.
“We must never give into it.” My voice rasped, shuddered.
“It is the shadow of the serpent,” said Sophronia. “In India we have the myth of the serpent too. But she is the same. I do not know what she wants with us.” Sophronia stared down the corridor. “We must go now. We have been here too long.”
Aisha bent her head down on the metal bars. “See you on the other side...."
Sophronia touched her face. “We should quickly go replace our makeup. Jessamine is less anxious when we look like dolls instead of human beings.”
We left for the bathroom—Ethan’s knuckles white against the bars as he watched us leave.
26. SOPHRONIA'S SIGHT
Philomena curled up on the daybed, tucking her headless bear under her arm. Jessamine sat back in the rocking chair, her eyes closed.
I stepped into the room clutching my stomach—Aisha with a hand on my shoulder.
Jessamine’s eyes snapped open.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m feeling awful.”
“A lady keeps the details of such things to herself.” Jessamine’s eyes were guarded.
“Of course.” I selected a book from the library and seated myself on my chair.
The grandfather clock ticked on. Jessamine remained oddly quiet. Minutes bled into hours. I napped, knowing I’d need strength later.
