Within These Wicked Walls(7)

Dear God … what had I gotten myself into?





CHAPTER 4


My first Waking had been terrifying. It was before Jember worked for the church that moved us away from this far more dangerous town, and a one-room cube of wood and mud with a tin roof was no place to leave a five-year-old by herself all night. So Jember had taken me with him to see a client. I’d sat through the Waking, staring through trembling fingers as he worked, and for weeks afterward I’d had nightmares of a Manifestation made of long fingernails, crawling up the wall like a scorpion.

Eventually I got used to monsters. Eventually I learned that the world was scarier than anything the Evil Eye could manifest. A merciless upbringing had left me literally scarred, whereas no curse could lay a finger on me.

But after my first night in this house, I knew I was wrong. My God … how could I have been so wrong?

I don’t remember climbing into bed, but I awoke buried in my blanket, shaking. From the cold or from lingering terror, I couldn’t tell.

The wind. The stinging cold. Those violent hands. Everything had felt so real, now all reduced to the memory of a nightmare.

I was almost too nervous to leave my room, but I was there to earn my keep, not huddle in bed all day. I dressed underneath the covers, then forced myself out into the open. A chill shot through my leg as I placed my foot on the ground. If I was going to survive the next few weeks here, I’d have to ask for warmer clothing. After my interaction with Mr. Rochester the night before, I doubted I’d get it.

I would ask Esjay. He seemed to be the only person with sense in this house.

I paused at the door, watching the hearth blaze. Someone had been in my room. I appreciated the heat, but the idea that someone could unlock the door and come in while I was sleeping scared me a little.

And I’d barricaded it, too. Wait, had I? Because the chair was in its original spot near the fire, as if I hadn’t touched it.

I rushed into the hall, only glancing at Mr. Rochester’s shut door before heading down the stairs. The steps were in perfect form. There was no rat horde, or hands either, thank God. All the spiritual activity in the house seemed quiet.

Still, I hadn’t signed the contract. There was still time to run.

Run back to what?

I needed the money. I had nowhere else to go except back to the street. But the thought of spending another Waking in this house petrified me, despite the amenities that came with living here. My first Waking all over again, amplified ten times over.

From now on I would stick to cleansing the house during the day.

I don’t know why, but when I turned the corner into the dining room I half expected to be greeted by a corpse. The memory of the last corpse I’d seen popped into my head. Jember had made me dig a hole—what he’d called “a character-building sport”—and when I followed him back later, I saw him dump in something very human-shaped wrapped in rough cloth. The curiosity had worn off quickly enough that I’d never gotten around to asking, and Jember wasn’t the type to kill and tell.

But there was nothing dead on the other side of the wall, unless one counted Peggy’s dead-eyed glare as she exited the kitchen.

She put a steaming bowl on the table. “Come eat, child,” she said, as if I was already late. I took my seat without a word. It was some sort of tan mush. Porridge, probably, though not done well. Whoever had made the spread last night clearly hadn’t cooked this morning. But it was a blessing I had food at all, and it was nice and hot.

“Peggy.” Emma leaned in the doorway, her cheeks red, her breath a bit heavy as if she’d been rushing around. “Have you seen Edward?”

“Did you check the stables?” Peggy responded harshly.

“He’s not there.” Emma’s eyes were wide. “Do you think he—?”

“He’s there,” Peggy snapped, her sharp reaction jolting me a little. “Of course he’s there. And if not, he’s somewhere else. Go, get on with your day.”

Emma hesitated, her eyes glistening a bit in the firelight. And then she disappeared around the corner again, her hurried steps disappearing down the hall.

One thing was certain—I would have to do everything in my power to avoid dealing with Peggy. Stabbing my employer’s housekeeper was most likely grounds for immediate termination, no matter how detestably she carried herself.

I ate my mush with a cup of water, and then followed Peggy down the hall—but a few safe feet behind, because her hands were in her apron pockets and I hated that I couldn’t see them. It was silly when I thought about it—Peggy wasn’t going to attack me. She was rude, but obviously not a killer. And even if she was, I had quick reflexes.

You’re in a grand house, Andi. Get your mind off the streets.

Peggy turned a corner, and I rushed to catch up, nearly bumping into another woman. She looked a little older than me. Her head was shaved, and her skin was dark and smooth, radiant against her simple yellow dress—not at all equipped for the cold. She was tall and athletic and beautiful. I wondered if she was Mr. Rochester’s wife.

But if she was a rich lady of the house, Peggy would’ve acknowledged her when she passed her in the hall, especially since she looked as if she was trying to hold back tears.

I opened my mouth to comfort her … then remembered the last time I’d tried to comfort someone and instead rushed to catch up with Peggy. It was seven years ago, when seven of my peers decided they didn’t like me being kind to a girl they’d already deemed not worth their time. I’d paid for it with a beating and a knife to the face.