بخش 32

CHAPTER 62

ROUGH HANDS

LOUISE ASTER, dressed in a white linen nightgown, stared in horror. Hearing Molly’s cry for help, Louise had run to her bedroom door and flung it open, only to find herself facing two hard-looking men, one with a nose that belonged on a carved wooden mask. She backed away from the doorway, her throat tightening in terror.

Slank and Nerezza stepped toward her. Louise screamed and turned to run. But Slank, moving with the speed of a striking snake, grabbed her arm with thick, calloused fingers and yanked her back toward the door. Louise cried out again, dragging her heels and throwing elbows into Slank’s ribs, struggling desperately to break free. But Slank held her tightly, pulling her roughly into the hallway.

There Lady Aster felt a sudden chill engulf her body, a sensation so startling that she stopped struggling for an instant. And in that instant she caught a glimpse of a dark form moving—flowing—up the stairs to the south tower.

To Molly’s room.

“RUN, MOLLY!” she shouted. “RU—”

A rough hand clamped over her mouth while another took her by the neck, cutting off her anguished voice. Nerezza and Slank both had hold of her now; she struggled, but was powerless to prevent them from dragging her down the stairs. She managed only one glance back, a glance that revealed the dark form sliding up the tower stairwell, silently, smoothly, like a monstrous leech. CHAPTER 63

THE THING ON THE STAIRS

THE SOUND OF LOUISE ASTER’S SCREAMS echoed horribly up the stairwell to Molly’s room; then—even more horribly—her mother’s voice was choked into silence. Molly took a frantic step toward the doorway, only to be forced back again by a threatening thrust of the blade held in Jenna’s hand.

Molly spun around, looking for another way out, but there was no other way, save for the window. She ran to it and screamed at what she saw below: her mother, struggling furiously but uselessly, was being dragged down the walk by two men, toward a waiting cab.

Molly quickly unlatched the window and yanked it upward with all her strength. The window shot open. Molly reached for the chain around her neck, feeling for her locket.

Too late Jenna had crossed the room, bringing the point of the knife to within inches of Molly’s face.

“I’ll take the locket, m’lady,” she said.

“No,” said Molly, backing away from the blade. She felt herself bump her writing desk; the impact caused the oil lamp to wobble, sending the shadows of the two young women dancing along the walls.

“If you won’t give it to me,” said Jenna, moving forward, “then I’ll cut it from your neck. I might cut you while I’m at it. Sometimes I’m not too handy with a knife.”

Molly saw the knife coming closer. She reached behind her, frantically feeling for anything to use as a weapon. Her right hand brushed something, and she grabbed it. Jenna flicked the knife forward expertly, catching the locket chain with the blade point, severing it. As chain and locket clattered to the floor, Molly whipped her arm forward, the ink bottle in her hand. She hurled the ink directly into Jenna’s face. Jenna shrieked and brought her left hand to her eyes, but managed to hold on to the knife with her right. She took a vicious crosswise swipe at Molly, a swipe that would have slashed Molly’s throat had Molly not seen it coming and ducked. Molly felt the blade edge just barely brush the top of her hair. Taking advantage of Jenna’s momentary blindness, Molly lunged past her toward the door. Behind her she heard Jenna stumbling around, sightless, screaming in rage.

Molly reached the door and ran through it onto the landing at the top of the stairs. She stopped—and shrieked again.

The dark man was slithering up the stairs toward her. Molly was looking right at him, ten feet away, but could see none of his features; where his face should have been, Molly saw only blackness. But she felt his presence intensely, felt the air grow cold.

Behind her, Molly heard Jenna stumbling toward the doorway, getting close now. But Molly would rather have faced a dozen knife-wielding Jennas than descend the stairway toward that faceless creeping thing.

Molly turned around; Jenna, her face stained a deep indigo, was coming out the door, still clutching the knife in one hand and vigorously rubbing her eyes with the other. Molly hid to the side. As Jenna stepped through the doorway, Molly stuck out her leg. Jenna tripped hard, falling forward onto the landing, the knife clattering across the floor.

Molly darted past the sprawling form of Jenna, into her room. She slammed the door shut; the last thing she saw before it closed was the dark man reaching the top of the landing. She could feel him looking at her with his formless face.

Gasping with fear, Molly fumbled with the bolt on the door, finally sliding it home. She turned and looked toward the window, her only hope of escape now. But she was four stories up; to get out that way, first she had to find the locket. She dropped to her hands and knees and, by the dim, flickering light of the oil lamp, began frantically searching the floor.

As she did, she heard a groaning sound right outside her door. And she felt the air growing colder.