Page 62 of The Sisters of Crimson House

She was no longer in the room.

“Where did she—” Charley said, panic surging. It hurt to talk, her throat feeling like it had been squished through a Play-Doh Fun Factory.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” said Astrid, sounding like she was struggling to believe her own words. “One step at a time.” She sat down next to her on the bed and gently slipped her arm around Charley’s shoulders.

Sy walked over to her and quietly held out a white handkerchief he took from his pocket. Charley took it wordlessly, wondering why a man so young carried around handkerchiefs when she watched the white square transform into crimson. The third mark of the Seeker’s Star winked up at her from her raw, bleeding palm.

Thirty-One

Zavier was mid-speech when the door to Crimson House opened. Charley could tell by how he’d positioned himself on the stairs that he’d reached the part about homicidal Colonel Marquette (he loved jumping over the banister for full effect) when he beamed at the newcomers. “Oh! Just in time,” he announced, hurrying to the top of the stairwell. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned to the three tourists staring up at him from the lobby, “today you thought you’d signed up for the Black and Bell haunted-history tour. You didn’t realize you would be a part of history!” With a grand flourish, Zavier unfurled a large canvas banner affixed to the stairwell that raced to the ground with an alarming thud, sending the tourists jumping back in alarm.

In bright red carnival font, the banner read:

THE BRYDE SISTERS PSYCHIC SPECTACULAR

Halloween 7 p.m.

Sisters. Psychics. Reunited.

“There’s one of our Bryde sisters now!”

The group in the lobby turned to look at the doorway where Astrid, wide-eyed, frantically shook her head at Zavier, who finally seemed to pick up on the fact that shit had gone extremely sideways.

“And if you’ll just step into the adjoining parlor, I will rejoin you in just a moment,” he said, all breezy charm and confidence until he ushered his guests into the next room and closed the heavy pocket door of the parlor before fairly sprinting toward Astrid. “What happened?” he asked, taking in a pale Astrid, a paler Charley.

“I’m okay,” said Charley, unsure if that was true. Her neck hurt. She was sure if she looked in the mirror, she would see Miranda-induced handprints on her skin splayed out like some bizarre collar. More importantly, her psyche hurt. Where had her sister run off to? Was she even still her sister? The image of her black eyes came rushing back to her like a vision. “Is she here?” asked Charley, scanning the entry like she might be hiding.

“Miranda?” Zavier said. “I thought she left with you.” He narrowed his eyes then, taking in Sy, who stood lurking by the door like a vampire waiting to be allowed in.

“Did you make an appointment this time?” asked Zavier, not bothering to hide his contempt.

“She said it was okay,” Sy mumbled, nodding at Charley, who impatiently waved him in. There had been so much chaos at the Maguire house that it was just easier not to question him riding back with her, a decision she was rapidly regretting.

“I give you permission to enter the house, just close the door. You’re letting the bugs in,” said Charley, wishing she could go upstairs and sleep for a thousand years. She looked at the large crimson banner, dust motes still hovering in the air from where it had fallen. It was piled up on the floor like a car crash, an omen she willfully ignored.

“We shared the poster on the Black and Bell Myspace page,” Zavier said with a nervous smile. “We’ve already sold twenty tickets. At fifty bucks a pop.”

Twenty tickets. Twenty people were coming to the house for Halloween. For a Spectacular. Charley couldn’t even imagine what that would look like. Never mind a homicidal spirit—where would they get enough chairs?

Astrid gave Charley a gentle hug. “I’m going to help Zavier with the tour and, uh”—she paused delicately—“fill him in on everything. You’re good with…?” She nodded at Sy, who had made his way over to the stairwell to inspect the banner.

“I’m okay,” Charley said again, not knowing why she was lying, but what else could she say? “I promise,” she reiterated off Zavier’s concerned stare.

“Yell or just send up a psychic flare with that if you need us,” he said, nodding at her hand. It was still wrapped with Sy’s handkerchief, red and stiff with her blood.

Leaving Sy to mill about the entry, she crept up to her room where she slipped into a clean shirt and washed the blood off her hand. She sat on her bed, studying her palm. It was less a Seeker’s Star and more like random, jagged pink lines of varying lengths. If a supernova was a star’s collapse, what was the word for a star becoming itself? She had a random thought of grabbing a Sharpie and filling in the rest of the lines so it didn’t look like such a work in progress. But then wasn’t that the perfect representation of Charley Bryde? A continuous work in progress? On her way back downstairs, she avoided looking at her neck in the mirror.

“A rebooted Halloween Spectacular. It’s not a bad idea,” Sy said as she joined him in the lobby. She was glad to see he looked as tired as she felt. “How does your sister feel about it? Oh,” he said, realizing. “She just tried to kill you.” He said it with zero malice, like he was remarking on the weather. She felt her neck throb in response. He looked at her then, reeling with legitimate shame. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I can really be an asshole sometimes,” he said. Sy looked at the portraits of the Bryde ancestors on the wall. Nicole Bryde’s portrait smiled down at them, her mouth almost curled into a smirk, like she was forever contemplating the punch line to a joke.

“My mother,” said Charley softly. She wanted him to see her, see how beautiful she had been before she was taken from Charley.

“Your parents died the last time you hosted one,” he said, taking in all the portraits, the women with their enigmatic smiles. “I forget we’re not so different sometimes.” He leaned against the banister, nervously raking his hand through his hair. “I told you about what happened to me,” Sy said. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “My father left when my mother was six months pregnant with me. She never wanted to be surprised like that again. She paid to always see what was coming.”

“I can see why she might be drawn to visiting psychics,” Charley said carefully.

“I told you that visiting psychics is how she lost our savings. But it’s also how I lost her. She abandoned her family. She abandoned me,” he clarified. “On a psychic’s advice.”

His words were a warning that flared throughout her body.