Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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30HENRY

Ale sloshes from Carter’s mug onto the knotty wood table as he bellows a deep laugh.

Despite the boisterous music and loud conversations around us, Carter’s laughter has heads turning all over the bar.

“Could you two pull it together?” I snap.

Bryce is practically wheezing. He wipes tears from his eyes. “All that and then she slams the door in your face,” he says between gasping laughs. “You must be aching.”

I am. I tried to lure Harlow out with food and wine, but she remained stubbornly locked in her little sanctuary all afternoon, doing Divine know what. I’d imagined the many things she might be doing alone in that room.

When she refused to come out to eat, I finally surrendered. Leaving her with the ever-watchful Gaven Pomeroy posted outside our bedroom door, I immediately went to the Havenwood House recovery room to try to calm down. The quiet helped, as did my breathing exercises. The recovery room has become a sanctuary for the Returned. Sometimes the world here is too loud and overwhelming. Sometimes our sharp senses are too much. The recovery room has been the place where we can find moments of peace.

Once I’d had some time to soothe my nerves, I left the house to blow off some steam.

No doubt my parents will hear about it from the servants and I’ll get an earful tomorrow about upholding traditions and being patient. I know we need Harlow to open up and tell us not just about what kind of magical blessings her siblings have, but also any other secrets that might help us remove her father from power.

But my parents don’t know that Harlow is a Divine-damn serial killer. After the ceremony, my father said that she must be a blessing delivered straight from Kennymyra, but I swear to the Divine she’s a curse from Polm. That woman is all malice.

Never mind that it doesn’t look good that I’ve left my new wife alone the night after we wed. If I spent any more time in that room waiting for her to come out, I would be climbing the walls. At least Harlow is contained for the moment.

My friends finally settle their raucous laughter and eye me with something akin to pity.

“Your girl is fun,” Bryce says. “That ceremony was—” He whistles, and I briefly think about murdering him right here in this pub.

Carter leans forward in his chair and presses a hand to my chest. “Easy, killer. You look like you’re ready to rip his throat out with your teeth.”

This is normal for us. Though the Returned instincts have made many of us more territorial, we’ve also done plenty of sharing. Bleeding woods—I shared Miriam with Bryce last month, and I enjoyed every moment of it almost as much as she did.

I should feel proud that I put on a believable performance, that I made the woman I loathe come so hard that her pleasure broke Kennymyra’s sigil. I can’t blame Bryce for enjoying it.

The sound of Harlow’s scream will be burned into my brain forever. But there’s some part of me that wishes I had it to myself.

I spin my mug in a puddle of condensation, trying to breathe through the territorial feelings.

“You both seemed like you enjoyed yourself despite your differences. You’re a lucky man,” Carter says diplomatically. He looks across the room to where Naima is pulling pints for a couple of men at the bar.

Bryce rolls his eyes. “Enjoyed themselves. The woman broke a century-old magical sigil. I’d say they have Divine-blessed chemistry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I snap. “And you’ve never been known for being pious.”

“I don’t know. Seeing your wife’s tits might have renewed my devotion,” Bryce says.

I know this is just what Bryce does. Ever since we’ve all returned—and in particular since Carter fell in love and started seeing in color again—Bryce has struggled between being a true believer and making light of the Divine. I don’t know if it’s just a response to the trauma of dying and coming back, but he’s always trying to sell us on how much he enjoys casual flings, when in truth, I think he envies what Carter and Naima have.

I don’t look up from my ale. “Harlow is off-limits.”

Bryce and Carter both freeze. I’ve been with plenty of women over the past few years, and I’ve never once said someone was off-limits to them.

While I’m sure Bryce’s interest is as much to annoy me as it is genuine, Carter isn’t interested in anyone but his wife. I can practically read the thoughts in his head from the way his eyes narrow on me.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, but I thought you said you weren’t at risk of seeing color,” Carter says.

“I’m not. I’m just feeling the normal aftereffects of the ceremony,” I say.

The two of them glance at each other and drink in unison.

I need to talk about anything else. I am under enough scrutiny with my parents. I don’t also need my friends getting in on it.

“Abusers. That’s who she’s killing,” I say. “It’s not a hobby so much as a calling. She kills men who abuse their wives and children in Lunameade.”

The distraction works. Carter sits up straighter. “Wait—Harlow is the Poison Vixen?”

I stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

“A couple of men were gossiping about it—city guards.”

“Kellan’s men?” I ask.

He nods. “They’ve been trying to catch her for months. They were convinced the Poison Vixen is just one woman, but apparently Kellan believes it’s a network of women doing it and the name is just to give a sense of mystery and because it makes for a better story. Apparently, the men’s wives always have alibis, but when they questioned neighbors and friends after the fact, the city guards discovered all of the Vixen’s victims were stepping out on their wives—and also that many of the wives had seen healers for treatment of mysterious bruises and broken bones. There seems to be some suspicion that it wasn’t just adulterers but any man who did something wrong.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?” I ask.

Carter waves a dismissive hand. “Those men are bored. They haven’t seen real action in years. I thought they just needed the myth to feel a sense of purpose. I didn’t put it together because the Vixen always leaves a vial of poison behind, and also because every witness has described her appearance differently. It sounded like it was a network of women, not just one woman.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “They might get suspicious now that the killing will stop.”

They both lean back in their chairs, considering it as they drink.

Bryce runs a hand through his copper hair, tucking it behind his ears. “Why, though? Why does a pretty, rich girl care about the plight of women in her city?”

I take a long swig of my ale. “Rafe Mattingly.”

“The mayor?” Carter asks.

“He’s married to her sister, and he’s hurting her,” I say.

Recognition tears over Carter’s face. “He’s too much of a public figure for her to take out?”

I nod.

“So she takes out everyone else,” Bryce says.

I take a sip of my ale. “So she says. She told me in communion, but it just feels too⁠—”

“Understandable?”

“No,” I snap. “It feels a little too convenient. Harlow claims someone gave her my description and told her what line I’d say the night we met. I was supposed to be meeting someone who had valuable information about passageways in the Carrenwell residence. My father wrote to us with the specific line to say in order to let the contact I was meeting know I was who they were looking for. They told me she would be a beautiful young woman, but they didn’t give me a description of what she would look like. They just said she’d show an interest in me, and I should use that line.”

“But what purpose would her family have to start an all-out war before they knew what you wanted?” Carter asks.

That’s the problem with my theory. If her family wanted to kill me, they obviously wouldn’t anticipate me being unsusceptible to poison, but it would be stupid of them to kill me as soon as I got to the city. They’re more strategic than to murder a lead without using them for information first.

“I think it was the rebels,” Bryce says. “They have a great reason to want us all fighting each other. What better way to get us to take each other out? The more chaos, the better for them.”

That does make a lot more sense, but I don’t want to surrender my suspicion of Harlow. If this is purely a thing she does out of the relentless drive to see some sort of justice where she can have none—if she’s really watching her sister suffer slowly from afar—it transforms her from a cruel serial killer using her magic to pick off unblessed men into someone who uses her power to protect people who can’t protect themselves.

“I’m sorry that you have to face the possibility that your wife might have some redeeming qualities,” Carter says with a sardonic smile. “You know who would love this? Holly.”

As soon as he says it, I know it’s true. It’s the kind of thing Holly would respect. It’s the kind of thing she would do if we hadn’t always been so vigilant about domestic violence in our community.

I can practically hear her laughing at me from beyond the veil. I take a long drink to try to chase away the tightness in my chest.

This grief is old, but some days it feels so close. Perhaps my mother’s devotion to Asher makes it feel so, or perhaps it’s because, despite his gift of returning, the Divine of Endings still has claim over me.

Sometimes I wonder if Bryce and Carter feel it too—this strange sensation of being slightly out of time with the rhythm of life—but I don’t know how to ask. We never talk about it because no words ever feel quite right to describe what it is to die and then come back.

A quick shift in the crowded bar has me immediately on edge. Someone is cutting through the room with purpose. Carter and Bryce turn to face the hooded man approaching us.

I reach for the dagger at my back, but when he draws closer, I recognize his gait. It’s Gaven. My fight instinct turns to fear.

“Where is she?” I ask.

Gaven’s face is all hard lines. “You said there was only one way out of your rooms.”

I glare right back at him. “I lied. Don’t act like you haven’t been poking around.”

“It’s my job to poke around,” he snaps. “I’m one man defending a reckless woman against a fort of people who hate her. It’s my duty to assess threats and plan escape routes.”

“That’s my job now,” I say.

He narrows his eyes. “I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night, boy. You’re not fooling me and you’re certainly not fooling her. The only one buying your performance is you.”

I glare at him. “I vowed not to harm my wife in front of the Divine. If that’s not enough for you to believe I will protect her, I don’t know what else I can do.”

Gaven jabs a finger at me. “I’ve watched you—walking into every room like you’re the most dangerous thing in it.”

“I am.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “No, you’re not. You’re too young and dumb to know the truth, which makes you the least qualified person to guard her.”

“What truth?” I snap.

Carter’s hand clamps down on my arm to remind me this isn’t the place, but I’m sick of Gaven’s superior attitude.

“The truth,” Gaven says, “is the most dangerous one in every room is the one who’s willing, and you will find no one more willing than Harlow Carrenwell. If you don’t know you’ve met your match yet, there’s nothing I can say to prepare you.”

I know that’s not true. She trusts Kellan and Aidia, and maybe that bartender she was whispering with back in Lunameade. Perhaps there’s no one she trusts entirely, but there are ways to know some of her. I don’t need to have her in totality. I just need enough to drive a wedge between her and her family.

“Then why do I know about her scar?” I ask.

As soon as the question slips from my lips, I wish I could haul it back. I just surrendered every bit of progress I made with her for the sake of proving something to her bodyguard. He’ll tell her what I said and she will lock herself back up like the vault she is.

Gaven’s dark eyes burn into me as if he knows me for exactly who I am. Someone not to be trusted. Someone who wants to use the woman he’s been sent to protect.

He shakes his head and laughs. “You were bound to see it eventually. What’s more pressing than your ego is that she’s already slipped out because you were more concerned with me knowing the layout of your manor than keeping her safe.”

I hold my hands up, chastened by the truth. “There’s a passageway from my room. I didn’t show it to her, and it’s well-hidden, so I didn’t have reason to believe she would find it.” I shake my head. “Where would she go? She was annoyed I wouldn’t let her go for a run today—maybe she tried to do that?”

Gaven frowns. “She only ran occasionally at night back in Lunameade and only because she knew the territory well. I swear she could sprint through those streets blindfolded. She’s more of a morning runner, though, and I don’t think she’d try for the first time at night here. She can be reckless, but that would be a lot even for her.”

I lean in close to whisper. “Well, I have no idea. I gave her a safe room as part of her wedding gift. No one can get into it but her, and she used it as a way to hide from me all afternoon.”

Gaven’s mouth twitches. “Did you mention anyone? Anywhere important?”

I shake my head. “We were in our room all day. The only place I took her was the art gallery.”

Carter and Bryce both whip their heads around to look at me.

“You took her to the gallery?” Bryce asks at the same time Carter says, “The sculptures or the paintings?”

I hold up a hand to brace against their questions. “Don’t read into it. She wanted to go for a run. It was the only compromise I could think of that kept us inside the manor.”

Gaven watches the exchange with too much interest. He’s far too observant—yet another reason he needs to die sooner rather than later—but the larger concern is the way my friends are looking at me like they doubt me as much as Gaven.

“Can you think of anything else?” Gaven asks.

I pore over everything I said to her this afternoon. The art, the toys. The book.

I jump to my feet, sending more ale sloshing onto the sticky wooden tabletop. “Raining Star Bar.”

“What’s that?” Gaven asks.

“It’s the storyteller’s bar,” Bryce says. “On the fourth level of the fort. It’s not that far from the manor.”

“And I mentioned the storytellers to her this afternoon when I gave her part of her wedding present,” I say. “She has to be there.”

I make for the door without looking back to see if they’re following. It’s not until I’ve pushed through the crush of dancing couples and flirty barmaids into the cold night air that I can sense them behind me.

Their boots echo on the stone ground in a percussive rhythm that’s soothing to the panic clawing at my chest.

Harlow is smart, and she knows how to defend herself. She’s not a damsel in distress. She’s a Divine-damn serial killer. I know she’ll be fine, but my pulse doesn’t settle at all.

Why couldn’t she just be a beautiful, naive idiot like I was expecting?

It’s terrifying that one heartbeat separates me from the peace I’ve been chasing.

All I can think about is how quickly this ten-years-in-the-making chance at vengeance could be dashed if she’s hurt. It might already be too late thanks to me and my stupid mouth.

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31HARLOW

It took me roughly a half-hour of stumbling around in the dark streets of the fort’s fourth level, but it was worth it. Explicit story hour at the Raining Star Bar is way better than I expected.

My glamour necklace from Aidia came in handy. The last thing I need is for someone to recognize me. I’ll just listen to a few stories while Henry is out sulking, and I’ll be back before he even knows I’m gone. I feel a little guilty, but I think Aidia will forgive me for the frivolous use of her gift when I have stories to bring her from the Mountain Haven storytellers themselves.

I used as little magic as I could, just changing my appearance enough to not be instantly recognized. I made my hair a honey-blonde, my eyes a dark brown, and my face slightly rounder.

No one in the bar has given me a second look, even the men at the table next to me, one of whom I recognize as one of the guards who was stationed in the room for the consummation ritual last night. If a man who watched me come so hard I broke an ancient sigil doesn’t recognize me, no one else in this bar will.

I sip my wine and glance around the room at the array of auras. Lots of Divine blessings are represented. The current storyteller, a hearty woman named Nicolina, looks to be in her fifties, with a bright golden aura, long, dark hair, and a smooth, confident delivery.

According to the man at the table next to mine, who quietly complained to his friend when she announced what tale she’d be telling for the night, this is a frequently requested story.

The tale reimagines the Drained not as soulless, bloodthirsty, gray-skinned-beasts, but as handsome, playful huntsmen who just happened to occasionally sip some blood. Like the huntsman from the tales of Stellaria—the Deathless. Men born of both realms—who didn’t belong entirely to either one.

I was inclined to agree with the man beside me that it sounded silly before she started, but the moment she opened her mouth and began to speak, she had my full attention.

“Rayleen ran as fast as she could through the dark forest, branches and vines tearing at her nightdress and auburn hair. Her heart pounded. She knew what she was doing when she baited him, but now that she’d slapped him and run off, it was only a matter of time until he caught her and claimed her.”

A chorus of whistles and whooping goes through the crowd.

Nicolina grins and holds up her hands to silence them. “Rayleen paused for a moment just to listen to hear how close he was. But there was nothing but the breeze blowing through the boughs above her. So she turned and ran again. A moment later, she was tackled to the dirt, the wind knocked out of her.”

The storyteller pauses again while the crowd cheers and clinks their glasses. “She was flipped onto her back to look up into Victor’s angry eyes. Do you have anything you’d like to say to me? But Rayleen just bit her lip and shook her head. She was surrendering to him completely, not using her chance to opt out, and he was thrilled she’d finally agreed to be his. He shoved her nightdress up and found her already wet and aching just from the chase. He fucked her roughly with his fingers, pinning her to the ground by her neck.”

The room is so quiet, I feel like everyone must be able to hear my pounding heart. But when I glance around, auras flare all over the bar. Everyone is just as excited as I am.

“He pulled his fingers out and shoved them into her mouth, making her gag, holding his hand there to remind her that he was fully in control now,” Nicolina continues. “Then, he unbuttoned his pants, grabbed his thick cock, and plunged it into her. They say you could hear her keening wail of pleasure from a mile away, but Victor showed her no mercy. He was eager to claim her and the faster she came, the sooner he’d be able to make her his. He fucked her savagely, dirt and gravel digging into the tender skin of her back, his hand squeezing her throat as he felt her climax growing imminent. Rayleen started to panic from the lack of air and the awareness that they were being watched from the shadows by many other people. Victor ripped her dress down the front so that everyone could enjoy the show.”

I clench my thighs together, remembering how hot I’d felt when Henry ripped my slip during the ritual.

“He bit her nipples and cut off all her air, until her pussy was leaking, clenching and unclenching. Then he finally let go. She drew in a deep breath and her release hit her like a storm. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her as she convulsed. Victor kept his pace, and right as she was reaching her thigh-trembling, back-arching peal, he sank his fangs into her neck and began to drink, and a second orgasm hit her. She screamed and cried and clawed at his back, the pleasure driving her half-mad until finally Victor buried himself deep inside her and found his release.”

The crowd applauds and shouts lewd encouragement to the fake lovers, and Nicolina waits for them to settle before continuing.

“Rayleen lay there, feeling the warmth of his venom coursing through her along with a newfound need for more of him. Victor gave her no time to recover. He withdrew and shoved her legs wide for the onlookers to see and announced her as his claimed. Rayleen didn’t stop him. She was eager to do anything to make him happy and excited to see whether he would use her himself or if he would share her with others, because her night was just beginning.”

Nicolina lifts her arms, and the crowd claps and cheers as she bows.

Imagination is not something that my family ever tried to cultivate in me, unless it was imaginative ways to kill someone and make it look accidental. I’m amazed at the creativity of these women and the bold way they tell scandalous stories so casually.

I’m hardly inexperienced, but it’s one thing to read something in the quiet of your room and quite another to perform it.

The guard at the table beside me nudges my arm. I almost jump out of my skin for fear I’ve been found out, but he just passes me a basket.

“What’s this for?” I ask.

“Tips for the teller,” he says, nodding to Nicolina.

I’m at the end of the row of tables, so I toss a few coins into the basket. When Nicolina steps off the small, raised stage, I stand and hand it to her.

“Sweet girl, you look pale,” Nicolina says, touching my cheek in a gentle maternal way. “It’s just a story. Like the ones a man tells when he wants to get you into his bed. They’re just to excite and entice. They make the monsters seem less monstrous. They remind us we have survived and endured enough to find pleasure. You are a sweet thing to be here alone for this.”

I purse my lips. “I’m not as sweet as I look.”

She tips her head back and cackles. “Well, if that’s the case, that gentleman at the table beside you is known to be not very sweet either. I’ve heard rave reviews from the ladies. He’s always here for this particular hour. I think you’ve caught his eye.”

Sure enough, when I glance back at the table, he’s smiling at me in the cocky, knowing way of men who have no clue who they’re dealing with.

“Thanks for the tip, Nicolina,” I whisper as I walk back to my seat.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the man says as I slink back into my seat.

I watch him over the rim of my glass as I take a sip of wine. “I’m sure you’d remember if we had.”

He cocks his head. “I’m sure I would.”

I hold out my hand. “Eve.”

“Brennan.” He takes it and presses a kiss to my knuckles. It’s a bit over the top, but he’s clearly counting on me being a woman who loves a romance story, so I guess it makes sense.

“And what do you do, Brennan?” I try to sound playful instead of bored.

I know he’s a guard. I vaguely remember Gaven mentioning his name, but he’s reported so many things to me in the past few days, it’s all a bit jumbled in my brain. The fact that I know the name and face means that he must be somewhat important.

These next few moments are critical. I need to make a quick and accurate study of him. Fortunately, I’m attuned to the mercurial nature of men.

The fastest way to learn a lesson is to incorrectly assess a threat. I’ve made it a point to only pick fights I can win. My father has taught me many things, but none so vital as how to size up an opponent.

Brennan is drunk. His aura is dark purple. He’s blessed by Elvodeen. Most of the hunters seem to be blessed by the Divine of Strength, and that alone tells me a bit about how to get to him.

“I’m a hunter. I guard the walls.” He looks so proud of himself.

“Oh,” I say, forcing a smile. “There’s so many of you out there all the time.”

He frowns. “I’m actually a group leader.”

I feign embarrassment. “Oh? So you are in charge of a few men? I’m afraid I just don’t understand the hierarchy.”

It’s just dismissive enough for him to want to prove himself.

Brennan takes an exaggerated look over his shoulder, like he’s worried he’s going to get caught sharing something important, then leans in close. “I lead a group of twenty men, and we handle very dangerous assignments.”

“Like venturing into the woods?” I suggest.

He scoffs. “Like guarding a Drained we caught.”

My shock is genuine this time. “Caught?”

He leans in and offers a cocky smile. “A new evolution of them. They call it a Breeder.”

“I don’t understand.” I try to think back to when I was at home talking to Kellan. I don’t remember him ever mentioning an evolution of the Drained.

However, there have been five breaches in the last six months at home. There were only two breaches all of last year. Something has changed.

Brennan glances around us again. “I really shouldn’t talk about it out in the open, but I have a room upstairs for the night. A little privacy would surely loosen my lips.”

I should have seen this coming, but between the explicit story and the surprisingly helpful information, I had completely stopped thinking about why he was telling me.

I place my hand in his. “Lead the way.”

Brennan guides me down a dark hallway next to the bar, his hand on my lower back the whole way. It’s an effort not to fidget. The silk is thin and I don’t need him feeling my scar.

We take a flight of stairs up to the second floor. He leads me to the second door on the right and shepherds me inside.

Before he can pounce on me, I turn to face him. “It sounds dangerous to be around an evolved Drained. Why is it here? How do you protect yourself? What if it escapes?”

He gestures to the bed, and I sit down on the edge.

“We’ve noticed over the past six months or so that the Drained have seemed more strategic. Where they used to just mindlessly chase blood and bash themselves against the gates and walls, they now will work together to breach at weak spots. Groups of them don’t fight over a kill. They collaborate to try to break through. For months, it’s felt like they were testing us. Seeing how we responded to different types of breaches and then retreating instead of pushing inside. So we went to investigate.”

“Into the Drained Wood?”

He puffs out his chest a little. “To find a lair.”

I was thinking he was putting on a show earlier, but what he’s describing is incredibly dangerous. Going into—or even near—a lair is a death sentence to even the most talented and magically gifted hunters.

“Did you?” I ask.

Brennan starts to pace. “We found a small one, but it was different than what we had discovered in the past. They had women.”

I stop breathing. Cold dread spreads through my body. “Human women? Not turned?”

Like the human women who have been missing in Lunameade’s poorer neighborhoods. Could the Drained be sneaking in and stealing women away in the dark of night?

He nods. “They were—tied down in a compromising position.” He pauses. “The beasts have somehow found a way to bite them without turning them. They had bite marks all over their bodies, but they were still alive and still fully human.”

I stare at him, unable to fathom that I’m in a fort miles from the city with a forest full of newly evolved beasts between us. I feel breathless and claustrophobic, but also morbidly curious.

“Most of the women we recovered were too traumatized to speak, but one could. She didn’t remember how she got there, but she told us that the beasts had been breeding them to make more intelligent Drained. They grow quickly, and apparently the birthing process is a violent, bloody mess, so none of them survived it and⁠—”

Brennan must see the horrified look on my face and realize this is not at all a good foreplay story.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry,” he says, his voice suddenly placating. “We’re just trying to study what it does without blood for an extended time. You know, to see if it devolves into something more animal like what we’re used to. That thing is locked up tight in the old holding cells by the armory and guarded by hunters. It’s not getting out.”

I stand with a start. “I’m so sorry, but I’m feeling quite unwell. I have to go.”

Dashing from the room before he can say anything else, I descend the stairs and charge across the bar.

Outside, I take in big gulps of cold air and sprint up the street toward the sixth level. Several people stare at me, but most just ignore me as if it’s totally normal to see a blonde woman in a fine silk dress sprinting through the fort this late at night.

I spot the armory up ahead and duck behind a small outbuilding. I grasp the star on my necklace and pull down my glamour. My face, eyes, and scalp itch as I transform back into myself. I ignore the sensation, continuing toward the smaller building behind the armory.

Rounding the corner, I draw up short. A group of five hunters is sitting in a circle, in the middle of a raucous candlelit card game. They’re gathered in front of a large steel door, each of them sitting on a wooden crate, their cards on a rickety-looking table in front of them.

The only other way in that I can see from here is a wooden staircase that leads up to the second floor and an equally heavy-looking steel door at the top.

This has to be the place. If resources in the fort are so slim, they wouldn’t have that many men guarding nothing.

I duck back around the corner and reverse course to the other side of the building. I eye an unstable-looking emergency ladder that leads to a window on the second floor.

I don’t want to go near the thing. I just want to see why they’re keeping it.

I place a tentative foot on the first rung of the ladder, slowly shifting my weight onto it. Mercifully, it doesn’t creak. I climb to the top, fighting the dress constantly tangling around my legs, and peer in the window. It’s dark inside and the glass is too dirty to see much.

There’s enough of a gap for me to wedge my fingers beneath the pane, and with a soft, labored moan of the wood, it opens.

I poke my head in. The air is musty and the room is quiet except for the soft patter of pacing footsteps down below. I pull myself up the rest of the way, struggling with my dress as I slide inside and onto an elevated catwalk about fifteen feet above the room.