Page 50

“According to Mom and Uncle Caleb, they used to sneak out all the time,” Desmond said. “Grandpa Eli says it was the same with their generation. But after what happened to those kids, it wasn’t safe.”

“What kids?” I asked.

“There were these teenagers from Eston who broke in to party on the grounds,” Celia said, shoulders hunched. “They all killed each other.”

“Holy shit,” I said, eyes widening.

“That’s not true,” Desmond said. “Only one boy died. The other three were just injured. They said they were fighting monsters. And they had bite marks and stuff—but they were all human bites. They beat the one boy to death. Everyone said they’d taken some bad LSD, but I looked it up at one point, and the official police report said all that was in their systems was pot and alcohol.”

I looked down at my cup dubiously.

“My dad was the one who found them,” Bryony said. All eyes turned to her. “He doesn’t talk about it, but I can tell it still affects him.” She paused. “It was right here, you know.”

I looked around at the graffiti scrawled over the old stones, wondering if any of it had been left by those unfortunate kids. “When was this?” I asked.

“I was eight. So ten years ago. In the fall,” Bryony said.

Ten years ago. Right after I left. Maybe that was the terrible thing my mother had sensed coming.

“There have been a few weird accidents, but nothing like that since,” Desmond said.

“Because people got more careful,” Bryony pointed out. “Like you said, you two don’t sneak out like your parents did.”

“I went into the woods,” Desmond said in a burst of sound that drew all eyes to him.

“Desmond! You could havedied!” Celia wailed.

“It isn’t death that you have to worry about,” Bryony said. “Not with Vaughan blood.”

“No, you just might end up like Samson Vaughan,” Desmond said.

“What happened to Samson Vaughan?” I asked.

“He was Leopold’s cousin,” Desmond explained. “Apparently, when he was thirteen, he decided to stay out all night. I don’t know what happened to him. Sam couldn’t say because he didn’t have a tongue when they found him in the morning. He wouldn’t write it down either. He’d only draw the same thing over and over and over again. A spiral.”

“Thespiral?” I asked.

“The symbol of Harrow,” Desmond said. “God knows why.”

“It’s a reference to the labyrinth,” Celia said. “You know. The queen fell in love with a bull and gave birth to the minotaur, and it was so monstrous and evil they had to lock it away in the labyrinth. A monster in a maze.”

“Harrow may be a maze, but there is no monster here,” Bryony said, her voice and expression both cold.

Desmond raised an eyebrow. “If we’re saying the shit that happens here is real, how can you say the thing responsible isn’t evil?”

“We’re getting off topic,” I said. The last thing I needed was those two going after each other and letting this whole thing fall apart. “Desmond, you were saying you stayed out at night.”

He took a big glug of vodka. “I think so. I have this memory, but it’s like it’s floating. I can’t place it. I was pretty young, though.” He swallowed and curled his hand into a fist. “I have this image of a man. He’s holding a little girl’s hand. It’s dark. We’re in the woods. I try to follow. I remember being afraid and cold. And then there was shouting. Then I remember Roman grabbing me by the arm. He was all covered in dirt, and his eye wasswollen, and his nose was bleeding. He told me to get back into the house. And I must have because that’s all I remember.”

“You don’t remember when it was?” Bryony asked, frowning. “Or who the girl was?”

“Like I said, it’s just sort of floating. I didn’t even think about it until a couple years ago, and it just popped into my head. Like I’d repressed it or something,” Desmond said, sounding deeply uncomfortable. He sighed. “Look, Helen, I’m not sure any of this is actually helpful. You know what you need to do. Play it safe, ride the year out, inherit everything, and GTFO.”

“That’s assuming that Icanride out the year,” I said grimly. “You’re not the one that keeps waking up outside with dirt under your fingernails.” The alcohol was definitely hitting me, uncoiling in my stomach. I felt dizzy, and the stones of the folly seemed like hunched-over forms, growing ominous in the dark.

“I had a dream about you,” Celia said distantly. Wind sighed through the trees and dragged ripples over the surface of the lake. “I dreamed you were sleeping, and tentacles made of shadows reached up out of your bed and pulled you down. Deep below the house. I dreamed they were like puppet strings and made you dig and dig and dig, and then I realized you were looking for your bones, Helen. You were digging for your own bones, but you couldn’t find them.”

“What the fuck, Celia,” Desmond said, eyes wide.