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“That’s why Leopold left the house to me,” I concluded. “To force me back here. It was the only way to draw me back in. Or...”

“Or Leopold didn’t have anything to do with it,” Bryony said. She raked a hand through her hair. “Eli knows all about herbs and poisons. He and Iris certainly had the kind of access to draw up a fake will. What if they were pissed at Leopold for letting you go? So they killed him and used his death as a way to lure you back?”

“That’s horrible,” I said, shaking my head. Were they really capable of it? I thought of Iris, stern and exacting, with all the emotional warmth of a saltine cracker. Eli, how he always managed to be in the background of any room, even when he was standing right in front of you. Eli wouldn’t have planned it, I thought, but maybe he would have done as Iris said.

Bryony gave me a speculative look. “Do you think they’re having an affair?”

I blanched. “Ew. What?”

She shrugged. “Her husband’s brother. Lives in her house. They spend all their time together. It is a little weird. If they were together, that’s one more reason to get rid of Leopold.”

“That’s disturbing,” I said, but it made a sick kind of sense. I swallowed. “They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?”

I wanted her to deny it. Instead, she let out a low moan. “You have to get out of here.”

“I can’t.”

“Forget the money. Forget the house. If you stay, Iris and Eli will—” Her words cut off.

“It won’t help,” I said, and the certainty was leaden in my chest. “Not unless we find a way to break that connection.”

“You have to find the center,” Bryony recited dully, and I nodded.

“I have to see this through,” I said. “They’re not going to do anything to me until the Investiture. Whatever has to happen, it happens then. The best thing I can do is keep my head down and keep paying attention. Try to figure out what’s coming.”

“Then at least don’t go back to the house,” she said. “Not tonight. Come spend the night at my place. Just to get a break from it all. We could keep looking through Nana’s stuff.”

It took a moment to register that she had just invited me to sleep over. My cheeks went hot. “That would be—I mean, we should—that sounds—except—”

“ ‘That would be very useful. We should definitely do that. That sounds like a very sensible plan. Except that I have to go play dress-up for my grandma’s birthday, so not today.’ Did I get it right?” She smiled at me, but there was a worried edge to it.

“Right. Sentences have endings,” I said, nodding. “I forget that sometimes.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rabbit. I’ll be here when the pageantry relents.”

“Good,” I managed. Back at the house, a bell was ringing.

“You’ll be needing to get back now,” she reminded me.

“Right,” I agreed, and didn’t move.

She tucked a strand of wind-tossed hair behind my ear. “I’ll see you soon,” she promised, and she was the one that walked away, humming under her breath, her fingers stretched out to brush the reeds that grew along the bank. The bell rang again, insistent. I turned away, but the sensation of Bryony remained. I would have done anything to not be a Vaughan in that moment. Give me any other name, and give me Bryony.

But I would always be a Vaughan. And I would always belong to Harrow.

18

THAT NIGHT WASIris’s birthday dinner. Sandra came to my rescue with a dress again, and I floated downstairs in a gown of emerald green with a plunging neckline that made me very aware of the fact that I had boobs. Celia had helped me with my makeup when she discovered me desperately trying to smudge my way out of a “raccoon on an energy drink bender” look, and the overall effect was so sophisticated I almost felt like I belonged in this place.

Mom waited at the bottom of the stairs with Simon. I had to pause halfway to catch my breath, a burst of vertigo making the stairs slew to the left. “You look gorgeous,” she told me.

“Right back at you.” I looked like I was playing dress-up next to her. Diamond studs glinted at her ears. Her dress was black and made me think of raven’s wings. Simon, in his ill-fitting tux, beamed at us like we were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

When the dinner bell rang, I took my seat at the head of the table in that awful chair. I was wedged firmly in conversation with Iris and Eli, with Victoria and Caleb offering occasional interjections. I kept jumping every time Iris or Eli spoke to me. At least Roman was out of easy conversational reach, though that didn’t stop him from glaring at me whenever our eyes met.

He wasn’t part of planning this, I was certain of it. He’d been too angry when he found out about the will. I could see the hatred and bitter disappointment in him. It was like a knotty tumor in his lung, constricting his every breath. But he was still dangerous. Maybemoredangerous. Iris and Eli had a plan, and that plan involved the Investiture. Roman was a wild card.

After dinner, I was supposed to give a toast. This had been the worst news I’d received in the past several years. I would never have agreed to live in a haunted murder house if I knew it involved public speaking. My lingering illness didn’t help. My skin felt poorly fitted over my bones, and I kept getting hit with tiny bouts of dizziness. Today might be a “good” day, but only by comparison.