Page 4 of On Edge

His lips thin into a meek smile, and he gestures to my luggage, a small suitcase and a vanity, still in his boat. “Do you need help with those?”

I force a weak smile back. “Yes, please, thank you.”

The driver heaves them onto the dock. When he’s got them safely on the island, I pick up my vanity, trying to shelter it from getting too wet, pull out the slick handle of my case, and take a few hesitant steps toward the house. I’m slightly unsteady on my feet after being cramped all this time, but I don’t fall over, so that’s a win.

Behind me, the boat revs.

I peer back just in time to catch the driver’s last look, unreadable in the dark. Then, he drives off into the night, disappearing into the gloom of the Wychshire Glades, leaving me all alone.

Be strong, like Nell.

I don’t have time to try, because the wind rears again, spitting rain in my face and whipping my scarf into a frenzy. I scowl and tear it down, knotting it tightly around my neck. Then I grab the handle of my case and start forward once more.

Somewhere overhead, an owl hoots.

Cold fog bites at my calves. Gravel shifts beneath my heels, sinking and dragging me down with it. Letting out a shaky, icy breath, I continue along the narrow, winding path toward the estate, ignoring the way the wind burrows through the weave of my clothes, freezing me to the bone.

But I swear I can feel my sister here. Not in a comforting way, but in a way that makes the rain feel like tears…as if her grief belongs to the island.

“Welcome to hell, Sage,” Nell whispers at me, as though she is.

Sometimes, it’s easy to convince myself that the voice in my head, which always seems to be right, doesn’t exist. Other times, it’s not. I don’t believe in ghosts, or superstition, or local lore. Bad things don’t belong in a head like mine. But the rash of goosebumps on my arms and the taste of ash in my mouth can be hard to ignore.

Something bad is waiting to happen.

I just know it.

2

SAGE

When I’m almost there, close enough to see the spires, the moon brightening Grayfleet against the darkness, I hear it. A scrape against stone as I near the front steps.

Suddenly, every instinct whispers that someone is behind me, that I’m being stalked by a ghost I don’t believe in. A nervous glance over my shoulder reveals nothing but shadow and mist until a silhouette moves near the hedgerow. Just a flicker of something moving out of the corner of my eye, but it’s enough to freeze me.

Beneath one of the old gnarled oaks. Tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakable is the dark outline of someone just standing there.

Watching me.

Then, lightning zaps the sky, revealing his features. And for a split second, I see a demon face with burning red eyes covered in…blood.

My breath stalls in my throat.

Every nerve in my body screams at me to run.

I stumble back, tripping over my case as I fall, slashing my hands on the sharp gravel, scrabbling to my feet. But I don’t care about that. I need to move.

Heart hammering, I hurry along the path to the doorway and rap on the thick wood, quick and desperate. There’s no answer, so I pound again and again.

Still, no answer.

No lights come on. There isn’t any sound of movement coming from within, only the rapid beat of my heart pounding away inside my ribcage.

When I look back at where the nightmarish figure was standing, there’s no one there. I twist around, looking all around, but the shapes of trees and hedges all look menacing now that the moon has dipped behind dark rain clouds.

Was it real? It can’t be. Demons don’t exist. It must be fear playing tricks on my mind, conjuring the ghosts I’ve heard about.But I spin again, searching the garden’s edge, gravel path, and stone steps up to the main door. Nothing. Not even footsteps.

Just the wind dragging through the trees. I imagined it. I’m just tired, cold, and desperate for answers.