Page 56 of The House of Quiet

Chapter Forty-Eight

A Bird Descending

Dawn, Lake, and Nimbus are missing, Forest is still unconscious but breathing, and River is also unconscious but breathing.

Birdie didn’t bother checking on that evil blond girl, but something will have to be done to make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone when she wakes up.

And then there’s the matter of Cook and the driver, around here somewhere, lurking.

She has to find Arrow first, though. Hawthorn will kill her. But just as she’s about to sprint down the hall to start searching the house, sturdy fire poker in hand, a door opens behind her. A door she’s been trying to get through since she arrived.

“This way,” the House Wife says.

Birdie can’t believe it. “You’re letting me in?”

“Yes, yes.” The House Wife grasps Birdie’s hands, squeezing just a little too tight. There are tears in her eyes, like she’s in pain. “We’re ready for you.”

She backs up and gestures for Birdie to come in.

Birdie doesn’t hesitate. She steps through. She can see the House Wife clearly now, too. Around her head is a halo. It’s dull, worn around the edges. Nothing like the bright, chaotic wonder of her friends. The House Wife has an ability. But what is it?

Birdie struggles not to show her revulsion. There’s something disgusting about the House Wife’s halo. She wants to get far away from her. But she can’t. Not now that she’s finally inside this room.

“Come with me,” the House Wife says, more urgency in her movements than Birdie’s ever seen.

Gone is the drifting from one space to another.

The House Wife flings herself toward the closet door.

Birdie follows. The shape of Forest’s suggestion gets in her way again, his original command not to go through that door lingering.

It’s softened by the deeper, truer thing he said, though: You should do what you want.

Birdie wants to go up those stairs. She wants to so very, very badly.

But Lake told her if she went down those stairs, she’d die.

And if she dies, she can’t help anyone. Magpie is probably dead.

Birdie can admit it to herself, at last. But her friends aren’t.

She owes it to the people here to stay alive and protect them.

She has to choose to live, to keep going and fighting, even if it means walking away from ever finding out what happened to Magpie.

For so long her world was small, focused on a future built around her sister.

But now she knows how big the world is, and how many people the men in charge of this country are hurting.

Her heart cracks open. Even though she hates the thought that anything in the world could be more important than her precious little sister, she can’t turn her back on everyone else.

Birdie’s being pulled in too many directions. Which means prioritizing her responsibilities. Any good maid knows being overwhelmed by how much there is to do doesn’t get any of it done.

So the first task at hand: Find the person in urgent, immediate trouble. And that’s Arrow.

“I’m sorry.” Birdie takes a step back, away from the stairs. She tightens her grip on the poker. “I have to find Arrow.”

“I know where she is.” The House Wife points to the floor. Sure enough, there are droplets of blood, still fresh and wet. Leading directly to the stairs.

“Show me.” Birdie follows the House Wife through the door. There’s a moment of strain, and then she breaks through Forest’s residual command.

After all Lake’s warnings, Birdie expects something dire or threatening. She knows servant stairs can be deadly, but these barely even qualify. They’re sturdy and well-built. She’ll be extra careful on her way back down, just in case, but she doesn’t understand what Lake was so concerned about.

At the top of the stairs is an open room with a single red window.

But that barely merits notice, because there’s a hole in the floor.

The door to that hole is a wooden circle on a hinge, with a looped leather strap in the middle so it can be pulled closed from the inside.

Birdie keeps one eye on the House Wife—she’s watching intently, her head tilted with one ear pressed against her shoulder like she’s trying to block something out—and edges up to the opening.

Ah. Of course. Another set of stairs. These ones go deeper than they should, past the second and first floor to somewhere underground.

Darkness pools at the bottom, shrouding whatever’s down there.

These are stairs worthy of Lake’s grim pronouncement.

They feel like a journey that goes in only one direction.

Somewhere beneath Birdie, Arrow moans in pain.

Birdie takes the first steps in a rush, reaches back up, and slams the trap door shut. She shoves the metal poker through the leather strap to jam the door. Birdie waits, ready to attack the House Wife if she gets it open.

The House Wife just knocks, gently but insistently. “You’ll need me,” she says, her voice muffled. “The noise has to go somewhere, once it’s out of you.”

Satisfied that she’s safe for now, Birdie carefully navigates the steps. At the bottom, propped up against the wall, is Arrow.

Arrow squints up at her, blood trickling down the side of her head. “Forest and I had a whole secret conspiracy within our conspiracy to keep you from coming down here,” she grumbles. “It was a good plan.”

“I’m sure it was.” Birdie crouches in front of her friend. There’s a light source farther down the dank stone tunnel. Arrow’s face is already bruising, and there are a few shallow cuts on her throat. Her arm is bleeding. Maybe other parts of her, too. And she’s cradling her other arm.

“The House Wife shoved Hawthorn and me down the stairs. I broke my arm. My ankle hurts, too,” Arrow says. “I think that’s just sprained, though.”

“Okay.” Birdie reaches for her. “I’ll help you stand, and we’ll go up together.”

To her surprise, Arrow shakes her head. “This house has cost us too much already. We need to know why. Also, I’d rather poke my own eyes out than let Hawthorn get answers instead of us.

He’s in bad shape from our fall, too. You can catch him.

I’ll stay here and watch your back in case the House Wife comes to finish us off. ”

“But you’re hurt. How can you—”

Arrow holds up the scalpel, glinting with menace. She smiles, her expression glinting with that same menace. “We’re not ending down here, Birdie. Forest would kill me if I let you die, and River would kill me if I died.”

Birdie presses her forehead against Arrow’s shoulder, the only spot on her body that doesn’t seem to be injured. “I’m glad I metyou.”

“There’s no one I’d rather scrub bathtubs and fight evil with.”

With a choked laugh, Birdie stands. She walks down the tunnel to find out, at last, what the House of Quiet has been hiding.

Around a curve, there’s an archway. A figure leans exhaustedly against it, his back to her. Hawthorn turns his head and glances over his shoulder. He sighs. “We’re fools, little bird. We both lose.”

Beyond him is a low-ceilinged chamber, lit by a flickering lamp. And there, bound with leather straps and lying flat on a table, emaciated and strange but undeniably familiar, is Magpie. Her sister. Here, at last. Here the whole time.

Magpie opens her eyes, turns her head toward Birdie, and lets out an agonized scream.