to worry about?
At the end of the hall behind a door with a glass knob was the attic. Moonlight snuck in from a fan-shaped window overhead, striking the knob and scattering tiny bright rays in a dozen different directions.
He made his way with careful, silent steps, expecting a bedroom door to fly open at any second. The staff was not allowed to step silently past bedroom doors at three o’clock in the morning. Hadley could lose his job. He could lose Mama’s job, too.
The noises were different than the noises one heard in the kitchen at dawn. Snores blasted out of nowhere. The purposeful tick of the clock in the front hall transformed into the gnish-gnash of ratchet teeth chewing forever on the same black moment without going anywhere. Blocks away, a pack of dogs began to bark indignantly. The knob winked at him from across a vast continent of mattress creaks and phlegmy breathing. By the time he reached it, his palm was too slick to turn the thing.
Panic rose in Hadley’s chest. What if instead of finding his heart’s desire waiting for him in the attic, he found a note written in flower-dotted letters informing him that he was too witless to be in Lucinda’s club? The mere thought of it froze him with indecision. The clock seemed louder. Faster. It was hard to think. Somewhere in the night, a dog tore something into pieces. Hadley used his shirttail to twist the doorknob and prepared himself for disappointment even as he hurried up the stairs.
Indeed, the attic appeared empty. An octagonal beam of white light streamed across the floor. In the beam sat an old velvet lounge like the one Harker described in his journal.
“Lucinda?” he whispered. “Are you here?”
No one spoke.
He ran his hand along the spikes of velvet, stirring up little blooms of dust with his fingers. A ceramic clown with a cracked eye watched him from the top of a paint-chipped wardrobe while a beach umbrella poked at his ankle with its rusted tip. There were stacks of photographs, old sewing patterns, and shiny new hatboxes stacked everywhere. And there were mirrors. Too many mirrors. Mirrors enough to scare you with your own warped reflection.
There was no note.
Hadley checked his daddy’s pocket watch. It was a few minutes after three. Maybe Lucinda was having a hard time sneaking down that long hallway? He sat on the lounge and leaned back. What if she’d been caught? What if he was about to be caught, too? He leapt at every little sound, but nothing came of them. He watched the dust motes to see if brides would appear. At some point, his heart rate slowed, and he drifted off to sleep.
He dreamt that Lucinda came to the attic with a boning knife hidden in the folds of her dress. “Time for another pact,” she said. “What shall we cut this time? . . . ”
When something touched his leg, he jumped awake.
His first thought was that it was the knife. Then he was sure it was Mr. Browning. Then he was sure it was Dracula.
It was Lucinda.
Her hair hung in buttery waves around her face, and her lips were red as red can be. Hadley was about to ask what she put on them to make them so red when he realized she was wearing a nightgown with nothing underneath. She smiled and gave his knee a squeeze. Something was hanging around her neck. It twirled and caught the moon, blinding him and making him squint. Beneath the dreamy trail of her hand, his muscles tensed like two-by-fours.
“Relax,” she whispered.
Hadley rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t stop staring at Lucinda. She looked so different.
“Don’t you like me like this?” she asked.
His thigh tremored beneath her fingers. “I like you,” he said. When she touched her mouth to his, Hadley smelled peach blossoms out of season. This is it, he thought. At long last, my life is about to start.
“You’re shaking, Hadley. Are you scared?”
Hadley wasn’t scared. He longed to grab Lucinda and pull her down on the lounge with him.
“Such
At the end of the hall behind a door with a glass knob was the attic. Moonlight snuck in from a fan-shaped window overhead, striking the knob and scattering tiny bright rays in a dozen different directions.
He made his way with careful, silent steps, expecting a bedroom door to fly open at any second. The staff was not allowed to step silently past bedroom doors at three o’clock in the morning. Hadley could lose his job. He could lose Mama’s job, too.
The noises were different than the noises one heard in the kitchen at dawn. Snores blasted out of nowhere. The purposeful tick of the clock in the front hall transformed into the gnish-gnash of ratchet teeth chewing forever on the same black moment without going anywhere. Blocks away, a pack of dogs began to bark indignantly. The knob winked at him from across a vast continent of mattress creaks and phlegmy breathing. By the time he reached it, his palm was too slick to turn the thing.
Panic rose in Hadley’s chest. What if instead of finding his heart’s desire waiting for him in the attic, he found a note written in flower-dotted letters informing him that he was too witless to be in Lucinda’s club? The mere thought of it froze him with indecision. The clock seemed louder. Faster. It was hard to think. Somewhere in the night, a dog tore something into pieces. Hadley used his shirttail to twist the doorknob and prepared himself for disappointment even as he hurried up the stairs.
Indeed, the attic appeared empty. An octagonal beam of white light streamed across the floor. In the beam sat an old velvet lounge like the one Harker described in his journal.
“Lucinda?” he whispered. “Are you here?”
No one spoke.
He ran his hand along the spikes of velvet, stirring up little blooms of dust with his fingers. A ceramic clown with a cracked eye watched him from the top of a paint-chipped wardrobe while a beach umbrella poked at his ankle with its rusted tip. There were stacks of photographs, old sewing patterns, and shiny new hatboxes stacked everywhere. And there were mirrors. Too many mirrors. Mirrors enough to scare you with your own warped reflection.
There was no note.
Hadley checked his daddy’s pocket watch. It was a few minutes after three. Maybe Lucinda was having a hard time sneaking down that long hallway? He sat on the lounge and leaned back. What if she’d been caught? What if he was about to be caught, too? He leapt at every little sound, but nothing came of them. He watched the dust motes to see if brides would appear. At some point, his heart rate slowed, and he drifted off to sleep.
He dreamt that Lucinda came to the attic with a boning knife hidden in the folds of her dress. “Time for another pact,” she said. “What shall we cut this time? . . . ”
When something touched his leg, he jumped awake.
His first thought was that it was the knife. Then he was sure it was Mr. Browning. Then he was sure it was Dracula.
It was Lucinda.
Her hair hung in buttery waves around her face, and her lips were red as red can be. Hadley was about to ask what she put on them to make them so red when he realized she was wearing a nightgown with nothing underneath. She smiled and gave his knee a squeeze. Something was hanging around her neck. It twirled and caught the moon, blinding him and making him squint. Beneath the dreamy trail of her hand, his muscles tensed like two-by-fours.
“Relax,” she whispered.
Hadley rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t stop staring at Lucinda. She looked so different.
“Don’t you like me like this?” she asked.
His thigh tremored beneath her fingers. “I like you,” he said. When she touched her mouth to his, Hadley smelled peach blossoms out of season. This is it, he thought. At long last, my life is about to start.
“You’re shaking, Hadley. Are you scared?”
Hadley wasn’t scared. He longed to grab Lucinda and pull her down on the lounge with him.
“Such
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