Serafina and the Seven Stars

by Robert Beatty

  She had walked down this corridor and turned this corner to the nursery a hundred times, but now her skin was crawling and she stopped cold, shrinking into the shadow along the wall.

  There’s something there, she thought as she stared at the corner and tried to keep her breathing steady.

  It’s right there.

  She jumped violently when her cat Smoke burst toward her, his tail as thick as a feather duster. He ran straight to her and circled his body around her legs.

  Crouching down, she held the frightened cat in her hands, and tried to listen to what was ahead.

  Just around the corner, she heard a slithering, scratching noise.

  Her lips went dry and her temples began to pound. There was definitely something there.

  It sounded like the tips of sharp claws digging into wood, like something scratching incessantly at the nursery door.

  She leaned down and whispered to Smoke, “Get downstairs and out of the house. Hide in the stables!”

  As the cat scurried away behind her, she heard his feet pattering rapidly across the floor and down the back stairs. Keep going, Smoke.

  When she was sure he was safely away, she turned back toward the corner.

  She crept slowly forward, her heart pounding in her chest.

  The scratching, scratching, scratching at the nursery door continued incessantly. Something was trying to dig its way into Baby Nell’s room.

  She came to the edge of the wall and slowly, ever so quietly, peeked her head around the corner to see what it was.

  What she saw scratching at the bottom of the nursery door was a sinewy, four-legged creature with a long, twisting body, almost like a large lizard, but squatting on all fours like a mammal, and it had bare, dark gray, leathery skin, bulging muscles, and visible protrusions of vertebrae along the length of its spine. Its neck was two or three times longer than any natural animal she had ever beheld. And its almost doglike, hairless head had long, sharply pointed ears, bulbous eyes, and a prodigious snout with rows of sharp, protruding teeth. In movement, it was fast, continuously scratching and sniffing as if it knew exactly what was on the other side of the door it was working desperately to dig through. In mind, it seemed obsessed, like a starved animal digging for a succulent piece of food.

  She pulled back from the corner, her muscles pulsing, readying her for the fight.

  This wasn’t the exact beast that attacked Ember and Mr. Kettering. The other one had wings and its head was a different shape. But it was similar. She remembered the scratches in the Vestibule, and Ember running behind the planter and down into the hole. Then the sight of the dead bear cub in the forest flashed into her mind. Whatever these terrifying things were, they had a penchant for killing small animals. She didn’t know exactly how she was going to fight this one, but she knew she couldn’t let it get anywhere near Baby Nell.

  She had always been very careful about showing people who she was. No one currently at Biltmore had ever seen her as a panther. But she wasn’t sure she could kill this beast in her human form. It looked exceedingly dangerous.

  She decided she had to risk being seen.

  So right then and there, in the darkened corridor on the second floor, just outside the nursery, she shifted into her feline form.

  Suddenly, the corridor felt so small and narrow. Her large, muscled panther body seemed as if it could barely fit. And the smells of the wood flooring and Persian rugs were so foreign to her panther nose.

  But she knew she had no time to linger. Lowering her long, black-furred body nearly to the floor, she inched forward, and then slunk like a shadow around the corner.

  She crept down the corridor toward the exposed, hunched back of the creature as it dug at the base of the door. She stalked so slowly, so quietly, that the creature did not detect her.

  She crept closer and closer, sometimes stopping completely, so still that she was invisible in the darkness, just waiting, and then she continued slowly onward, inch by inch, foot by foot, until she was just a few steps away.

  The instant the creature noticed her sneaking up behind it, it jerked back and hissed in alarm.

  She lunged forward, striking at it with her claws. But the screeching thing scampered straight up the side of the wall, tearing into the wallpaper and clanging against one of the brass sconces. She pounced at it, heaving her body against the wall with a thump, but it scuttled upside down along the ceiling like a spider or a crab. She leapt at it again, swinging her paw at it, desperate to catch it or kill it, but it scurried out of reach, slipped into an air vent, and disappeared.

  Gone, she thought angrily, panting through her fangs.

  She quickly shifted back into human form before anyone spotted her, then pressed her back against the nursery door and looked down the darkened corridor, guarding the only way into the baby’s room.

  As she caught her breath, she tried to make sense of what she had just seen.

  Was the master of Biltmore some kind of sorcerer who was controlling these creatures, or were they wild beasts crawling in from the forests hunting their prey? And what about the four men who had been killed on the North Ridge? Had that been Mr. Vanderbilt as well? Or did he have help to do all of this?

  She knew Mr. Vanderbilt had many loyal employees at Biltmore, but would they murder Mr. Kettering on the Grand Staircase and then hide the body? Maybe it was more likely that one of these weird creatures had dragged the body away and then lapped up the blood from the floor.

  But still, Mr. Vanderbilt must have had some sort of accomplice, maybe more than one.

  Her first thought was Mr. Doddman, the security manager Mr. Vanderbilt had hired a few weeks before. She wasn’t sure if the brutish man had been a police commander, an army sergeant, or a wretched crook before he came to Biltmore, but he seemed more than capable of violence.

  And there was Mr. Pratt and the other footmen, and the head butler, and Mr. Vanderbilt’s new valet, and the stablemen, and so many others. She didn’t even know where to begin.

  And then she remembered Lieutenant Kinsley. She thought about how he always said “sir” when he spoke to Mr. Vanderbilt, and the way he took orders from him like he was his commanding officer. I owe him a great debt, Kinsley had said.

  Kinsley had seemed like such a good man. But could she trust what seemed?

  As she gazed down the length of the corridor, watching and listening, she had to keep her flinchy mind from imagining that she could see traces of fog drifting in the shadows. She didn’t trust shadows anymore, and especially didn’t trust fog.

  When she was out in the forest, she had seen that Kinsley hadn’t returned to the house with the rest of the search party. That meant he was still out there someplace. But why? Had something happened to him or was he up to no good? Maybe he was the one who was controlling these strange creatures.

  The truth was, she didn’t know if Mr. Vanderbilt was working with accomplices or not. All she knew for sure was that he was a murderer and she had to do something about it. But what could she do? Who could she tell?

  Good morning, Mrs. V, she imagined saying. I hope Baby Nell is doing well today, and oh by the way, your husband is a murderer!

  The other thing she couldn’t figure out was why Mr. Vanderbilt had asked her to move upstairs to the Louis XVI Room. Was it to get her out of the basement, away from the kitchens, so that he was free to murder Mr. Cobere?

  Or did he ask her to move upstairs to protect his family? Did he know he was dangerous? A bizarre and startling thought sprang into her mind: What if he wanted her to kill him?

  But what does the white deer have to do with this? she thought suddenly.

  The more she wrangled with it all, the less any of it made sense.

  It was like the entire Biltmore property was cursed in some way, like the house itself was murdering people.

  But why? What was the rhyme and reason of it? Was there a pattern she wasn’t seeing?

  The first attack had been against the colonel, his
daughter Jess, his friend Mr. Turner, the other hunter Mr. Suttleston, and the dog handler Isariah Mayfield.

  And then she had found Mr. Kettering dead at the bottom of the stairs.

  And then she had seen Mr. Vanderbilt murder Mr. Cobere in the kitchen.

  She tried to think it through.

  What did all of these victims have in common?

  What was the pattern?

  There is none, she thought in frustration as she pressed her back against the nursery door. They’re just random people who don’t have anything in common at all. It’s just death all around.

  How could she fight this? How could she defend against it?

  Every day, every night, someone was dying. And it was getting worse.

  At the far end of the corridor, she heard the sound of a claw scraping the wood wall.

  She crouched, ready to spring.

  The scratching noises moved toward her.

  She peered into the darkness, looking for the source of the sound.

  As the scratching came closer, she tried to figure out exactly where it was coming from, but then she realized it was actually coming from several different angles now, all moving toward her.

  She readied herself for battle. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  It sounded as if there were multiple creatures clawing their way toward her and the nursery door behind her.

  They were surrounding her, hunting her.

  Her eyes flitted from one shadow to the next, searching desperately for them, but she still couldn’t see them.

  It was impossible. How could she not see them?

  The noises came even closer.

  The creatures had to be just a few feet away from her now, but it was like they were invisible.

  And then a thin stream of dust drifted down from above, the fine particles reflecting in the moonlight.

  She snapped her eyes to the ceiling.

  The creatures were above her!

  They were in the air shafts!

  While she was guarding the corridor, they had been crawling their way over her head. They were going to drop like clawed, leathery spiders into the nursery, right into the baby’s crib.

  Serafina charged into the room.

  The moonlight was falling through the sheer white curtains of the bay window, casting the room in a haze of glowing fog.

  She scanned the ceiling, looking for signs of the dangling creatures.

  Mrs. Vanderbilt was asleep on the settee beside the crib, just as she had been the night before. Baby Nell was lying asleep in her crib, wearing her little sleeping outfit and a tiny cap on her head, all cuddled up, not too much bigger than Ember, and far smaller than a bear cub.

  You have one job, Serafina, she thought fiercely as she scanned the ceiling again. You’ve got to protect that baby! That’s the one thing you absolutely must do.

  Bile rose in her throat as a desperate thought forced its way into her mind. She tried to swallow the bile down, but it burned.

  Then she heard the scratching noises in the ceiling above her head. Fine lines of dust streamed down into the room.

  The creatures were coming.

  She didn’t want to do what she was thinking. It was too horrible. But the more she thought about it, the more she knew she had to do it.

  She glanced at the sleeping Mrs. Vanderbilt, and then leaned into the crib and lifted the baby into her arms.

  She had to protect her.

  She had to take her away from this place.

  And she had to do it now, before it was too late.

  Serafina clutched the whimpering baby to her chest and crept out of the room with her.

  She scurried down the corridor, glancing this way and that as she ran, terrified that someone or something was going to catch them.

  The thought that she was actually stealing Baby Nell from her mother made her sick to her stomach, and her vision blurred around the edges like she was running through a gray tunnel. But she had to protect the baby no matter what and she kept on running.

  Every instinct in her body was telling her that the creatures were hunting the baby, that they’d follow her. The only consolation was that maybe they’d leave poor Mrs. Vanderbilt alone back in the nursery.

  By the time Serafina made it to the second turn in the corridor, her chest hurt so bad she could barely breathe. She stopped at the corner, gasping and leaning her shoulder against the wall, Baby Nell cradled in her arms.

  Just as she was about to continue and dash quickly past Mr. Vanderbilt’s bedroom door, the door swung wide open.

  Mr. Vanderbilt walked out of the room.

  A burst of terror jolted through her body.

  He seemed to be searching for something in the area outside his bedroom door.

  She quickly stepped back from the corner and held the baby tight, praying she wouldn’t squeal or cry.

  Finally, she heard the sound of Mr. Vanderbilt’s footsteps walking away from them, and then down the Grand Staircase.

  As she began to breathe again, her skin prickled with the vestiges of fear still pulsating through her limbs.

  Knowing it might be her only chance, she darted out and ran for the back stairs. She bounded up the steps two at a time until she reached the fourth floor, surprised by how much the baby in her arms slowed her down.

  Running through the darkened corridor that led to the bedrooms of the sleeping maids and other female servants, she ducked through the tight passage beneath the North Tower, scuttled along the narrow arched hallway, and came to the third door on the right.

  “Essie, I’m coming in,” she whispered as she entered the room and found the warm bundle of her friend covered in blankets in her bed. “Wake up, Essie,” she said, touching her shoulder. “Please, I’m sorry, you’ve got to get up.”

  “What’s goin’ on?” Essie mumbled groggily, rubbing her face. “Am I late for my shift? Oh, miss, it’s you! What are you doing up here? Is the house on fire?”

  “I need your help,” Serafina said.

  “I’m ready,” Essie said as she lurched out of bed and nearly tumbled to the floor. “Oh Lord, it’s a baby!” Essie cried out when she saw Cornelia in Serafina’s arms. “What are you doing with a baby? Is that—that’s not—that’s not Baby Nell, is it? What are you doing?”

  “Something is wrong with Biltmore, Essie,” she said. “We’ve got to get the baby out of here.”

  “Oh, Lord in heaven!” Essie said, her voice quaking.

  “I need you to run down to the stables and get a carriage.”

  “Now, miss?” Essie said as she pulled on her cap. “Is it morning?”

  “No, but we need it right away. The stable boy’s name is Nolan. He sleeps by the horses. Tell him the carriage is for me and he’ll do anything you say. I’ll meet you in the Porte Cochere with the baby.”

  “I’m on my way, miss,” Essie said as she pulled her coat over her nightgown and hurried out the door. Serafina heard her running down the corridor.

  Once Essie was gone, and the darkened room went quiet and still again, Serafina looked down at Baby Nell in her arms and saw that her eyes were open and she was staring at her. It was then that she realized the true magnitude of what she was doing, how irreversible it was. Once she did this, that would be it. She could not take it back. The people of Biltmore weren’t going to understand. They weren’t going to forgive her. They were going to hate her. They’d kill her if they had to.

  She wished she could somehow reach her pa and tell him what she doing and why, but she knew there was no time for that. It was far too dangerous. She had to get out.

  As she snuck down the back stairs with the baby, now gurgling away in her arms, she began to hear the noises that she had prayed she wouldn’t hear. A rushing wave of hissing and scratching was coming down the stairway behind them.

  She hurried more quickly down the stairs, glancing over her shoulder into the blackness of the shadows above her.

  She couldn’t fight the creatures he
re, not like this, with the baby in her arms. And she knew there were at least two of the creatures pursuing them.

  Then she heard the sounds of claws scrabbling through the walls around her.

  There were more of them.

  When she finally reached the first floor, she ran through the shadows toward the Porte Cochere, where she prayed the carriage would be waiting.

  She desperately wished she could stop all this. She wished she could go back upstairs and convince Mrs. Vanderbilt to flee in the middle of the night with her and the baby. But the creatures were everywhere and there was death all around. If she couldn’t trust Mr. Vanderbilt, then who could she trust? And she knew that she’d never be able to convince the mistress that her husband was the killer. Serafina barely believed it herself and she had seen him do it!

  Just as she was about to reach the Porte Cochere, Baby Nell began to wriggle and squawk, as if she suddenly realized that some vile creature of the night had filched her from her mother’s crib and was thieving her out into the cold.

  At the same moment, Serafina heard a man’s footsteps coming down the corridor toward her. She peered past the black shadows to where faint rays of moonlight were slicing in through the narrow windows. The bars of light and darkness flickered as the silhouette of the man moved through them. The murky shape of Mr. Vanderbilt came into view, walking straight at her, his expression grim, his eyes cast toward her, and a long iron fire poker clenched in his fist.

  Serafina gasped and ran, gripping the squirming baby tighter to her chest. Nothing but the wind of movement now, pulling her hair, pressing against her cheeks, the baby’s little fingers reaching up and grasping her face as she raced toward the door. Shifting the bawling baby to her left arm, she slammed her right shoulder against the door, working frantically at the lever until it flew open and she stumbled out.

  “Go, Nolan, go!” she screamed to the skinny ten-year-old stable boy sitting atop the carriage as she sprinted toward it with the screeching bundle in her arms.

  The startled Nolan snapped the reins of the four black horses, jolting them to attention, and his hollering shout drove them into a bolting gallop that lurched the carriage away.