Blood Roots

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “She can’t talk to you,” Skyler said, watching Olivia smooth the sheets, plump the pillows. “And even if she could talk, it wouldn’t make any sense at all.”

  “It’s just that she seems … upset about something,” Olivia said carefully. “I feel sad for her.”

  “Her dreams. I told you.” Skyler leaned on the mantel, one eyebrow lifting slowly. “And if you had … things haunting you … then wouldn’t you be afraid?”

  Olivia glanced at him quickly. He was smiling. He ran his fingers thoughtfully over his chin. He straightened up again.

  “Shall we go?” he said with mock politeness. “Before things start haunting you, too?”

  He stepped aside to let Olivia pass. She could swear she heard him laugh as he followed her downstairs.

  They made their way to the cemetery, working in silence most of the day. To Olivia’s surprise, Skyler didn’t go off and leave her this time. Instead he seemed almost to be keeping a careful eye on her, working areas in close proximity. Bone tired, she was relieved when the workday was over. She and Skyler parted company at the back of the house, and Olivia chose to forfeit supper in favor of bed. To her delight, she found that someone had left a tray of food again in her room, and she guessed this time that it had been Helen.

  Helen …

  All day long she hadn’t been able to get Helen out of her mind. She kept seeing the girl’s wide, scared eyes—kept hearing that pitiful whimper—as if Helen had been begging her to understand. And she kept seeing those bruises, those strange marks on Helen’s arm, and she wondered if someone had deliberately mistreated the girl, punished her for some minor infraction or another. Olivia wouldn’t have put it past Skyler or Mathilde, but it seemed so totally out of character for Miss Rose.

  “I’m dying … I’m trying not to … but I am …”

  And there were other thoughts that had troubled Olivia all day. Was Miss Rose really that ill—and really so determined to live? Yoly had looked so serious, and Miss Rose had seemed so terribly frail … Olivia longed to tell her who she really was, but now, more than ever, she was afraid to. What if Miss Rose thought Olivia was just some imposter—someone who’d heard about her failing health and wanted to move in and take advantage? Or maybe she’d be furious with Olivia for the charade—furious and vengeful—even more furious than she’d be with Olivia for being Mama’s daughter. Even worse … if Olivia confessed now and the shock was too much for Miss Rose …

  No. No. I can’t. It’s still too soon to know what to do.

  Olivia closed her eyes, trying to clear all the tormenting thoughts away, but she kept seeing Miss Rose’s blue-veined hand, and then the blue vein on Helen’s soft little arm …

  Marks there … almost microscopic. Had something bitten the girl? A spider? Mathilde’s snake? Was Helen trying to warn her? The thought unsettled Olivia, and she thrust it firmly away. Maybe Skyler was right—if Helen really did suffer from delusions, it was possible that she might have made the marks on her arms herself.

  Olivia was too tired to think anymore. She shed her clothes and stood for a moment in the stifling room, trying to find some tiny pocket of air to cool herself off. Someone had filled the pitcher with fresh water, and she took her time washing off, savoring the brief respite from the heat. Finally she put her nightgown on, but as she climbed into bed, a slow, weak rush went over her, and she slid her hand down to her thigh.

  That dream …

  She hadn’t thought about it all day. But now, as all the sensations came back to her, she lay there and stared at the ceiling, remembering. She’d never had a dream like that before—so sensual, so real … and as she lightly fingered the bandage, she marveled again at the new suppleness of her skin, the pleasing response to her own touch.

  She blew out the candle by the bed. The mosquito netting fell softly into place around her.

  Drifting, Olivia dreamed she was back at the bayou again, hiding beside the water as featureless shapes moved below the trees, mumbling things she couldn’t hear. She tossed restlessly and flung one arm over her eyes, as if she could fend off the troubling images. And then she was hiding in the hallway again on the first night of her arrival at Devereaux House, listening to muffled voices behind closed doors. Miss Rose and someone else—Jesse—she knew now that it was him … and she was lying on the floor in the hallway and he was touching her face—“she’s so beautiful”—his voice, whispering, and his touch, gentle and reassuring beside her on the stairs … And then Skyler’s green eyes were glittering in the dark—bending over her—coming closer—closer—

  She bolted upright, heart pounding, and in the first confused seconds she thought she’d gone numb somehow, that her legs had fallen asleep, so weighted down that she couldn’t move—

  Groping at the bedside table, she found a match and lit the candle, but she was twisting herself, and her legs felt so heavy—so terribly heavy—yet tingling, as if all the feeling was moving across them in slow, squeezing bands.

  Groggily she lifted the covers and flung them back.

  And at first it didn’t register—the dark spreading stain oozing across the sheets, across her legs, so curiously painless as it flowed and filled the bottom half of the bed …

  But then it began to flow upward—upward—and she felt her muscles contract … loosen … clench again—only it’s not my muscles, it can’t be my muscles, my legs aren’t moving—and the black thick stain getting longer—longer—

  She screamed then—screamed and screamed again as the candlelight fell across one cold beady eye, and Mathilde’s snake began to slide up toward her waist.

  20

  “DON’T MOVE,” SKYLER SAID.

  Through a half-blind panic, Olivia saw his shadow beside the bed, and it seemed to pulse—then recede—as she fought to keep from blacking out.

  “Be still,” Skyler said again, and the thing was on her legs—hesitating … drawing into itself … its muscles unbelievably crushing as it tightened, as its head began to lift—

  “Oh, God—” she whispered.

  Skyler lunged.

  The snake was no match for Skyler’s uncanny speed—it writhed and twisted as he grabbed it and flung it across the room. For a moment Olivia thought she might have actually stopped breathing, then Skyler was leaning down, tossing the covers at her, grinning as he moved away from the bed.

  “Lucky for you I have good instincts.”

  Her hands were shaking so violently she could hardly hold the covers. “Please—just get it out of here—”

  “I knew she hated you. But I underestimated how much—”

  “Go away! Get that thing out of here!”

  As quickly as he had attacked the snake, Skyler was leaning over her, holding her wrists as she gasped and tried to pull away.

  “I’m keeping score,” he said softly, “and you’re going to be owing me quite a lot.”

  The sound of his laugh hung in the air even after he picked up the snake and shut the door behind him.

  Olivia jumped out of bed, going frantically from candle to candle, lighting them as quickly as she could. The room throbbed around her, a living, breathing thing, and as she passed before one of the windows, she caught a glimpse of herself and froze. She looked like a ghost reflected there, swathed in white, hair flowing down her back. It gave her such a start that she was almost afraid to move, but at last she managed to press her palms against the glass, just to reassure herself that she was real.

  She knew she wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night. She huddled in her bed and watched the candles go out one by one as the gray pall of morning oozed in to replace them. At last she got dressed and went out to the gallery.

  It was raining—a slow, steady downpour—promising a day even more dismal than the last. Olivia stood listening to its muffled roar beyond the moss, the distant growl of thunder, the sad, soft moan of the wind. She began to walk, past the locked, forgotten rooms, the filthy barred windows, on and on, until she realized she’d walked ne
arly the whole way around the house and didn’t even remember doing it. She stopped in dismay and tried to get her bearings.

  She saw the door just in front of her, heard the eerie creaking sound as it moved slowly, back and forth, in the wet breeze. This is the room I came in before … the nursery without children …

  The door blew shut with a soft, final thud.

  Olivia stood and stared.

  And then the door began to open again … inch by inch … until it stood just wide enough for her to squeeze through.

  She paused on the threshold. Shadows lay within, even deeper than before. A rumble of thunder shivered the walls, rattled the panes in the tall, dark windows.

  But beneath it all, Olivia was sure she had heard something else.

  Voices. Low and scared and whispering.

  But not dreams now.

  Very, very real.

  “What’s happening to you?”

  “I don’t know—I can’t get it to stop—”

  “You need to eat—try to get some more of this down—”

  “I can’t … I’m sick …”

  “Yoly?” she whispered, alarmed. “Helen … is that you?”

  She took another step, stopped again. The fog had found its way in through the door, through the cracks, swirling like fine smoke through the air, misting the furniture, dampening the floors. Olivia tried to wave it away with her hand, and the fog cleared a little, just enough for her to see the smoldering hearth, the empty cradle, the vacant chair beside the fire.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  And as she started forward, she sensed, rather than saw, a movement in one corner near the bed, and the fog stirred, restlessly, like uncertain secrets.

  “Who’s there?” she called anxiously, and her voice echoed, mocking her from the shadows.

  Something invisible fanned the bed curtains. They billowed out like gauzy clouds … settled quietly once more.

  “Is anyone there?” Olivia’s voice shook, and she put her hands out behind her, feeling for the door, afraid to turn her back on the room.

  And then she heard it … swallowed in the gray nothingness … another muffled sound … like a soft cry.

  “Helen?” A chill shot through her—a chill and an overpowering instinct to flee. “Helen? Is that you? Are you hurt?”

  “Make her go … don’t let her see this.”

  A plea … so weak … so faint … and yet she heard it, as if it had crept inside her mind and spoken aloud. And there was something else about the sound that cut straight through to her heart, something she recognized at once—its fear … its pain …

  “Who’s there?” And she wanted desperately to move but she was frozen to the spot, frozen and terrified and held by that strange disembodied sound lurking near the bed, inside her thoughts. “Who’s there!” she cried.

  “Please leave … please …”

  “Ssh …”

  Something moved, shifting along the floorboards.

  In the deep gray chasm of the room, it seemed to hesitate … waiting …

  Olivia turned and ran. As her foot came down on something slippery, she caught herself against the wall, then stared down in horror.

  It looked like blood—dark red smears of it, in greasy swashes across the dusty floor—and mixed with it, jagged bits of human skin …

  Gagging, she made it outside, hurtling herself down the stairs, along the veranda, and into the house.

  “Yoly!” she screamed. “Helen! Miss Rose!”

  But as Olivia started into the dining room, it was Mathilde she came face to face with.

  The snake was draped across Mathilde’s shoulders. As Olivia stepped hastily back, a slow triumphant smile worked across Mathilde’s red lips. She mumbled something under her breath. And suddenly Olivia felt hot, steely anger boiling through her veins.

  “You’re brave, aren’t you, Mathilde—when you have that snake to hide behind.”

  Mathilde’s eyes flared, then narrowed. Slowly, without a word, she removed the snake and laid it on the floor beside her.

  “Poor thing. He got lost last night.” She shrugged innocently. “How lucky for me that you found him.”

  Olivia’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “If you ever try anything with me again, I’ll kill that snake of yours.”

  Mathilde’s cheeks began to tighten, pulling back along her cheekbones. She looked like a death’s head.

  “You threaten me?” she hissed.

  But Olivia’s eyes were just as cold. “I promise you.”

  Mathilde struck so fast that Olivia saw only a blur—felt just a sudden rush of air and swift sharp slices across her face. And then she was on her back on the floor and Mathilde’s eyes were cold and flat above her—and as another searing pain slashed across Olivia’s throat, she heard the rushing of feet and saw Mathilde being jerked away.

  “Stop this!” Miss Rose was framed in the doorway, two bright spots of color high on her pale cheeks. “Stop this at once! I will not have this behavior in my house, do you understand?”

  Olivia was gasping, trying to sit up, her neck warm and wet, her cheeks burning and sticky. She could see Helen’s terrified face hovering above her, and just behind Helen, Yoly tall and silent as a statue.

  “Skyler, take her out of here and calm her down,” Miss Rose ordered weakly, and Olivia saw Skyler releasing Mathilde’s arms, casting a sidelong look between the two of them as Mathilde retrieved her precious snake and stormed down the hall. “And you”—Miss Rose indicated Olivia with a shake of her head—“Yoly, make sure Olivia waits for me in my room. There must never be a display like this again—there must never be.”

  “Look at that,” Yoly grumbled, leaning down over Olivia, tugging the shaken girl to her feet. “You’s bleedin’ all over the floor—”

  “But that’s what I came to tell you—” Olivia tried to talk, even as Miss Rose interrupted with a weary wave of her cane.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Yoly, please do something about the mess.”

  Miss Rose turned back to the dining room and closed the door behind her. Yoly disappeared immediately down the hall. Skyler stood there watching Olivia, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Helen smoothed down Olivia’s clothes, then held a napkin against her face as she leaned back weakly against the wall.

  “There’s something upstairs,” Olivia mumbled, nudging Helen’s hand away from her burning cheek. “I’m trying to tell you.”

  She looked right at Skyler, but his face was perfectly expressionless. She felt Helen take her elbow and press in against her, as though expecting her to fall down again at any second.

  “Yoly said all the rooms were locked, but they’re not. This one was open yesterday, too.” Olivia took a deep breath and plunged on. “There’s something up there. Something horrible—all over the floor.”

  This time Skyler’s shoulders moved in a bemused shrug.

  “Did you hear me?” Olivia’s voice shook, and she bit her lip angrily. “Did you hear what I said? Something—or someone—I don’t know—it was so—” She put one hand up to her cheek and gasped in disbelief. There were gashes across her skin from Mathilde’s nails, and she could already feel bloody welts swelling beneath her fingertips.

  “All the rooms are locked,” Skyler said calmly, his eyes fixed now on her face. “Nothing could be—”

  “Don’t tell me what I saw!” Olivia jerked the napkin from Helen’s hand and threw it at him. “I know what I saw! I wasn’t dreaming! I wasn’t imagining things! I heard someone talking, for God’s sake—I think I know what I heard—”

  Skyler’s eyes narrowed. Was it her imagination or did his glance flick to the ceiling before it settled back on her again?

  “Well then,” he said in his most patronizing tone, “there’s no need to get all hysterical about it, is there? I’ll just go have a look. After I comfort poor Mathilde, that is.” He reached out toward Olivia and he straightened her blouse around her shoulders, his deft fingers sliding over her
bare skin. “My, my,” he added delightedly, “what a little troublemaker you are.”

  “I’m not the one who started everything,” Olivia said coldly. “And if you’re going up to that room, I’m going with you.”

  “But I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Skyler said casually. “Miss Rose wants to see you, and you shouldn’t keep her waiting. Don’t worry, I’ll be very thorough. After all, we certainly can’t have you thinking you’re crazy now, can we?”

  Olivia held back a sarcastic reply. Instead she nodded toward the back door.

  “What about work?”

  “Oh, it’s raining too hard to work outside today,” Skyler said, smiling. Without warning, he leaned in close to her, lowering his head to inspect the damage on her throat. “Just a scratch,” he murmured, and his lips brushed lightly over her skin. “Aren’t you lucky.”

  He was so close that Olivia couldn’t turn her head. She took a deep breath and deliberately shifted her eyes away.

  “I’m not going to let Mathilde scare me. I have a right to be here.”

  And it sounded so natural, slipping out the way it did, even though Olivia hadn’t really meant to say it—it seemed so natural and so right, the way Skyler simply accepted it and never suspected a thing at all …

  “All the same,” he said, casting a last look over his shoulder as he started down the hall, “remember what I told you about watching your back. I’ll keep an eye on the rest.”

  “Olivia.” The dining-room doors opened again, and Miss Rose stood there, a sadly aging portrait framed in old oak. “Let’s have a talk, shall we? Helen, I believe you have work to do.”

  Helen cast Olivia a quick, unsettled look and then scurried away. Olivia followed Miss Rose across the hall and into the purple bedroom. As Miss Rose closed the door behind them, Olivia stepped to the middle of the rug, feeling the same quiet awe she’d felt when she’d been in here secretly before.

  “Sit down, child,” Miss Rose said kindly. “Hold this handkerchief against your face. It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

  Olivia nodded her thanks as Miss Rose motioned her into a chair beside the fireplace. There was a small fire burning there, in spite of the heat, and Miss Rose sighed and sat down in the chair nearest the flames.