House of Whispers Read online

  “Stop,” Amy begged. “Oh, stop!”

  But Julia did not. “Suddenly a man called my name, and I saw Marcus, one of the servants, standing at the other end of the hall. The column of faces rushed toward him. They enveloped him.”

  Julia shivered. “I do not understand why the evil thing spared my life. But it did.”

  Julia drew in a long, shaky breath. “The moment Marcus screamed, I raced back into my room, got into bed, and covered my ears with a pillow. But I could still hear him screaming.”

  Julia sighed. “In the morning, Mother and Father told me that Marcus had run away. But I knew they were lying. I found a little piece of bone where he had been standing. The column devoured him. Ate his flesh and bones. And drank his blood.”

  Amy felt all the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. She had never heard a more horrifying story. Surely it was not true, Amy thought. She studied Julia’s face. The girl’s expression was serious. Her gray eyes held a frightened look.

  “Julia, I know you believe what you saw was real,” Amy said slowly. “But isn’t it possible that you dreamed the whole thing? Nightmares can feel as if they are really happening.”

  “No!” Julia shouted. She shook her head back and forth, her black hair flying. “No,” she repeated more softly.

  Julia grabbed Amy’s hands. “You must believe me. Promise you will never leave your room at night. Promise me.”

  Sweat broke out on Julia’s forehead. Her eyes darted back and forth, as if she thought someone could be spying on them.

  “I promise,” Amy said quickly. She squeezed Julia’s hands. “And you must promise not to worry about me.”

  Julia nodded. Amy felt relief flowing through her. Julia had been almost hysterical.

  Amy gently pulled her hands away from Julia’s. “I think we both need some sleep,” she said. “I will see you in the morning, Julia.”

  Amy quickly walked to her own room—although she felt like running. You are being silly, she told herself. But she could not forget the terror in Julia’s eyes as she told her story.

  Amy changed into her nightgown. She blew the lamp out, then hurried to the bed and slid beneath the covers. Someone had sprinkled perfume on the sheets. She held the fabric to her nose for a moment. A strange scent Amy could not identify. Something spicy and exotic.

  She turned onto her left side. A little moonlight filtered through the drapes. It cast inky shadows in the corners of the room.

  Amy squeezed her eyes closed. The clock ticked softly on the mantel. Tick-tock, tick-tock. She turned onto her right side.

  Then she heard another noise below the ticking of the clock. The soft sound of someone crying.

  She opened her eyes and sat up. Is that Julia crying? Or one of the little boys?

  Amy climbed out of bed and hurried over to her bedroom door. She turned the doorknob—then froze.

  The crying sound turned into a low wail. And it did not sound quite human to Amy.

  Amy could not help thinking of the smoky column Julia described. Faces whirling in the black depths. Faces crying and moaning.

  “Julia?” Amy called. “Is that you? Are you all right?”

  The wail grew louder. It sounded as if it were coming from directly outside Amy’s door.

  “Who’s there?” Amy demanded, fighting to keep her voice strong and steady.

  Julia’s words rolled through her mind. It ate him. Ate his flesh and bones—and drank his blood.

  What was out there? What?

  Amy had to look.

  She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Around her, the entire room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

  Amy’s hand slid on the doorknob. Her palm was wet with sweat.

  She took a deep breath.

  Another.

  Then she flung the door open.

  Chapter

  3

  Amy peered down the dark hall.

  She studied the carpet in front of her door.

  Nothing.

  Amy let her breath out in a whoosh. Her arms and legs felt limp and powerless.

  She closed the door softly and returned to bed. The odd, spicy scent on the sheets surrounded her. Amy could not sleep. What had Julia seen that night? Were the whispered stories about the Fears true? Was there something evil in this house?

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Bright sunlight woke Amy the next morning. Nellie must have come in and opened the curtains, she thought. And I slept right through it.

  Amy did not want Angelica to think she was accustomed to staying in bed half the morning. She jumped up, washed quickly with the water in the basin, brushed her hair, and got dressed.

  She hurried out of her room and down the hall. She started to take the steps two at a time—then stopped.

  Slow down, she lectured herself. Her mother would be mortified to see her racing around like a tomboy. Amy forced herself to walk down the curving marble staircase.

  The first floor felt deserted. I knew I slept too late, Amy thought. That awful story of Julia’s is to blame. It kept me up for hours.

  Amy decided to try the door at the end of the room—the door from which Nellie had entered the night before.

  Good choice, she thought when she smelled coffee. She quickly found the breakfast room.

  It stood empty. But covered dishes lined a serving table. Amy peeked under the lid of one—porridge.

  They must expect me to help myself, Amy thought. She filled a plate and sat down alone at the polished wooden table.

  A moment later, Nellie popped her head into the room. “Good morning, miss,” she called. “Did you find everything you need?”

  “Yes,” Amy answered. Nellie darted away before she could say another word. Nellie must be afraid I will start asking her questions about the Fears again, Amy thought.

  Amy ate slowly. She was not sure what she should do when she finished breakfast. Would it be rude to explore the house alone? Maybe she could take a walk in the garden.

  Amy took another bite of toast. The door to the breakfast room swung open, and Angelica appeared. Amy tried to smile—while keeping her lips firmly closed.

  “I have a treat for you, Amy,” Angelica told her. “Are you finished there?”

  Amy nodded, swallowing her toast.

  “Then come with me,” Angelica said.

  She led Amy upstairs to a room on the third floor. Thick brocade curtains blocked out most of the sunlight. A deep carpet covered the floor, and cabinets lined one entire wall. A bookcase near Amy held dozens of books.

  Most appeared very old. The spines were too worn to read. Even when she could make out a word or two, she could not understand them. They were written in languages she did not know.

  Amy ran her fingertip along the spine of the largest book. It felt strangely cold, and she pulled her hand away hastily.

  “Do you like to read?” Angelica asked.

  “Oh, yes. But we could not afford many books. . . .” Amy broke off, blushing hot with embarrassment.

  Angelica smiled at her. “I am afraid these are rather . . . specialized. But we have a library downstairs that I am sure you will enjoy. Now, let’s get started. Why don’t you sit in that armchair by the desk?”

  Amy obeyed. Angelica took the chair on the other side, facing her across the polished desktop. “You are worried about your father, aren’t you, Amy?” she asked.

  “Very much.” Amy’s throat went tight as she pictured her father in a hospital bed. She wished she knew how badly he was injured. How fast he was healing. “It takes so long for a letter to come—”

  “There are faster ways,” Angelica said.

  Amy stared at Angelica. “Faster? I do not understand.”

  Angelica’s gaze was intent on Amy’s face. Too intent. Suddenly nervous, Amy looked away.

  “Have you ever heard of the tarot?” Angelica asked. Amy shook her head. With a smile, Angelica opened one of the drawers and took out a deck of cards. She fanned them out so
Amy could see the pictures on them.

  They were unlike any cards Amy had ever seen. The pictures were gruesome—grinning skulls, bloody daggers, a body falling from a tower.

  “They are beautiful,” Amy said. Beautiful and horrible at the same time, she thought. “But I do not see—”

  “This is the tarot.” Angelica swept them back into a neat stack. “My mother gave it to me when I was about your age. Her mother gave the deck to her. It has been handed down generation after generation.”

  Angelica stared into Amy’s eyes. “This deck of cards is very special. Very rare. It can tell us many things. Today, we will ask about your father.”

  “Ask about my father. . . . But it is only a deck of cards,” Amy stammered.

  Angelica tilted her head to one side. “There is no ‘only’ about these cards, Amy,” she said, her voice cold. “Listen to me. They are very old and very powerful. In the hands of the right person, the tarot can show not only what was, but what is to be.”

  Amy felt her pulse pounding at the base of her throat. Angelica was behaving so strangely. Did she truly believe her cards could tell the future? Is that why people thought she practiced the dark arts?

  “I think we will choose the Page of Swords for you,” Angelica said, sliding one card out of the deck. She shuffled them expertly, then held them out to Amy. “Now take the cards. Hold them in your hand.”

  “I would rather not.” If the cards did have power, Amy wanted nothing to do with them.

  “Hold them.” Angelica’s voice was harsh and stern, and Amy obeyed without thinking. The cards felt strangely heavy in her hand. She did not like the way they felt beneath her fingers.

  “Cut them into three piles,” Angelica instructed. “Use your left hand. This reading will tell us how your father is.”

  Again, Amy obeyed. Why are these cards so important? she wondered.

  Angelica gathered the piles back up. She turned over the top card and placed it on the table.

  A circle, Amy thought suddenly. She is making a circle of cards.

  Angelica turned over the second card and placed it down. Then the third. Then the fourth.

  Amy knew where Angelica would position each card. Her fingers itched and burned as she watched her cousin lay out the deck.

  I know how to do this. If I held the cards I would know exactly what to do.

  But that cannot be, Amy told herself. She rubbed her fingers together—trying to stop them from tingling. I had never even heard of the tarot before this morning.

  The tingling grew sharper. It felt like a dozen needles stabbing deep into her skin. What is happening to me? Amy bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out.

  Angelica turned over a final card. Pain jolted through Amy’s fingers. Then it stopped.

  Amy drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She started to ask Angelica what had happened to her. Then she noticed her cousin’s face.

  Angelica’s polite smile had disappeared. Her green eyes glittered with excitement. Excitement . . . or hunger. She is like an animal about to go in for the kill, Amy thought.

  Angelica closed her eyes and laid her hands flat on the desk. “I see a long illness for your father, and delays in his return home,” she said, her voice husky. “Your mother will have to navigate through some tricky situations. But she will find help along the way, and will eventually succeed.”

  She opened her eyes and stared straight at Amy. “There. Don’t you feel better now?”

  Better? How could she feel better? What powers did the cards hold? What power made her fingers itch to touch them? What power made Angelica stare at them with such intensity?

  “They are only cards,” she said again, trying to convince herself more than Angelica.

  “Are they? Hmmm.” Angelica gathered up the cards and held them in both hands. “I think we ought to do a reading for you.”

  “No!” Amy exclaimed.

  Angelica raised one dark eyebrow. “Why not? They are, as you said, only cards.”

  Angelica shuffled the cards in silence. Once. Twice. Then she held them out to Amy.

  Amy clasped her hands tightly together. She had touched them once. She did not want to touch them again.

  “Cut them, Amy,” Angelica urged. “Think about what you want to know.”

  “About the future?” Amy asked.

  “About your future. You are so young, so full of promise. What are you? What will you become? Will you find happiness or sorrow? Will you fall in love, marry? All girls wonder about these things. You, however, can know.”

  Amy swallowed hard. Yes, she wanted to know all those things. Anyone would. But she sensed something . . . wrong in the cards. Something dark. Maybe even dangerous. She heard whispers about the terrible price paid by those who practiced the dark arts.

  Did she want to know the future? Yes. She was afraid. But something deep inside her wanted to know. Had to know.

  She looked up to find Angelica watching her. Those green eyes seemed to bore right through her, as though Angelica could read her thoughts. Amy wondered again if all the eerie stories about Angelica might be true.

  Then Angelica smiled, and the strange, disturbing intensity vanished from her eyes. “You do want to know, don’t you, Amy?” she asked. “Be honest, now.”

  “Yes,” Amy replied without hesitation. “I want to know.”

  “Then take the cards.”

  Slowly, Amy reached for the cards. She felt that odd heaviness again. Then the tingling sensation in her fingers. She forced herself to ignore it.

  “Go ahead,” Angelica whispered. “Cut them.”

  Amy shifted the deck to her left hand. The cards were not right. Amy knew it.

  And she knew they were waiting for her to fix them. A feeling of power washed through her. Strange and exciting.

  No, she thought frantically. No. I do not want to do this. She tried to put the cards down. But she could not. Someone—or something—had taken over her body.

  Amy stared down at her hands in terror. They began to shuffle the deck. Quickly. Expertly.

  I am not controlling my hands, Amy thought. I cannot control them.

  Angelica’s gaze turned crystal-hard. She stared at Amy as though seeing her for the first time. Amy tried to cry out, to beg Angelica to make it stop. But she could not control her voice—her own voice.

  “Do not fight it,” Angelica hissed. “Let it happen!”

  Amy shuddered.

  She felt something wrench deep inside her—almost as if a door had crashed open.

  Something howled through her. Something dark and wild.

  The cards flew out of Amy’s hands.

  She stared at them. What she saw made her shudder.

  Chapter

  4

  The cards swirled around Amy’s head. Flying through the air.

  Amy did not blink. She could not tear her eyes away from the cards.

  Angelica gasped.

  The sharp sound freed Amy. She could move again. She jumped to her feet.

  The cards fell to the floor. They hardly made a sound on the soft carpet.

  Amy locked her knees to keep from falling. Her mind spun crazily. What had just happened? Had she controlled the cards? Had Angelica? Or had it been something else? Something unseen?

  “It’s all right,” Angelica said soothingly. “You are safe, Amy. Nothing is wrong.”

  Amy dropped back into her chair. She stared at the other woman in confusion. “H-How can you say nothing is wrong? Didn’t you see . . .?”

  “I saw that you are a very lucky girl,” Angelica interrupted gently. “I know you were afraid. It is only natural the first time.”

  “The first time?” Amy crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. She wished she could go back to bed and pretend this was nothing but a bad dream. . . .

  “Amy,” Angelica said sharply.

  Angelica’s voice pulled Amy away from the whirl of frightened thoughts. Amy pressed her hands flat on t
he desk to hide their trembling. She took a deep breath.

  “Good,” Angelica said. “Now we can talk.”

  “About what?” Amy whispered.

  Angelica studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled. “You are a Pierce, Amy. And there is more that binds us than sharing the same family. Some of us are . . . special.”

  Amy started to shake her head, but Angelica pointed to the cards. Amy could almost feel the power thrumming through her body again. Was the power evil? She did not know.

  “In every generation of Pierce women, one or two are born with a special power,” Angelica continued. “You have it. The cards speak to you.”

  “I do not . . . I never . . .” Amy covered her face with her hands. “Whatever this is, I do not want it!”

  “Look at me.” A hard note came into Angelica’s voice. “Amy!”

  Amy let her hands fall to her lap. She gazed back at her cousin. Angelica’s eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim room.

  “You should not be frightened of your power, Amy. It is a gift. And unless you’re very, very foolish, you will come to appreciate it,” Angelica explained.

  Amy glanced down at the cards. They speckled the floor with color—brilliant blue, green, and gold. And red. Red exactly the hue of freshly spilled blood.

  She could not believe what happened to her. Power, she thought. A special power. It frightened her and thrilled her at the same time.

  “Try the cards again, Amy,” Angelica urged. “They want you to.”

  They did. Amy could feel them calling to her. But she did not want to touch them. She did not like the feeling of something controlling her body.

  “Pick up the cards,” Angelica ordered. “When you learn to control your power, you will no longer fear it.”

  Amy shook her head. “I am not ready.” She needed time to think. She sensed the power could be dangerous. But Angelica was right. Amy needed to learn how to tame the power. She wanted to control it—instead of it controlling her.

  Angelica nodded. “I will be here when you need me. But remember, you cannot ignore this power. It is yours. All you have to do is use it.”

  The sound of children’s laughter drifted in through the window. Amy suddenly wanted to escape out into the sunlight, where things were simple again.