House of Whispers Read online

  David hesitated. “I don’t know exactly what happened next. I turned away. Then I heard a whooshing sound. When I turned back, the trellis was on fire.”

  A muscle jumped in David’s jaw. “It happened so fast. One second, everything was fine. The next . . . Bernice was on fire.”

  Poor David, Amy thought. He had already been through so much—and now this.

  “I could feel the heat pouring from her. Her eyes grew wide, as though she were surprised. Then she started to scream. I grabbed for her, Amy. I might have been able to help her, right then at the beginning. But she ran.”

  “David—” Amy wanted to tell him that she knew it was not his fault. But he rushed on.

  “Everything she touched started to burn,” he continued. “I thought I knew every terrible way to die. But I did not. Bernice’s death was the worst I’ve ever seen.”

  Amy put her arms around him. She hung on tight.

  His breath went out in a long, shuddering sigh. “Amy,” he murmured, his voice low and intense.

  He pulled his head back and stared down at her. Then he kissed her. His lips felt warm and hard.

  Amy pulled back, staring at him in shock. Her heart leaped inside her.

  “I have to leave New Orleans for a couple of days,” he told her. “But I want to see you as soon as I get back.”

  “Angelica will not—”

  “I know.”

  “Meet me here by the fish pond, day after tomorrow,” he said. “At this same time.”

  “Yes,” she promised. “I will be here.”

  He smiled at her, a slightly crooked grin that set her heart racing even faster. And in that moment, Amy knew she loved him.

  He kissed her again. Then he stepped away, holding her at arm’s length. “Be careful, Amy. Strange things are happening, and they are too close to you. Do not trust anyone.”

  “But I trust you,” she protested.

  “No,” he said sharply. He gave her a little shake. “You cannot trust anyone—especially not me.”

  PART TWO

  House of Death

  Chapter

  10

  Amy sat on the low wall enclosing the fish pond. The moon was a thin crescent in the black-velvet sky. Shadows lay thick in the garden, and only a faint breeze stirred the leaves.

  Amy drew her hand through the quiet water, shattering the reflected stars. She wanted to see David so badly that it seemed as though the whole world had stopped moving. The last two days passed much, much too slowly.

  “David,” she whispered.

  He told her not to trust him. But Amy knew he wanted her to believe in him despite his words. Otherwise why would he ask her to meet him? Why would he kiss her so passionately?

  The night was perfect, and soon David would be with her. If she trusted him, Amy knew she could help him trust himself again.

  A half hour passed. Then another. Still David did not come. Amy grew restless. What was keeping him? He had not forgotten, had he?

  “Amy?” a voice whispered.

  Amy jerked her head toward the sound. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

  Julia stepped out of the shadows, dressed only in a white nightgown. Her bare feet were damp from the dew-studded grass.

  “What are you doing out here, Julia?” Amy asked.

  “I saw you from my window,” the girl answered. “What are you doing out here so late?”

  “I am just enjoying the night air,” Amy answered.

  Julia crossed her arms. “You are waiting for David, aren’t you?”

  “I, ah . . .”

  “Mother says you should stay away from him,” Julia said.

  “Well, I think she is wrong,” Amy retorted, angry that Angelica had made such a decision for her. “He is gentle and kind, and he saved my life.”

  Light flashed on Julia’s silver bracelet as she twisted it around and around on her wrist. “Mrs. Hathaway came to the house today, asking for you,” she said finally.

  “She did?” Amy asked in surprise.

  Julia nodded. “And yesterday, too. Mother told her you were very upset by what happened at the ball, and could not see anyone.”

  “She has no right to do that.” Amy jumped to her feet, outraged. “It is my life, and I will be friends with whomever I want!” Amy snapped.

  Then, seeing the distress on Julia’s face, she softened her tone. “I know it is not your fault.”

  Julia nodded. “You are my friend, Amy. Don’t worry. I will not tell Mother about your meeting with David. But be careful around Hannah. She loves to tattle. She loves to get people in trouble.”

  Julia took the bracelet off and held it out to Amy. “I think you might need some luck again.”

  “Thank you, Julia.” Amy gave her a slightly shaky smile. “But I am already lucky. I have you as a friend, don’t I? Now, hurry back to bed.”

  Julia smiled and glided silently toward the house. Her nightgown seemed to float around her.

  Amy settled back onto the wall. But hot anger still ran through her. True, her mother had asked Angelica to take care of Amy. But Angelica was going too far.

  “Where are you, David?” she whispered.

  Time dragged on. She ought to go in. But she stayed, hoping he would come. He would not forget. He could not forget.

  Amy remembered how angry he seemed when he told her not to trust him. Could he have decided not to see her again?

  A sudden breeze spun across the pond, blurring the moon’s image. When the water was smooth again, the moon’s image had changed. The moon had become a woman’s face. The stars swirled into a pale coil of hair around her.

  Amy stared into the water. She shook her head slowly back and forth. “No,” she whispered.

  She closed her eyes tightly. Then opened them. But she still saw the woman’s face reflected in the water.

  I know her, Amy realized. It is Chantal Duvane. Pale, lovely. Her mouth curved in a smile.

  Then the smile on Chantal’s face faded. Her eyes grew wide. Her face went slack with terror.

  Chantal was drowning.

  How can this be? Amy thought wildly. Why am I seeing this?

  Bubbles streamed from Chantal’s nose and mouth. She reached up, scrabbling wildly at the surface of the water.

  Amy had to do something, anything. She plunged her hands into the water. But her hands passed straight through Chantal, shattering her image.

  As Amy pulled her hands out of the water, Chantal’s image reappeared. Amy’s breath let out in a gasp of sheer horror. Chantal was still drowning. Slowly, so slowly.

  Help me! Chantal screamed silently, staring straight into Amy’s eyes.

  Can she see me? Amy thought wildly. Is this real?

  Suddenly, David appeared in the water behind Chantal. His hands clamped onto Chantal’s shoulders so hard that Amy could see his muscles bunching.

  “Help her,” Amy whispered. “David, help her.”

  Chantal glanced over her shoulder, and hope gleamed in her eyes. Then David began to pull Chantal down. Down into the dark, swirling water.

  Chantal’s eyes grew so wide that white showed all around the irises. Her mouth opened in a shriek.

  No sound escaped. No one could hear her.

  David dragged Chantal down. Down, down, down.

  Amy leaned over the water, watching. Watching. Her beating heart thundered in her ears.

  Chantal screamed in awful silence. Then she disappeared into the cold, dark depths of the water.

  She is drowned! Amy thought. David drowned Chantal!

  “No,” Amy whispered. “It cannot be true!”

  She peered down into the water. But there were no more images in the pond. The water was solid black.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The next day, Amy, Angelica, and the children were picnicking on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Humidity hung heavily in the air as the sun burned away the moisture from the day before.

  “Let’s go play!” Robert shouted as soon as th
e carriage rolled to a stop.

  “Let’s play war,” Brandon suggested. “You can be Grant, and I will be Jeb Stuart.”

  “I do not want to be a Yankee,” Robert complained.

  Angelica laughed. “Go on, children. But stay where Amy can see you and don’t go near the water.”

  Amy swept little Joseph into her arms and followed the other children as they ran across the field. The boys were still arguing over who was going to be the Yankee general. Finally, they agreed to all be Rebels. Julia played a nurse, and Hannah a brave lady spy.

  With a sigh, Amy sat down on a fallen log to watch. She had not slept much the night before. She had tossed and turned, wondering why David had not come.

  And why she had that horrible vision. She had never experienced anything like it.

  The image of Chantal’s screaming face sprang into Amy’s mind.

  Stop! she ordered herself. Don’t think about it again. You love David. You know he is a good person. Nothing else matters.

  “Amy, watch me!” Joseph called.

  As Amy turned, she caught sight of something white floating near the shore. It looked like a mound of cloth. Then she saw something stretching out from the pile.

  Something that looked like an arm.

  It could not be. Not here. The lake was blue and placid in the sunlight. Birds swooped overhead, calling to one another. Tree branches swayed gently in the breeze.

  The mound had to be exactly what she first thought—a pile of cloth. A branch must have gotten caught in it somehow, and at a distance it looked like a human arm.

  “That must be it,” she said. “It is only a branch.” She returned her attention to the children.

  But the skin at the back of her neck crawled, as though something cold touched her there. She had to know. She had to be certain.

  Her heart pounding, Amy walked toward the lake. She stared into the water.

  Her stomach clenched.

  No, she thought. No, no, no.

  Chantal. It was Chantal.

  Amy remembered Chantal’s beauty. Her confident smile.

  But Chantal was no longer smiling.

  And she was no longer beautiful.

  She was dead. Drowned.

  Fish had eaten her eyes.

  Chapter

  11

  Amy’s heartbeat roared in her head as she stared at the bloody pits of Chantal’s eye sockets. The fish had eaten away part of her nose too. And most of her lips.

  Green moss had begun to grow on Chantal’s bloated tongue.

  She drowned. Just like in my vision, Amy thought.

  “Amy!” Julia called. “What are you doing?”

  “Do not come over here,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Run and tell your mother I need her. And stay back, all of you.”

  They must have heard the horror in her voice, for even Hannah obeyed without arguing. Amy could hear them calling out to their mother as they ran.

  A moment later, Angelica joined her. “Amy, what on earth . . .” Angelica began. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “It is Chantal Duvane,” Amy said quietly.

  Again Amy saw David holding Chantal under the water. Saw Chantal silently screaming for help.

  “Amy, keep the children away while I tend to poor Chantal,” Angelica instructed.

  Amy nodded, trying to force the terrifying vision from her mind.

  She turned and held her arms out wide, shooing the children ahead of her like a flock of chickens. “Come on,” she urged. “There is nothing to see here. Let’s go find out what your mother brought to eat.” The children ran on ahead of her.

  Amy was sure she would never eat again. Chantal’s eyes . . .

  Amy took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Angelica.

  Wait. What was Angelica doing?

  Amy swallowed hard. Angelica was bent over Chantal’s body—poking her handkerchief into Chantal’s bloody eye sockets. Amy watched as Angelica carefully folded the handkerchief and slid it into the bodice of her dress.

  Amy quickly turned and followed after the children. She did not want Angelica to know she had seen.

  She did the same thing to Nellie, Amy remembered. The same thing. She wiped blood off Nellie’s face—and saved it.

  How could she? And why? Did Angelica practice the dark arts? Did she use the blood to increase her powers somehow?

  Or maybe, Amy thought, death itself fed her power.

  Maybe . . . maybe Angelica killed Chantal.

  But what about Amy’s vision? In her vision, Angelica had not killed Chantal. No, in her vision, David was the murderer.

  Had Amy’s mind somehow connected with Chantal’s as she drowned?

  Could David have . . .

  A cold, hard lump formed in Amy’s stomach.

  David had not come last night. Where had he been? Who was he with? And why, why hadn’t he kept his promise to meet her?

  Then came the worst, the very worst thought of all.

  Three women died—Nellie, Bernice, and Chantal. And David knew all of them.

  Nellie had tried to tell Amy something about him. Bernice had been with him right before she died. Chantal had wanted David’s attention.

  “Oh, David,” Amy whispered.

  Could David be a killer? Could Amy have misjudged him so? From the first moment Amy saw him, she was drawn to him. Memories flashed through her mind—David’s concern for his mother, his kindness to Amy the day Nellie died, his warm smile when they danced together.

  Amy could not have been so wrong about him. Could she?

  Darker memories flooded Amy’s mind—Angelica’s warning that David enjoyed killing, David angrily telling Amy not to trust him. And her vision. Her horrible vision.

  I won’t believe it. I won’t, Amy thought.

  But nothing else made sense.

  Amy felt hot tears run down her cheeks.

  Her vision was still so clear. She could see David holding Chantal under the water. Until she was dead.

  No, nothing else made sense.

  David had to be the killer.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  That night, Amy waited until everyone had gone to bed. Then she slipped out of her room. She had to ask Angelica’s cards what would happen next.

  She had to know if there was more death to come.

  Amy’s slippers made no sound on the oak stairs as she climbed to the third floor. The banister felt cool beneath her hand. What would the cards tell her tonight?

  A sudden chill prickled along her spine. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end.

  Someone was watching her. Angelica?

  She searched the dark staircase, but saw nothing. Her heart started thumping as she remembered Julia’s terrible story about the smoky column of faces. It had caught Marcus, and it had eaten him. Flesh and blood and bones.

  “It was just a story,” she whispered.

  But was it? So many strange things happened here in the Fear mansion. Things she would not have believed possible a month ago. She held her breath, listening.

  Was that smoke-thing stalking her now, sliding up the stairs?

  She ran the rest of the way up the stairs and into Angelica’s study. She closed the door behind her. Safe! She pressed her ear to the door, but there was only silence.

  She let her breath out in a sigh. It was her imagination after all.

  No light came in the window. Rain began to mist the glass. But even in the darkness, Amy could sense the cards. Feel them calling to her. Come to us, the cards seemed to say.

  Amy took a step forward. Cold wrapped around her. A wave of gooseflesh ran up her arms and down her back.

  She took another step. Ice seemed to pierce her flesh, straight through to her bones.

  This is not natural cold, she thought. Something, some . . . force did not want her to reach the cards.

  “I have to know what will happen next,” she whispered. “I have to!” She took another step.

  So
cold. Icy cold. She struggled to keep going. If she stopped, she did not think she could start moving again.

  Slowly, she took another step. Then another. Her feet felt like dead lumps.

  She paused, gasping for breath. When she tried to lift her foot again, her body would not obey.

  She tried to cry out. But the cold froze her voice in her throat.

  She could not move. She could not move at all.

  Chapter

  12

  A freezing wind howled through Amy’s ears. The high pitch blocked out all other sounds.

  Amy’s eyelids grew heavy. She struggled to keep them from drifting downward.

  Her heart seemed to be beating slower. She found herself waiting for each beat. Afraid that it would not come.

  Her thoughts turned heavy and slow.

  But a tiny ember still burned deep inside her. She closed all the strength she still had around it, protecting it from the cold. If that small, precious spark went out, she knew she would be lost.

  She had to move. She had to fight. But how could she fight something she could not see?

  “The power is yours, “Angelica had said. “All you have to do is use it.”

  She had to use it now. Or die.

  She focused all her attention on that small, glowing ember inside her. The cards called to her, even through the awful cold. If she could only reach them, she had a chance.

  Oh, but she was cold, so cold. She did not think she could make her body obey her again.

  She had to try. Either that, or give up and allow the cold to take her completely.

  “I. . . will. . . not. . . give . . . up!” she gasped.

  Summoning every last bit of energy she had, she forced her legs to move. One step. Then another. She staggered, out of control, reeling toward the desk.

  Closer, closer . . . she could almost touch it.

  Her breath felt like a solid chunk of ice in her chest.

  Her legs stopped working. The paralysis seeped upward toward her heart. A moment more, and it would all be over.

  Amy lunged forward. Throwing herself toward the desk. Her hands hit the edge. Gripping the desk hard as she could, she pulled herself closer.