The west wing corridor was colder. The wallpaper was a faded pattern of peacocks. At the end stood a heavy oak door, slightly ajar. Golden candlelight bled through the gap.
His face was beautiful and terrible—ageless, with eyes like black diamonds. He smiled, and it was not a kind smile.
The candlelight went out.
Tonight, Sonia decided to become a cat.
When the servants found Lady-Sonia the next morning, she was sitting in the breakfast nook, humming a low, melodic tune. She smiled at Aunt Marguerite and said, “The moon is full in two nights now, isn’t it?”
Aunt Marguerite’s voice floated through the door, soft as a lullaby: “Don’t run, darling. We were all seventeen once. And every family needs a new keeper of the west wing.”
“The moon is full in three nights, Marguerite. The veil will thin. We must decide—does the girl stay, or does she go?” Lady-Sonia 17 10 27 Secretly Spying On His Aunt...
Then Sonia saw the second figure.
Her own face.
Sonia gasped. Too loud.
But the door to the west wing was locked once more.
The secret, Sonia believed, was in the locked west wing.