25
The kitchen was little more than a pantry, and what was there was scarce. The cabinets were mostly empty. The larders were only half-filled.
“Most of this stuff is spoiled,” Melody said, wrinkling her nose. “Is this what we’ve been eating?”
Eric was busy rummaging through a line of half-empty jars and bottles. He was shoving the moldy ones off to the side, and there were a lot of moldy ones.
“Food was good the first night,” he shrugged. “After that…”
Walking through the house itself, Melody noticed the interior had changed as well. The sconces, for one, had been replaced. Where candles and lamps once hung, there were now fixtures. Fixtures fed by a thin series of pipes she recognized as gas lines.
“These weren’t here yesterday,” she said.
Eric wasn’t paying attention. He was busy trying to pry the lid off a tall, dark-looking jar.
“Seriously, look at these. It’s like they’re new, but they’re not new.”
Eventually they settled on a trencher of semi-soft bread that Melody somehow turned up and a tray of pickled eggs. The latter were taken from a very large, very ominous-looking glass jar. But once pulled from the gelatinous goop they’d been sealed in? They somehow smelled and looked okay.
“Bon appetite,” Eric smirked, biting into an egg.
They ate a very slow, very unenthusiastic breakfast at a small table in the back of the kitchen. No one showed up to stop them. No one came along to offer them anything better. When they were finished they left their plates where they were and moved back through the manor, searching each room as they went.
“What if its not here?” asked Melody. The very thought made her heart sink. “What if we’ve been wasting our time?”
The ‘wasted time’ comment seemed to resonate with Eric. He looked back at her strangely.
“It’s here,” he said firmly.
“How do you know?” she asked. “They keep moving everything. Look at this case,” she said. “It had all different stuff in it yesterday. And it was different the day before that.”
She paced the room, walking back and forth. “This case is empty,” she said. “And the one next to it, too. Where are they taking all this stuff?” She stopped and pointed. “There was a piano right here for shit’s sake. I’ve been all over the first floor and I don’t even know where they moved it.”
Eric shrugged. He was watching her closely though. Almost as if amused by her words.
“If we can’t find a piano, how the hell are we supposed to find—”
Melody stopped as she reached the window. Outside, on the far side of the house, a group of people were gathering.
“What are they doing?” asked Melody. “And why do they have umbrellas?”
Eric stepped up to join her. “Parasols,” he said. “Not umbrellas.”
“What’s the difference? It’s not even raining.”
“Parasols keep the sun off your face and neck,” Eric said mechanically. “That’s why they’re carrying them.”
She exited the conservatory, doubling back through the foyer. There were only a fraction of the paintings and portraits that were there before. The beautiful rugs that once covered the floors were gone.
“Which way to the Veranda garden?”
“Through the front doors,” Eric pointed. “I guess we walk around the side.”
She waited for him to lead the way. For some reason he didn’t. It was like he wanted her to go first, so he could intentionally remain behind her. Melody didn’t like it one bit.
Where’s Lucus?
More than ever, she wished the blacksmith was here. Silently she cursed herself for sleeping late. For not waking up — and staying up — after the second time they’d been together. The truth was, she’d just been so tired. And the whole thing had been so comfortable, so—
“Are we going?” asked Eric.
“Yeah, sure.”
Melody pushed the doors open, being sure to keep her companion in her peripheral vision. Outside the sky still maintained that strange, ‘off’ color. Like it was daytime… and yet it wasn’t.
“That way,” Eric pointed. “Tea garden’s on the side of the house.”
She walked along, passing the manor’s giant front pillars in all their glory. Or at least, all their former glory. They were faded now, the paint peeling and chipping. Nobody had repaired them. Nobody had scraped or repainted them or—
“There,” said Eric. “They’re way off the path, that way.”
Melody looked, thinking it was some kind of trick. Sure enough though, the group they’d seen from the window was still out there. They were moving as a single unit, past the tables and chairs. Following some sort of path…
“Where are they going?”
Eric shrugged. “Beats me.”
They sure looked like women, with their parasols and long dresses. Only now that she noticed them, the dresses were black. Most of them.
All of them?
“C’mon,” said Eric. “We have to catch up.”
Melody intentionally slowed her strides, hoping to get him to go in front of her. But he only slowed his own steps to match. It was more than coincidence. More than suspicious. But the women were closer now. Close enough to pick out details…
“Which one is Lady Neveux?”
Eric didn’t answer. He kept walking.
“I said—”
And then she saw it: the one thing she’d been afraid of. The one problem with following the group around the side of the house, and with Eric standing so close behind her.
They were on the very edge of the strange, rolling mist.