The creature’s head tilted back and forth, and with each movement, she saw another version of Brigitte, another version of herself. Swallowing hard, she said, “Shoshanna is trying to help me. Do you know her?”
At that, the creature’s head snapped to one side. It let out a long sigh, but Scarlett could swear that she heard a whisper of shoshanna in that strange, layered sound.
“Shoshanna. That’s right,” Scarlett said.
One spindly leg extended, slithering along Scarlett’s arm to the lantern. She shuddered at the slimy touch, but watched as it tapped the glass. Despite the creature’s massive size, its touch was delicate.
The lantern let out a crystalline ting, and the light burst from it in a golden spill. Scarlett raised the lantern, watching as the light washed over the cobwebbed walls. Pouring like glittering water, the light left something entirely different as it washed away.
When the light faded, she stood in a huge, stone-walled chamber. The walls were dark gray stone, cut smooth like the panels of the lantern, fixed at precise angles. Motes of bluish-silver light hung from the roof, which extended far above.
She lowered the lantern and gasped when she saw the feminine figure standing before her. The woman was about her size, with dark hair pulled back in a tight, severe bun. A wispy gray dress clung to her thin frame.
Her eerie blue eyes met Scarlett’s. “Leave,” she said quietly. “Not your place.” Her feet were submerged in a shallow pool of dark water. The reflection in the pool was decidedly not a woman, and Scarlett decided not to examine it too closely.
There were no furnishings in the huge chamber. No doors, no windows.
What was the test?
“I don’t know how to leave,” Scarlett said tentatively. Was she supposed to kill the woman? That didn’t seem right. Over the woman’s shoulder, something shifted, and she watched as the stone wall began to shimmer.
In flashes, she saw a woman that looked an awful lot like her stride up to Julian Alcott in a dark alley, a gun in her trembling hand. Tears streamed down her face as her hand shook, and to Scarlett’s surprise, Julian moved the woman’s hand, put the barrel of the gun right at his forehead. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand why you have to.”
His voice rang out impossibly loud, reminding Scarlett where she was. Why she was here.
When she turned again, another reflection of her was moving through a marketplace across a stone canvas. This was a much older story, judging by the long flowing dress and the horses on the street. A man sprang out from the shadows with a knife in his hand, and she watched in horror as he plunged it into her chest, sending her basket flying.
“This is how she died before,” she murmured. She was enrapt with morbid fascination as the other woman—Brigitte—fell to the ground. Staring up at the sky, the woman croaked out a single word.
Julian?
“All my work,” the strange woman said absently. “All my fault.”
Scarlett stared at her. “What do you mean? This is Armina’s fault.”
At the sound of her aunt’s name, the spirit glared at her. “Twisted and corrupted for her. This was not meant to be,” the spirit said, her voice rising to a shout. “They were not to die this way. Knots in the weave. Poison in the well!”
Her voice was so loud it shook the room, and Scarlett resisted the urge to cover her ears. She dared to touch the woman’s arm. A cold sensation ran up her spine, but the woman quieted. Her eyes met Scarlett’s. Countless stars twinkled in the dark space of her irises. They were beautiful, but terrifying.
It’s in my head. It’s a test, she reminded herself.
“It’s okay. What’s your name?” Scarlett asked.
“Name…” the spirit said. “I do not understand.”
“Can I call you something? I’m Scarlett,” she said.
“You are Scarlett now. You were Brigitte. Rebekkah. Audra. Vanessa. Sarah. Helena,” the spirit said. “And now Scarlett.”
“I suppose so,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“I am lost. I am corrupted and broken. I act against my design,” the spirit said mournfully. Her voice echoed off the stone, and the lights flickered ominously.
“Can I call you Alice?” she asked. They were surely down the rabbit hole now, lost in the madness of Wonderland.
“This is a name?” the spirit asked. Scarlett nodded. “Alice. You may call me this.”
“Okay. Alice,” Scarlett said. “I don’t think what happened to Brigitte and the others was your fault.”
