Even if she could, she had no way to stop this monster.
Maybe I don’t need to stop her,she thought, watching the Vile creep closer towards Grace.Maybe I only need to distract her long enough for Grace to run.
As the Vile lowered to look beneath the opposite wine rack,already reaching for her prey, Grace scrambled back, gasping as she tried to stay out of reach.
Do something,Emeline commanded herself.Draw her attention away.
She did the only thing she could think of. Reaching for an old song, Emeline started to sing.
“Que sera, sera …”
The Vile straightened. Abandoning Grace, she turned slowly, eerily, towards the source of the singing.
Emeline paused her song to hiss, “Grace, run!”
Grace didn’t hesitate. Pulling herself out from under the rack, she fled into the darkness. The monster let her go, more interested insingingprey. Moving into the light of the candle, the Vile crept towards Emeline, murmuring under her breath.
Terror zipped down Emeline’s spine. And shestillcouldn’t make her body move.
Her fear held her trapped.
Desperate to calm herself, to loosen her limbs and drive out the panic, Emeline closed her eyes and continued singing. She’d chosen this song for a reason, after all.
The memory trapped inside the song flared to life within her.
Emeline was seven. She’d woken from a nightmare and screamed for Pa in the darkness. She remembered his heavy footsteps thudding quickly down the hall. Remembered the switch flicking on, flooding her room with light.
Hush now, duckie. I’m here. You’re all right.
He was warm and strong as she crawled into his lap. His voice was a beacon in the dark as he cradled her in his arms, singing her nightmares away. Soothing her with this song.
Que sera, sera…
It reminded her of all the good days that were gone. Of the man who raised and protected her. Of how much she loved him.
Her voice trembled but didn’t waver. Didn’t stop.
The Vile, however, did.
Emeline opened her eyes to find the monster’s hunched form hesitant, her face blank. As if she, too, was remembering. Like she had some kind of history with this song.
The Vile stepped back, shaking her head, covering her ears. Trying to stop the song filling her mind.
Watching the monster, Emeline was reminded that her voice sometimes did strange things. Like summoning the woods against her will. And lulling dragons to sleep. And tearing down Hawthorne’s mental walls, laying his innermost thoughts bare.
Suddenly, a clawed hand grabbed her shirt, nails pricking her skin. The Vile dragged her out from beneath the rack, raised her up, and rammed her into the shelved bottles.
Pain burst up her spine, stunning her.
The Vile’s ice-pale eyes stared into Emeline’s. That translucent skin revealed the blue-green veins beneath, like a creature who lived so deep in the woods, the sunlight never touched it.
“So noble,” rasped the Vile, grinning like a child who was about to do something very wicked. A horrible stench rolled off her, like blood and rot, making Emeline’s stomach roil. “After I pick my teeth with your bones, I will hunt down your friend and—”
A clangingthud!made the Vile tip forward, blinking dazedly. Anotherthud!echoed as something metal swung again—and then again—at her head.
Letting go of Emeline’s shirt, the Vile stumbled and fell to all fours.
Grace stood behind the creature, the bucket from beside the mattress gripped firmly in her hands, its glistening contents spilled at her feet. From her knees, the Vile moaned, stunnedand staring at the floor. Dropping the bucket, Grace scooped up the lamp, grabbed Emeline’s hand, and said, “Come on.”
