Fiendish by Brenna Yovanoff

Author:Brenna Yovanoff [Yovanoff, Brenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

With no place else to go, I walked back to Myloria’s along the Crooked Mile. I was so tired I was nearly tripping over my own feet. It seemed impossible that after everything, it was still only the morning.

As I passed by the Heintzes’, I stopped to look over the fence. Things seemed quiet, apart from the rows and rows of empty cages. Some of the bunnies and the birds were back in their coops and I guessed they just hadn’t had the sense to run very far.

At the Blackwood house, I let myself in and trudged straight to the bathroom, keeping one hand on the wall. I found some rose-scented salts under the sink and took a bath, but even soaking up to my neck in the powder-pink water didn’t do much to wash off the way things weren’t all right. It just made the air around me smell more like flowers and less like poison.

When I’d finished, I sat on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel, and considered all that I’d seen and found out since yesterday. The whole predicament was so big and messy and strange, though, that I didn’t know where to start.

Maybe Fisher had made the creatures of the hollow come for him, the same way he’d made the dogwood bloom. Or maybe everything that had happened was simply because I was there with him, and I was the one who had called the hell dogs out. The one who had made the whole world crazy.

And then there was the reckoning star. The creek fiend had told me to see to it, but the only star I knew of was the one in the huge, splattery painting that hung over the front of the bank building—the five-pointed symbol of the humors.

After I’d sat thinking over all the possibilities so long it felt like I was going in circles, I left it and got up. I changed into another one of Emmaline’s dresses from the box in the hall. The folds of the skirt were full of dust and the print was faded, but it fit like it had been made for me, and that was a consolation at least—that something in this world seemed like it could have been made for me.

As I started back through the house, I heard a thin, electric buzzing noise. It seemed to float in the air like a song, and I followed it down into one of the dark halls. A door at the end was propped open with a metal statue of a cat, and I let myself in.

The room I stepped into wasn’t a normal room at all, but a long glass-paned greenhouse, with pale sunlight shining down on all kinds of flowers.

I could feel the hum of the place, the same way the plants in my mother’s garden had always hummed, full up on all her love and pride and care. Myloria’s plants were different, though—the hum was wilder and thinner. It shook instead of sang.

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