The Lies of Alma Blackwell by Amanda Glaze

Author:Amanda Glaze
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Union Square & Co.

* * *

I’m falling from the twisting oak again.

My arms are flailing at my sides. My fingers are reaching for purchase, but all they find is air. A scream rips through my throat because I know I’m going to die. I’m too high up. The ground is too far away.

But it won’t be soon. Soon, I will meet it. Soon, I—

I scream again, but this time it’s not in fear. This time, it’s in relief because my phantoms have caught me. They swoop beneath me and snatch me up, but they don’t return me to the limb of the tree. They wrap me up in their warm, mist-like embrace, and the next thing I know we’re running together through the halls of Blackwell House. We tear through the library and tiptoe past the Séance Room. We barrel up the stairs and pause to collect our breath in front of the door with the web-patterned glass panel.

I turn, like I always do, trying to catch a glimpse of the shifting forms that hover in the far corner of my eye. All the phantoms but one scatter, and I remember with a jolt that this has happened before. My heart pounds, and somehow I know it’s the same faceless figure that detached itself from the corner last time, flickering in the glow of the gas lamps as it cuts through the air toward me.

For years, I’ve drawn my phantoms like shifting grey smoke hovering above a fire. But now that I’m facing one head-on, I realize how wrong I was.

My phantoms aren’t made of smoke.

They are the clouds of a storm.

I blink my eyes open slowly, disoriented for several long seconds as I try to figure out where I am.

My neck is stiff, my legs are tucked underneath me, and soft moonlight is pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows that don’t belong in my room. It’s only when I see Cal sprawled out on the couch across the room, his long, jean-clad legs hanging off the end, that I realize we’re still in the Rose Room. We both must have fallen asleep, no closer to understanding the purpose of my mom’s list than we were hours ago.

There’s a throw blanket covering me that I don’t remember getting for myself, but even though it’s cozy in my armchair bed, there’s no chance of me going back to sleep. Images from the dream that woke me up flicker through my mind, and the usual frustration surges through me as I try to piece them together.

I remember falling out of the tree. I remember thinking I was going to die. And I remember a fleeting feeling of safety when my phantoms swooped me up. But something was unsettling about the dream, too. Something I can’t identify, but that makes my skin feel tight when I try.

I’m too rattled to face Cal right now, so I slip as quietly as I can from under the throw blanket and plant my bare feet on the floor. Tab, the

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