The Spirit Collection of Thorne Hall by J. Ann Thomas

Author:J. Ann Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

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Her father did not summon her until ten o’clock that evening, which left her time enough to finish her supper and nap for an hour or two but also bestowed upon the Collection several unfortunate hours of darkness within which to grow restless and in want of amusement; specifically, theirs at her expense.

This had been his intent, no doubt.

She took her place in the chair, the circle painted so wide around her that it left a border of scarcely one foot at the perimeter of the room. Then she drew from the folds in her skirt a small leather folio, the manuscript paper with the tuner’s song within. That particular melody she was saving for last, when her strength faltered and her throat grew dry; there was power in it that would see her through, of that she was certain.

All save Amos and Hester had gathered in the ballroom for the last night of Thaddeus’s punishment, plastered against the walls like the black rot that covered them come nightfall.

Naturally, they were upon their very worst behavior for the occasion.

She began with Child’s ballad number one, “Riddles Wisely Expounded,” and continued on in order while the taunting and hissing of the Collection grew into a cacophony. Sometime after the grandfather clock in the great hall gave two dull clangs, Gideon at last overcame the enchantment of her voice and the emotions bound up in her songs. With a long hiss between blackened teeth, he ripped the attention of his company away from Elegy like a ravenous beast ripping flesh from bone. They silenced themselves and turned the full force of their seething malice upon her; even gentle Nathan, even the children. All were lost to her and bound wholly to his will.

“You think tonight is the end of your test,” whispered Gideon into the silence. “But you are a fool, my sweet Elegy, for it is only the beginning. Once your father is dead and gone, every night will be just the same as this one. This is what your life will be, night after night and year after year, on and on without end. You alone against all of us.”

It was then that she took the leather folio upon her lap and opened it to reveal the tuner’s song.

He fell silent at once, and his hold on his company wavered. They lifted their faces, looking this way and that, scenting the air as if they could taste the promise of new, of a story they’d never heard; a melody she’d never sung.

And she began to sing.

Oh fare thee well, I must be gone

And leave you for a while

But wherever I go, I will return

If I go ten thousand mile, my dear

If I go ten thousand mile

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