The Ghost in the Glass House by Carey Wallace

Author:Carey Wallace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Thirteen

“CAREFUL,” DENBY SAID SHARPLY. “If you get yourself killed, they’ll never let the rest of us come back.”

Bridget wobbled on an outcrop of black rock with considerable flair, caught his hand, and swooned against him. Denby’s body stiffened at the contact, as if steeling himself against a blow. But when he glanced at her, his eyes were bright with something like hunger.

“I’m sorry,” Bridget said, her voice full of promise, not remorse. She righted herself, shook her shoulders, and began to pick her way nimbly down the cliff.

Denby watched her go.

He and Bram had arrived at Bridget and Teddy’s early that afternoon and insisted that Bridget, Teddy, and Clare follow them to the beach. Teddy had demanded an explanation as to why he should leave the wicker couch he was sprawled on, but Denby had flatly refused, which created a mystery far more potent than any promises Denby could have made.

So they had all walked up the white shell road to Denby’s rented house, where the set of half-ruined stone steps led down the cliff to the beach, just a few yards from the mouth of the cave.

By day, sun lit the water in the cave a rich turquoise and reflected up on the rough walls in pale strands that shifted and rocked with each pulse of the tide. Bram darted in first. Shoes in hand, Denby and Bridget clambered easily over the rocks. But now that Clare could see everything, she could hardly believe she’d ever gotten to the other side.

The rocks were the size of suitcases or traveling trunks, their spines sharp, their faces slick. Water hissed and fizzed between them. Everyone else leapt from stone to stone. But Clare stood with both bare feet on a single rock, surveyed for another likely spot, then took up a firm position before choosing the next.

“Hurry up,” Bridget called. “Someone’s going to see you.”

“You’re holding up the whole caravan,” Teddy echoed from a few rocks behind Clare.

Rattled, Clare stepped blindly from one rock to the next, where the sharp edge she landed on opened a long, shallow cut from the ball of her foot to the arch. She jerked back from the sting of salt, and turned the sole up to find a thin line of bright red. Where the blood met water on her skin, it blossomed and faded to rose.

“I cut my foot,” Clare called back.

“So did I,” Denby retorted. “It’s salt water. They use it to clean wounds.”

“You learn that in the war?” Teddy asked.

The sting of the wound pushed Clare on toward the ledge. But it also made her clumsy. A few rocks before she reached the cave, her foot turned. She tried to right herself with another step, but only reeled. The sea and the sharp rocks swung sickeningly around her, and her mind filled with fear of the phantom pain of a fall on her shin, her knees, her side.

A steady arm caught her around the waist. “You all right?” Bram asked.

Clare listed against him, then straightened, surprised by the heat that seeped from his arm through her thin dress.

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