Midnight Rooms by Donyae Coles

Author:Donyae Coles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Orabella’s mind ran too fast for her to catch her thoughts, to piece together what she saw. Blood. One word but nothing to withstand the horror of it. Under, the part of her that was all instinct and drive told her to run, to leave the house and halls, go back to the church, beg sanctuary, but her limbs did not listen.

Her body, foolish deceitful flesh and bone, took her to the blood, the thrashing creature.

Pain. The beast howled broken and wretched and Orabella, powerless, thoughtless, ran to it. There was so much blood, it darkened the sheets and formed shiny black eyes that reflected nothing. The smell rolled over her, coppery and sharp.

It was only when she held the gnashing, howling beast that she realized it wasn’t a beast but a doll. Her sister-in-law finally come to life. She pulled the soaked sheet from her, heavy with sweat and blood, found her form under it. She tried to calm her but there was no calming her. Orabella could only hold her own screams as she tried to find the source of the injury that would surely be fatal if not treated, but the woman was fighting her, fighting everything in her pain.

Claresta stopped suddenly, turned her face, high red spots on her cheeks, mouth a perfect O, and for the first time, Orabella would think later, the woman noticed her. Claresta’s nails, sharp as claws, dug into Orabella’s arm, breaking her hold. Quick as a cat the woman turned and reached for Orabella’s face. Her eyes were bright and mad but they saw her, focused on her as she turned, impossibly strong.

Nails, talons, dug into Orabella’s skin, dragged, cutting through the meat of her arms that she’d used by instinct to cover her eyes. “Claresta! Stop! It’s me! It’s Orabella!” She yelled but she didn’t know if it mattered, she didn’t know if the woman had any idea of who she was at all. “I only want to help!” she screamed, lamely, worthless against Claresta’s rage, her pain.

And all the while the woman was howling, sobbing, barking, screaming. A fox. A beast.

“Miss!” Sloane yelled, and there she was, helping to hold the wild animal who looked just like a woman. The maid, slight and mousy, grabbed her around the middle, hauling her off Orabella, panic giving her strength.

Orabella dropped her hands, took a deep breath, and lunged, grabbing Claresta’s wrists, holding them in the air, keeping them from reaching for her own face or turning and going after Sloane. There was nothing human in Claresta’s eyes.

“Oh no,” she said softly, barely a whisper, impossible to hear under Claresta’s howls.

“Mrs. Locke! Mrs. Locke! We need help!” Sloane yelled.

It’s too late to help. The thought slipped into Orabella’s head as she looked at the woman’s face. She couldn’t make sense of it all, her vision had been reduced to red and white and black. White arms, white shift, white skin. Pools of black, blooms of red that appeared where there should have been white, white, white.

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