I take a step back, considering the drawing.

This is Julian’s room, isn’t it?

The back of my neck prickles. I feel the sensation that I am not alone. Someone is behind me, perhaps whoever I thought I glimpsed in the bathroom mirror.

When I turn, expecting Julian, expecting whatever dark shape lurks on the other side of our own reflections, I see August Wakefield holding a gun.

13

At the sight of the gun, I freeze. I feel a ghost of the gun on the back of my neck, my mugger’s weight on top of me, the cold ground pressing into my cheek.

“We are not your slaves,” comes a voice from behind me, and I turn, put my back against the wall, and see Jonah and Meriday standing in front of the locked door. Jonah has his hands up in a pacifying gesture. Meriday is clinging to his side, hiding partially behind him as he shields her from August. “Your father was paying us. We cannot continue to work for you without pay. You must understand.”

“My father isn’t here anymore,” says August. The barrel of the long gun trembles.

“And we are sorry for your loss,” says Jonah.

“It is because of thee.” August’s face is twisted in a rictus of anger and grief. “First mother, then Constance.” He shakes his head. “But my father was weak. I am not like him. I am the master of this house now, and it is time I set it to rights.”

“Please,” Meriday murmurs into her father’s side. Her hands cling to the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in her fists.

“Go on,” says August. I am horrified by the look on his face. He always seemed a bit rash to me, and more hard-hearted than his father, but he has managed to keep his temper in check beneath a veneer of righteous calm. That all seems gone now. Here in its place is a darkness that lives in some men, waiting dormant for the kind of grief that will set it free.

“No.” Jonah lowers his hands and stands his ground.

“Get in!” August shouts. “You will obey me. I will not have thee traipsing around my house, as if I am not in charge of it. You will do as I say, or I will report thee to the authorities. Insolent swine! I’m sure your master would be glad to have his property returned to him.”

For a long, tense moment, I think that Jonah will not back down; I think that August, in this vicious, wild state, will aim the gun at his face and fire. But at last Jonah turns, and I see that the door to the locked room is standing open. Placing his hands on Meriday’s shoulders, he guides her into the dark room at the insistence of August’s gun.

I follow them.

August lights a lantern with the gun still propped under his arm, aimed at Jonah. By the flickering orange glow, he fixes chains to the bedpost and forces Jonah to close the free end around his ankle.