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Back Maplecroft
Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
  30. •   •   •
  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
  103. •   •   •
  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  106. •   •   •
  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
  108. •   •   •
  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
  140. •   •   •
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

“Many things are relative,” I agreed, stepping closer—against every instinct in my body. I wanted to flee, I wanted to scream for Seabury, but he was upstairs. I heard him moving furniture, barricading the door like a fool. Would he trap us all inside? With the monster himself? He must have gone madder than I’d considered, and I had a sickening moment of worry that this was deliberate on his part, that he was working in tandem with the monster now—completely overtaken.

I could not entertain the possibility. I forced it from my mind. If it was true, there was nothing I could do about it anyway.

“Why are you here? Who is your mother? Why can’t you leave us alone?”

He fixated on Emma’s face. A snake, charmed by the flute. Or was it the reverse? “Our Mother,” he asserted.

“Our mother is dead,” I countered.

“Not that one.”

I looked down and saw the cooker’s cupboard. The door was shut. I reached with my foot and opened it . . . quietly. Whether he heard or not, I couldn’t tell. Maybe he did hear me, and didn’t care. He didn’t believe I was any threat to him, or his mysterious mother.

I tiptoed around the cooker and tried not to gaze down to the rumbling, fizzing liquid within it. He was still a dozen feet away, with a heavy wood table between us. Could I move him a dozen feet? Could Emma?

He faced me again, that chilly, sharp face that was so white it was almost blue.

“You can hear Her, can’t you? She calls us, Emma and me. Just as She spoke to your Nancy.”

I swallowed hard. I breathed, “That isn’t her name.”

“You’re very particular about such things, aren’t you?” He viewed me quizzically.

I nodded hard, and I locked my eyes to his. If I hadn’t, I might have watched Emma ratcheting herself to her feet. She used the wall to brace herself, used her knees to propel herself up, all the way. To the table’s edge, which she grasped with one hand while the other hand felt quietly for a series of vials that were scattered across the top. She was already holding one; she was showing me what it was.

A tiny glass container tinkled when she knocked it over.

Trying to cover the sound, I said quickly: “Names mean things. You changed your own name, didn’t you?”

He appeared confused, but only for a flash. He mouthed a word without speaking it. Zollicoffris, I think. “My name has always been . . .”

“Phillip Zollicoffer,” I prompted. Emma was shaky on her feet. She shot me a look that I wished to God I knew how to read—but I couldn’t watch her too closely. I didn’t want him to see that she was upright behind him.