BooksBarbecue
Back The Beholder Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. About the Author
  62. Books by Anna Bright
  63. Back Ad
  64. About the Publisher

My stepmother was breathing hard, very nearly through her teeth, like winning our fight had sapped her strength. Her arms were wrapped around the child inside her womb. Around the brother or sister whose birth I might not be home to see.

Without replying, I fled.

I tore up the pallid stone stairs and through halls as white as a bloodless face. I’d nearly reached one of Arbor Hall’s back doors when I tripped, losing a shoe as I crashed to the floor.

For a moment I didn’t move, my shoulders shaking as a sob split my chest. The clock clanged again and again, brazen, unfeeling. When I gathered myself off the snowy white tile, I hissed at the throb in my knees that told me twin purple bruises would bloom there, like lilacs beneath my skin.

Up-down, up-down. I limped toward the door, my remaining shoe slicker than glass against the marble floor. I had to get out.

Up-down. I had to get to the graveyard.

6

image

Tears and makeup and moonlight blurred my vision as I flung myself in front of the hazel tree and my mother’s headstone. Esteemed Consort Violet Savannah Potomac. Beloved.

I dragged my fingers over the words and leaned my forehead on the stone, my hand clasping the sapling at its side. I’d planted it from a cutting of Momma’s favorite shade tree when Alessandra had it torn up. It had been our place in the summer; she’d sit and read to me from her book of fairy tales for hours, until the sun grew low and the earth cooled and the air grew thick with dusk and magic.

I clung to the tree and the seven-years-cold headstone, and I sobbed.

My world had burned to cinders when my mother died. And now Alessandra had lit another match.

Something rustled close by, and I glanced up, tensing. “Who’s there?”

But a familiar face emerged from the shadows. “Selah, it’s me.”

I gave a ragged sigh, eyelids sinking closed, but Godmother Althea patted me on the back. “Eyes open, sweet girl. We don’t have much time.”

I rose, stumbling breathlessly after her white habit through the big double doors of the Church of Saint Christopher. “Godmother—” I blurted, confused. What did she know? And how?

After all, I’d been caught completely unawares.

“Shh.” She baptized a handkerchief in a nearby font of holy water and wiped my tearstained cheeks. “Come on, now.”