Those of us still awake sit straighter, alert to danger. Mrs. Nightwing places her book on the end table. Brigid clutches her rosary beads. Her lips move in silent prayer. The minutes tick past. Five, ten, fifteen. Nothing. Outside, the dark is quiet, undisturbed. Half past eleven o’clock. Only a half hour left in the day. My eyelids have begun to feel heavy. I am slipping under sleep’s spell. The clock’s rhythm eases me into rest. Click. Click. Cli…
Silence.
My eyes snap open. The clock on the mantel has stopped. The great room is as quiet as a tomb. Kartik draws his dagger.
“What is it?” Brigid whispers.
Miss McCleethy shushes her.
I hear them too—the faint sounds of horses outside on the lawn. The sharp caw of a crow. The color drains from Mrs. Nightwing’s face. Mother Elena has stirred from her slumber. She clutches my hand tightly.
“They have come,” she says.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
THE ROOM IS UNNATURALLY STILL. SWEAT BEADS ON MY upper lip. I wipe it away with a trembling hand.
“They can’t get in,” Brigid whispers. “We’ve marked every door, every window with a seal of protection.”
“Their power is strong. They will not stop until they have what they want.” Mother Elena looks at me as she says this.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Miss McCleethy says. “A horse. A crow. It could be nothing.”
“You promised there would be no danger,” Mrs. Nightwing says again, almost to herself.
“I am not convinced that there was danger at all save for what has happened to Miss Doyle’s mind.”
From outside I hear again the sounds of restless horses, birds.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Elizabeth says sleepily.
“Mrs. Nightwing, can’t we please go to bed now?” one of the girls asks.
“Shhh!” Mrs. Nightwing says. “Our game will end only after midnight.”
“Mr. Fowlson, would you check?” Miss McCleethy asks.
With a nod, Mr. Fowlson peeks behind the drapes. He turns around, shaking his head. “Nuffin’.”
Brigid breathes a sigh of relief. It is so warm in the room.
“We shall not move from this room until after midnight,” Mrs. Nightwing whispers. “Just to be certain. After that…” She stops, frowning.
“What is it?” Felicity asks.
Mrs. Nightwing is staring at the column in the center of the room. “It…it moved.”
My heart gathers speed. Instinctively, I back away. The hiss of the lamps grows louder. The flames quiver in their glass cages as if even they are afraid. We’re listening for them, for some sound to betray them. I hear the ragged cadence of our breathing. The scratching of branches against the panes. The hiss and pop of the lamps. They make for a strange symphony of terror.
Before our eyes, the creatures on the column stretch, pushing out of their stone forms.
Brigid’s eyes are wide open in horror. “Sweet Jesus…”
The nymph is freed first. She falls to the floor with a thick plop, an insect being born. But she rises to full size quickly.
“Hello, darlings,” she hisses. “Time for the sacrifice.”
The others begin to break free—a fist here, a hoof there. Their whispers tumble into a spine-chilling chorus: “It is time for the sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice…”
The room brightens till my eyes ache. Inside the lamps the flames expand. They press against the glass and lick the walls. With a great roar, the lamps explode, sending a shower of glass raining down on us. The girls awaken with screams. The naked flames flicker angrily along the walls, making us seem like apparitions in a magic-lantern show. But what I see coming off the column is no illusion. The creatures are no longer imprisoned there. They take shape in the room, hissing and laughing.
“Our sacrifice…”
“Mrs. Nightwing!” two small girls scream as a satyr reaches for them, narrowly missing.
“Run! Run to me!” Nightwing shouts over the din, and the girls make haste for her.
“Bloody ’ell!” Fowlson says in awe as a hideous winged beast swoops about the room.
“Hugo! The children!” Miss McCleethy barks, and immediately, Fowlson grabs the two girls nearest him and shoves them toward the great room’s massive doors and away from the column. Kartik clutches my hand and pulls me away just as the nymph makes a grab for me. I reach for the fireplace poker and use it as a sword to fend her off. Brigid prays her rosary loudly as she pushes the younger girls out into the relative safety of the hall.