Read Online The Rose Master by Valentina Cano - Free Book Online Page B

rats?” I asked.
    He flicked his gaze over me. “I don’t know, miss. It’s possible.” His voice cracked.
    I didn’t believe any of them. They knew something. What was happening at Rosewood Manor?

    I noticed the cold wasn’t as sharp as the previous days as I scrubbed the main hall later that morning. For the first time, I found I was sweating in thick drops that dove to stain the floors I’d just cleaned.
    The hall, when I got down to polishing it, was much larger than it appeared and much more intricate in its designs than I’d noticed. It was ornate in a veiled manner, the carvings and detailing unlike Caldwell House’s chilling bad taste. The stone floors themselves were a work of careful art, with tight symbols on the edges of each separate tile. When I’d seen them that first day, I had assumed the markings were just a vain frame on the stones, but as I scrubbed, the shapes became distinct. No two were the same in a single tile. I ran a finger over the shallow designs, and I could have sworn some of them shifted under my touch.
    I was still kneeling on the floor when I heard footsteps behind me on the stairs. A gust of scented air followed the sound—the black smell of snuffed candles and the ever-present rose perfume. I felt a pause, both in myself and in the person behind me. I removed my hands from the stones with a tug (they did not want to part with the etchings), and brushed them against my dress as I stood to greet the person I was sure was Rosewood’s master.
    I turned and lifted my eyes to the stairs. There was no one there. Just the smoky scent tumbling through the air.

    I didn’t bring that encounter up with any of them during our midday meal. There seemed little point in sharing when they kept their own thoughts tight between the three of them. Although, I was beginning to doubt Mr. Keery’s involvement. Each time I saw him, he was reduced, like a photograph left in the sun, growing lighter and lighter until it sank into the white background. I feared one morning he would disappear before my eyes, leaving a half-empty plate abandoned on the table.
    The cold returned in the afternoon, fighting with the sun for dominance over the floor and walls. My sweat dried in sections on my body, so that, at any one moment, chills ran up and down different patches of my skin.
    I finished my scant duties with less care than was my usual, but I had to get out of the manor. One more second in that grey prison and I’d collapse in a heap, waiting for my blood to congeal.
    The sun was a relief. I moved in the opposite direction I’d taken the day before and toward where I’d seen the figure, but I soon had to stop. The trees were woven with such tightness, I feared to attempt an entrance. Besides, there was no sun in that direction and gust after gust of pine breath pushed me back.
    Fine. I walked back around to the stables and soon reached the large, black fountain. I didn’t want to be there. It seemed sinister amid all the whiteness. I tried to step back and yet realized I was moving forward, toward the curved rim. The afternoon’s silence hardened against me, choking off my crunching footsteps.
    Hesitating, I placed a hand on the surface. It was cold enough to burn fingers off. How was it possible the water still flowed? It should have turned into a disk of ice long ago.
    I peered over the edge, gripping the stone with two claw-like hands. My face floated amid the blackness, my eyes almonds of water staring straight at me. As I drew back, there was a ripple and the flash of a face. It was vague, but before my eyes blurred with water and salty fear, I saw two circles, deep and red, looking down at me from around my shoulder.
    A cascade of bird screams soaked the air.
    I didn’t have time to do anything but gasp. A hand, as burning as the stone fountain, clutched my neck and pushed me down into the black water. The liquid forced itself into my ears, pried open my lips in a scream that hovered, unheard.