The Skeleton Key (7 page)

I
knocked on the door and entered Celia's penthouse, shaken.

My great-aunt regarded me. ‘Darling, you look like you've seen a ghost.'

I nodded, feeling jittery. ‘I did.'

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘Well, I'm going to make us some tea,' she announced, and before I could protest she was sauntering towards the kitchen in her elegant slippers with Freyja trailing behind her.

Celia did make very nice tea, but I wasn't sure that could fix everything just now. Slowly, I placed my heavy satchel on the floor, took off my coat and hung it up, and slipped off my shoes, trying to absorb what I'd seen and, particularly, my reaction to it. The sight of that woman had really shaken me. It wasn't just that I'd seen a ghost because I'd been seeing ghosts for as long as I could remember. It was something else. Something about her. Or something about the new strangeness in the house that had seemed to arrive just as Luke had disappeared; just as he'd warned me.

That mouth. Open. With the black veil pulled tight across it.

Freyja came over to herd me gently into the kitchen, purring against my ankles and nudging me forward.

‘How was work today?' my great-aunt asked casually over her shoulder as she put the kettle on, calmly absorbed in her ritual.

I leaned against the doorframe. ‘Work was fine.' I paused. ‘But there was a woman hanging from the chandelier in the lobby just now.'

She turned and cocked her head, the veil sitting against her high cheekbones. ‘Well, then. Hanging from the chandelier?' she said, watching my face. ‘And she is gone now?'

I nodded. ‘But I did see her. She was there.'

‘I have no doubt,' my great-aunt said. She prepared a tray with the lovely pot and cups, a little jug of milk and some cubes of sugar, and once the tea was ready she walked to the lounge room and sat down in her reading chair, the tray jingling a little. She placed the tray on the little table next to the chair and I perched myself on the edge of the leather hassock.

‘The widow Elizabeth Barrett,' Celia said calmly, waiting for the tea to steep.

My eyes widened. ‘Dr Edmund Barrett's widow? You think that was her I saw hanging from the chandelier?'

‘Yes, the sad thing. She seems the most likely person. She'd been in deep mourning for a year before she hanged herself on the anniversary of her husband's death.'

Oh.

‘Some people don't handle becoming widows very well,' she said, and I thought of how well Celia had coped all these years. Being a widow hadn't exactly held her back; though, of course, I knew she had loved her husband very much. It must be incredibly hard to lose a partner like that. ‘I believe she killed herself in the lobby,' she said.

Then it would have been from the chandelier
, I thought. There was nowhere else to facilitate such a gruesome end.

The tea was ready, the pleasant and invigorating scent filling the room, as familiar as anything I'd come to know since moving here. Celia poured me a cup, and I added a sugar cube and a dash of milk and stirred, the little silver spoon clinking against the china.

‘It sounds like Mrs Barrett, but I haven't seen her before,' I said and took a sip. I remembered Celia mentioning something of her, when she had first explained about the history of the old house. ‘Great-Aunt Celia, the house feels different lately. Lieutenant Luke, before he vanished, said there was something powerful here. Um, you haven't seen Lieutenant Luke at all?'

‘Your soldier? Well, no, not since you left together last night.'

Celia often called him that – my soldier.

‘Though, of course, I don't normally see him. It is not my gift,' she added. Celia had gifts of her own, but communication with the dead was not one of them.

It had been a silly question. Of course, she would tell me if she'd seen him, which she couldn't unless he was flesh. I was grasping at straws.

‘Deus said the same thing, something about a powerful force.' I paused. ‘Tonight I think I will explore the mansion,' I said, though the idea did frighten me somewhat, after seeing Mrs Barrett – if that's who the hanging woman was.

Celia nodded. ‘I see.'

‘Luke
has
to be here. I just can't accept that he's gone.'

‘If you cannot accept it, perhaps you are right?' she replied. ‘If that is what your instincts tell you.'

‘Thank you for the cup of tea, Great-Aunt Celia,' I said when I'd finished. I excused myself and left the lounge room. Then I pulled the skeleton key from my satchel and held it firmly in my palm.

Right or wrong, I had to find out.

I took the lift, wrapped in my coat (with uncooked rice in the pockets), warily watching the dusty landings pass through the gaps in the dilapidated ironwork, a battery-operated torch in one hand and the skeleton key in the other. There was no movement and no noise save for the whine and rattle of the old lift. When I reached the lobby I stepped out and listened to the doors squeak shut behind me. Luke had to be somewhere. His spirit was trapped in this house. He couldn't just vanish.

‘Lieutenant Luke? Are you here?' I said to the empty space in a voice that sounded uncertain to my own ears.

Usually, calling for him after dark was enough. But not now. Now there was no response except for the subtle creaking of the old house. I looked around me, frowning. The cobweb-covered chandelier was on its standard angle, with no one hanging from it. I walked towards it and gazed up at the filthy crystals, wondering. Had it really been Elizabeth, as Celia suggested? Why would she appear now, about a century after passing on? Had she simply decided to reveal herself, or was it something else? Was it related to Luke's disappearance somehow?

In my periphery I saw something stir by the curving mezzanine stairs and in seconds I had slipped the key into my pocket in favour of some rice, the torch held in front of me like a club. My breath caught in my throat and I stood rigid, ready for anything.

A familiar figure rose on the stairs, standing up. ‘Oh, Samantha! You gave me a fright,' I said, holding a palm full of rice to my chest.

‘Hi Pandora,' she replied in her usual dejected tone and slunk towards me on bare feet, padding down the steps. Her blonde ringlets were dirty and her face appeared unwashed. She'd been sitting there so quietly I hadn't even noticed her.

‘I haven't seen you around lately. Are you okay?' I asked.

She shrugged. ‘Athanasia is away at the moment so I haven't had much to do.'

Samantha was a Fledgling, turned by Athanasia, and she now had a disturbing dedication to her every whim. Samantha was made to clean and polish the caskets of Athanasia's little gang, along with other chores. She was treated no better than a slave, and even though she'd tried to rip my throat out once, in a blind hunger, it pained me to see her treated that way. I felt sad for her family, too. They would have no idea what had happened to their daughter.

‘They've not been saying very nice things about you,' Samantha told me in a small voice.

‘Do you mean Blonde and Redhead?'
I'll bet they haven't been saying nice things
, I thought. ‘Don't worry about that. Are they home at the moment?' I looked around to see if we had company.

She shook her head. So they were out. Probably hunting. The thought gave me a little shiver.

‘Have they been treating you okay?' I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

Samantha looked rather unwell, even for someone who was not quite alive. She was pale as parchment and almost as thin. I saw that she was still wearing the bland grey suit I'd given her. It hung on her bony frame like a rag. I'd bought it in Gretchenville, naively thinking it would make a good impression for my job interview at
Mia
magazine, which it certainly hadn't. Now the suit was frayed and spotted with dirt. I hadn't seen Samantha in anything else, and I knew for a fact that Blonde and Redhead hoarded excessive stacks of clothes in their room on the second floor. I'd tried to encourage Samantha to insist on being allowed to wear some of that clothing, but obviously that hadn't worked out.

‘You know my friend Luke?' I said.

She shook her head, looking at her bare, dirty toes.

‘But I've told you about him,' I reminded her. She'd never seen him but she had heard me talking to him. ‘He died in the Civil War. He's a friend of mine. Remember I mentioned him?'

She nodded faintly, perhaps recalling our conversation. My next question was probably futile but I had to ask. ‘Have you seen or heard anything about him? Maybe from the others?'

The Fledgling shook her head again. The movement was weak. It made me wonder if she was eating enough. Just what or who was she eating, anyway? I knew she'd taken to the rodents in the mansion, which was not a nice thought, though perhaps less morbid than the bloody alternative.

Samantha said nothing more, so it seemed time to say goodbye. ‘Okay.' I reached into my pocket, letting the rice go and squeezing the skeleton key impatiently in my hand. ‘Well, um, I'm looking for Lieutenant Luke, so if you hear anything I hope you'll tell me.'

She nodded.

Then I had a thought. ‘Do you know of any hidden passageways in the house?' Her face remained blank. Some­times it felt like I was talking to a rag doll – a limp, sad doll that was perfectly nice, yet dangerous when hungry. ‘Any panels in the lobby that open up, that sort of thing?' I asked.

Yet all Samantha did was shrug again.

‘Right. Do you know what's on the other side of the mezzanine door?' It was boarded up.

‘Stairs,' she said in a voice so quiet I might have missed it.

I perked up. ‘Did you say stairs?'

She nodded and a greasy curl fell over her eyes.

‘Where do the stairs lead?'

‘All through the house.'

‘Can you get through the door?' I said and pointed up the staircase she'd appeared from.

‘It's boarded up,' she said, cocking her head to one side, those cheekbones jutting out like knives. She seemed perplexed that I would not have noticed something so obvious.

‘I know, but can you open it? Have you tried? Why is it boarded up?' I asked.

My questions were met with yet another limp shrug. She seemed to communicate almost entirely by shrug. ‘The staircase doesn't get used, I guess. Because of the elevator,' she muttered.

It did make sense that there was a staircase that led to the lobby, though it seemed a little strange that it was boarded up at the bottom, whether the stairs were commonly used or not. That wasn't fire safe, to say the least, but then again, the mansion was unlikely to pass any safety inspection. Besides, most of the residents wouldn't have a problem with smoke inhalation, as they didn't breathe.

Creepy.

‘Well, let me know if you hear about Luke or anything else that might be of interest, okay? And let me know if I can help with, um, anything,' I said awkwardly, reminding myself that she was Sanguine and I should therefore be cautious about committing myself too much.

Samantha nodded and slunk away again.
Alrighty then
, I thought as I watched her go, her thin shoulders slumped. She cut a sad figure as she returned to her spot on the steps, evidently waiting for her master to return. She sure hadn't taken well to being turned.