Chapter 5: The Herb Cellar

I went out the window and flattened myself on the roof before the door finished opening.

The slates were cold, and I could feel the cold.

It was an odd thing to be grateful for.

Through the gap above the sash I could see the lamp and a slice of my sister's bed.

My father came in quietly, and he went straight to Clara.

"There's my girl," he said.

She had pulled the blanket up over her neck, and her face was shiny with sweat.

"Hi, Dad."

"You're flushed. Let me see."

He lifted the blanket's edge, and I stopped breathing.

He saw the burned line on the skin under the chain, and his jaw went tight.

He did not look surprised.

That was the thing I noticed.

He had a vial in his pocket for it already.

"It hurts," Clara said, very small.

"I know." He pulled a little vial from his pocket and dabbed something on the silver.

The red faded to dull grey.

"That's better," he said. "Close your eyes."

"Dad?"

"Mm."

"Was Brynn here?"

He went still.

"Why would she be?"

"I thought I heard her at the window."

"You were dreaming," he said, and smoothed her hair back. "She's on the hill, sulking. She'll be home by morning."

"Please don't hurt her."

"Hurt her?" He sounded shocked. "Clara, she's my daughter. I've never hurt either of you."

I pressed my cheek to the roof and held my breath.

Footsteps crossed the hall.

Hester appeared in the doorway, carrying a covered pot.

"She's asleep," my father said, though Clara's eyes were open. "Come outside."

They went out together, and I slid down the slates to the porch roof, then dropped into the dark garden.

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