Page 26 of The Lies We Conjure
Just like their grandmother, Lavinia and Kaysa are missing.
CHAPTER10
RUBY
“Witches. Motherfucking witches,” Wren whispers as we barrel down the most beautiful set of stairs I’ve ever seen. They’re wide and winding, with shining marble planks and twin polished walnut banisters spiraling down to what looks like the main entrance to Hegemony Manor.
“And a kid namedHex! Like, whatisthat if not a dead giveaway? I suppose it’s only a giveaway if you know magic is real, but Jesus Christ, talk about hiding in plain sight.”
“Shhhhhh,”I warn because I’m moving too fast and in too high of heels on a slippery surface to clamp a hand over her mouth.
The foyer is as sonorous as it is grand, and Wren is being too loud for the lack of distance between us and the room we just escaped from. It rises all three stories of the main house, with a massive, candle-burning chandelier hung from the ceiling, suspended from a long chain as thick as my forearm. But I don’t dare linger upon the glittering extravagance of it all—I don’t look anywhere but where my feet need to go.
Down, down, down.
Out, away, and into the cover of night, where we can slip off the lie that we’re Lavinia and Kaysa Blackgate. Where we can hide, and forget we ever set foot in Hegemony Manor.
Because if those witches, sorcerers, mages—whatever—get ahold of us and realize who we are and what secrets we’ve seen?
“Stop talking and keep moving or we’re dead.Just go.”
Our plan is to run straight out the front entrance toward the cars, slip through the barbed wire, and onto the road. There’s a slim hope in the back of my mind that because we weren’t supposed to be here, because we’re not actually Lavinia and Kaysa, the magic can’t holdus and we can disappear into the trees, wander long enough to get cell service, and safely call a ride.
It’s a gamble, a guess, but it’s all we have.
Wren beats me to the final landing, her strides stuttering, mouth dropped into an awestruckO. “It’s so beautiful.”
Instead of the stately wallpaper of the solarium, hallways, and the parts of Ursula’s study that weren’t covered in books, the entire foyer is painted in a massive mural of mountains and sun, wildflowers, and wet-bottomed basins.
It’s striking and completely at odds with the gothic noir of the exterior.
There’s a creak from above, a sound, movement, and in a blink, I’m grabbing Wren’s hand, my heart ratcheting back up to a furious pace against my sternum. “Stunning, gorgeous, amazing. Definitely haunted.Go.”
We plow toward the front door—doors, actually, a pair of them. The way they’ve been painted into the mural, it’s as if we’re stepping onto a trail leading through an alpine grove instead of barreling out onto those gravestone steps we saw in the daylight on the drive.
I wrench down on the levered handle, expecting resistance of the locked or magical kind, only to find I’m pressing far too hard, and leaning too far in. The door falls open easily, and as we fall with it, I lunge forward. My foot catches my drooping A-line skirt—the delicate hem rips.
Shit.
I won’t be able to return it now, and as much as it’s gut-wrenching to know that most of my cut of Marsyas’s upfront advance will now go to paying off the credit card bill for this dress, it’s really the least of my problems at the moment.
I barely break a stride, hiking up my skirt with the hand that isn’t holding on to Wren, my new flayed hem swinging, and rush down the front steps.
“She did ditch us. Old hag,” Wren grits out as we hit the bricks.
My head snaps up.
Our SUV is missing. A bald patch of drive squats beside a sleek silver sports car.
Marsyas left us.
Before the spell took effect. She slipped out, taking those keys she weaseled away from the chauffeur, and jetted before the speech. Before Ursula’s last breath.
“OhGod,” Wren screeches. “That’s the driver.”
She extends a finger toward where a pair of shiny shoes catches the gray of the moonlight.
“He’s just like the rest of the staff, he’s a vegetable until they fulfill Ursula’s request,” I remind her without a second look, my attention on the looming gate, the barbed wire obscured by brush.
