The House Saphir by Marissa Meyer - 6

Heat rose in Mallory’s face as Triphine exclaimed, “I knew he was a relation! Is he my grandson? Great-grandson? Wait—how long has it been since I died?”

“You’re a Saphir?” Mallory breathed.

“I am.” He pulled a chain from his collar on which hung a gold medallion, emblazoned with the Saphir crest—near identical to those in her merchandise box.

Armand Saphir. The sole heir to the Saphir estate.

Gods above.

“It’s … an honor to meet you.”

He scoffed. “I’m sure it is.” He nodded at the investigators. “You can release her now.”

They didn’t—not immediately, anyway. First they had to inspect Armand’s medallion and pepper him with questions to ensure that he wasn’t another actor in the Fontaine scam, while Mallory suffered the indignity of being ignored with hands bound uncomfortably behind her back.

Finally, with much grumbling, Sophia undid the shackles.

“Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Miss Fontaine,” she whispered in Mallory’s ear. “We will be back.”

“I love repeat customers,” Mallory said, rubbing her wrists. The investigators bowed respectfully to the count—great gods, the count —then sauntered out through the front door, leaving it hanging open as they crossed through the overgrown garden.

Exhaling through her nostrils, Mallory considered curtsying, but … no. “This was eventful. Thank you for your patronage and your … assistance. Have a nice night.”

Turning her back on him, she stomped on the hidden switch again. As soon as the flames had died down, she felt around the side of the hearth and wriggled out the loose stone. Brushing the dirt from her hand, she pulled out a small wooden box.

“What are you doing?”

Irritation growing, she did not bother to look back at Count Armand. “You can leave now. The tour is over.”

She opened the box’s lid, revealing a small cache of coins and a glittering sapphire ring.

“Is that…?” Armand started.

Mallory started scooping the coins into her purse.

“The ring in the cellar. That was a fake.”

She shot him an upticked eyebrow. “Would you keep a priceless artifact on full display in a glass jar?”

She reached for the ring, but another hand beat her to it.

“Hey!” She stood and wheeled around.

Armand was inspecting Triphine’s wedding ring, while the ghost stood by, watching the exchange and massaging her own fingerless hand. “Still as beautiful as the day my good-for-nothing husband gave it to me.”

Unlike the replica in the cellar, this ring was crafted of a white-gold band with a square-cut sapphire, heavy as a bad secret.

“Give it to me,” said Mallory, holding out her palm. “I need to get home to my sister, as evidently we’re going to be leaving first thing tomorrow—”

“Why?”

The words snagged on the end of her tongue. “Why?”

“Why will you be leaving tomorrow?”

“Were you not … Didn’t you hear them? My sister and I are on the verge of being carted off to prison, and I don’t know about the lifestyle of a count, but personally, I’m not suited to sharing a cold stone floor with an infestation of lice and vermin.”

“You will only be arrested if they were right,” he said, frustratingly calm. “If you’ve been conducting fake séances and…” He eyed the ring. “Selling fake jewelry.”

She opened her mouth. Hesitated. Then straightened her spine. “You’re right. I have nothing to worry about. Now give that back.”

“If this is the duchess’s ring, it rightfully belongs to me and my estate.”

Mallory gawped at him. “Your ancestor murdered her! Then chopped off her finger! That ring would have been lost to time if I hadn’t found it.”

“ She was my ancestor as much as he was. And you found it inside the home that belongs to me.”

“Do I get a say in the matter?” asked Triphine. “It is my ring, after all.”

“No,” snapped Mallory. “You can’t wear it and you can’t sell it, so what do you care?”

Triphine huffed, but Armand’s expression became curious again. “You’re talking to the ghost again, aren’t you?”

“You know what, I don’t have time for this.” Mallory finished shoveling the coins into her purse, knowing that the moment he let his guard down, she’d be able to swipe the ring from him. An elbow to the throat or heel to the knee, and she could snatch the ring away and be gone before he knew what had happened.

“Miss Fontaine, I can see you’re upset about what happened with those investigators, but there’s something I need to discuss with—”

The house shook suddenly with a crash, the shattering of glass, a heavy, reverberating thud.

Mallory peered up the stairwell, into the shadows of the upper floor. Gooseflesh shot down her arms.

Triphine let out a wavering cry and ducked behind the curtains, hiding her ephemeral body in their dusty folds.

“Although,” Armand quietly mused, “given that the ghost of the duchess was a fake, perhaps the investigators were right to suspect you.”

Mallory turned her full focus to Triphine. “All right, I’m listening. What is up there?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know . I think it moved in last night, but I’ve been too afraid to go up there. It sounds big .”

“How can you be afraid?” Mallory shouted. “You’re dead!”

“Why must you always bring it up? You are the most insensitive girl I’ve ever met!”

“Are you talking to the duchess?” asked Armand. “What is she saying?”

“She’s saying that you are a nosy buffoon who shouldn’t ask so many questions.”

He squinted at her. “I cannot tell if you are lying, and I find that very irritating.”

A loud scraping sound was followed by another crash.

Mallory tucked her purse away and took hold of the mannequin, gripping it like a shield.

Armand’s voice lowered to a whisper. “If this is some joke you play on people who are foolish enough to come on this tour—”

“Stop talking,” she hissed. “It’s probably just a rat.”

“That sounds a lot bigger than a rat. Perhaps we should call the investigators back or … What are you … Is that a knife?”

Mallory yanked her dagger from its sheath and crept up the stairs, unable to avoid the creaking floorboard at the top.

“Why do you have a knife?”

She reached the landing and started for the hall. A faint glimmer of moonlight spilled through the windows that framed a sitting area at the top of the steps, but the light did not reach the depths of the long corridor. The walls were adorned in crimson wallpaper and dark wood trim. Several bedroom doors stood open between unlit candle sconces.

Mallory stopped to listen, but all she heard was her own breathing—and Armand’s.

She whipped her head around, surprised to see that he had followed her … and somehow managed to do so without stepping on that creaky floorboard.

“What are you doing?”

He blinked at her. “If there is something up here, I’m not letting you face it alone.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

“Of course not.”

She let out a sound of disgust. “Your heroics are the stuff of epic sagas.” Turning away again, she muttered, “Lots of bravado, but ultimately pointless.”

“What’s that?”

The pitch to his voice made Mallory tense as she squinted into the inky darkness of the corridor.

One of the bedroom doors was opening wider, hinges creaking.

A hand appeared. Long fingers wrapped around the edge of the door.

It was so dim, Mallory wanted to believe she was seeing things. But from here it almost appeared that the hand had claws .

It was followed by a head, peering around the doorframe. Wide yellow eyes glinted as it emerged into the hall, one clacking step at a time. The creature stood on two legs, nearly reaching the ceiling, but its back was hunched forward, its knees cocked at odd angles. Its body was covered by matted gray fur along with the tattered remains of a tunic. Its head was distinctly wolflike, with a jaw that hung open to reveal a row of jagged teeth.

Its lips twisted into a snarl that was both human and beastly.

Mallory shuddered. She took a step back, knocking Armand against the banister that stood above the entryway. He caught her, pulling her closer to him, but she wasn’t sure if he meant to support her or himself.

“That,” he whispered, his breath grazing the back of her ear, “is not a rat.”

The beast growled, then charged so suddenly Mallory’s mind went white with surprise.

It was Armand who reacted first—shoving Mallory against a wall, making a shield of himself.

The beast’s jaws clamped onto his raised forearm. He cried out in pain.

Mallory lunged forward with the knife—aiming for the creature’s eye, but catching its ear as it lurched backward, dragging Armand with it. Armand dug his heels into the worn carpet. Mallory thrust forward with the knife again, driving the blade into the beast’s side. It released Armand as Mallory yanked the knife back from its flesh. Blood splattered across her skirt.

The beast pivoted toward her, and Mallory lifted a leg and shoved her boot into the beast’s stomach, sending it hurtling down the staircase. One claw caught on the mannequin of Triphine, knocking it askew on the metal rail. The body form struck the wall. Its head popped off its neck and toppled over, bouncing down the rest of the steps into the foyer.

The sight of the rolling, bumping head brought the beast to a halt. It stared after the head, as transfixed as a dog with a discus. It leaned back on its haunches, muscles twitching, and pounced—clearing the staircase in one leap and landing on the mannequin’s head with a ferocious snarl. Its teeth dug into the papier-mâché shell, cracking into it like an egg.

The real Triphine had drifted from behind the curtains, and was partially hidden behind the parlor door, watching the scene with repugnance. “Why, of all the indignities…”

Mallory grabbed Armand’s uninjured arm and dragged him down the hallway, throwing open a bedroom door. It was empty of furniture, but the wall sconces still held wax candles with half-burned wicks. Mallory slammed the door shut, and she and Armand stumbled over themselves to back away from it.

“Silver,” Armand panted, clutching his bleeding arm. “Voirloups are repelled by silver, if I recall correctly.”

Mallory gaped at him. “You recognized the creature?”

“I’ve dealt with my share of monsters,” he snapped. But then his expression pinched with guilt. “Apologies. This is not how I imagined the night going. That was very impressive back there, with the knife and the…” He mimed kicking the voirloup in the stomach.

It was so comical, with his fine blood-soaked jacket and mussed hair, that a bewildered laugh tumbled out of Mallory before she could stop it. “Yes, well, luckily I had the help of a buffoon making a human shield of himself first.”

“So you do appreciate my heroics.”

A thunder of footsteps brought their attention back to the door.

“As I was saying,” said Armand. “Those candlesticks aren’t silver, are they?”

“Brass,” she said, pulling a matchbox from her pocket. The beast crashed into the door—but the wood held. “Voirloups are also afraid of fire.” With her shaking hands, it took four scratches of the match for it to light.

Another crash into the door. The wood began to splinter.

She lit one of the half-burned candles.

Armand appeared increasingly distressed. “You can’t possibly think a little flame will frighten … that .” He pointed at the door.

“Unless you have a silver-plated sword, I don’t know that we have many options.”

He glanced around. “The window.”

“What about the window?”

“It might be unlocked.”

She squinted at him in disbelief. “I am not jumping out a window. I’d rather take my chances with the evil half-dead wolf thing.” She pried the candlestick from the sconce. The weak flame flickered out as she did.

The door crashed inward. They both yelped and scrambled against the far wall. The old plaster cracked and dusted their backs. Armand grabbed the candlestick from her and held it aloft, brandishing it like one might a silver-plated sword.

The voirloup snarled.

Panicking, Armand threw the candlestick, hitting the creature in the leg. It bounced off, landing on the carpet with a dull thud.

Mallory scowled at Armand, who had the sense to look chagrined.

The voirloup launched itself across the floor. Releasing a battle cry, Mallory raised her knife and plunged it into the beast’s chest—but she knew immediately that she had missed the heart. Probably wouldn’t have killed it anyway. Too shallow. Too not-silver. She racked her brain, trying to remember anything else about voirloups …

The beast reared back, taking her knife with it.

Armand gasped. “Wait! I do have something!” He dug into his pocket, and Mallory had a vision of him throwing silver coins at the beast, and wondered if she’d be able to let him do it without grabbing them for herself. But his hand didn’t emerge with a coin—rather, he held a ring.

A small silver ring with a large blue stone.

Mallory released an incredulous cry. “You can’t throw away Triphine’s ring!”

“I’m not. This is one of your fakes,” he said.

Her jaw dropped. “One of … did you steal that?”

“I was going to pay for it.”

Mallory didn’t know if she believed him, but in the next moment the voirloup was howling and Armand was pulling back his arm and—

“Wait!”

The ring sailed across the room, straight into the beast’s maw, silencing the howl. The creature reared back, claws digging at its throat.

Mallory raised her eyebrows, almost impressed.

But then the beast coughed twice and swallowed. She imagined she could see the ring sliding down its gullet, disappearing into its ravenous stomach.

The voirloup spat a glob of saliva onto the floor and sneered at them, preparing to pounce.

“Why didn’t that work?” said Armand. “You said they were silver!”

“I lied.”

Expression darkening, Armand grabbed for the coin purse strapped around Mallory’s waist and yanked it off, breaking the strap.

“Hey!”

“Your rings might have been fake,” he said, yanking the bag open, “but I bet those coins weren’t.”

“Don’t you dare!” She threw herself at him, trying to snatch the purse back. Too late. The money was in his hand. His hand was reeling back. “Please, don’t! That’s my life savings! Those coins are—”

Gone.

Armand threw every lys she had earned over the past year, the money she’d painstakingly sequestered away in preparation for the day she and her sister could leave this bloody city behind. All gobbled up by the voirloup in one slobbery gulp.

It wheezed in pain.

“I needed those!” she shouted.

Armand ignored her, using the voirloup’s distraction to pry up the window sash. “Come on.”

“I am not jumping out a window.”

“Yes, you are.” He tossed one leg over the sill, then stretched his hand toward her. “Take my hand.”

The voirloup tore the dagger from its flesh and flung it toward Armand. He ducked. The knife struck the open window, cracking the glass and ricocheting off into the night.

The beast fixed its attention on Mallory again, fury twisting its expression.

“You cannot fight that thing!” yelled Armand. “It will kill you!”

Mallory backed away. One step. Two. Outside, there was no tree to climb, only a long fall down to certain death.

Her heart choked her. Cold sweat prickled the back of her neck.

She couldn’t jump. She wouldn’t .

“Please.” Armand’s voice was strained. “I’ll break your fall. I won’t let you get hurt.”

Surprise sparked in her thoughts. Less at his words than the tenderness with which he said them. As though he meant it.

She drew in a shuddering breath. Looked at his outstretched hand. Her heart convulsed.

“I am not jumping.”

“And I am not leaving you here.”

Her lips parted. “Why would you care about—”

The voirloup lifted an arm, long claws catching the moonlight.

Fear took hold of Mallory as she braced for those sharp nails to dig into her flesh. She hardly felt Armand’s arm snaking around her waist until it was too late.

He yanked her toward the window.

Mallory screamed. Thrashed. Felt the shift of the earth, the windowsill hitting the backs of her knees, saw the dark ground below—too far, way too far below—

The world spun. White terror swirled in her vision. Wrapped around her throat.

“Stop fighting me!” Armand cried.

Realizing that his other hand was wrapped around the dead wisteria vines that covered the exterior of the mansion, Mallory grabbed for the vines herself. The moment she took hold of them, the vines stripped free from the limestone blocks. Armand’s arm tightened around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and felt herself falling.