fall asleep that night, such was her anger at Fabian and Warwick. She replayed the argument over and over in her mind, each time thinking of better comebacks she could have retaliated with, even mouthing the words in a half-whisper to a silent room. How
dare
Warwick say she was a troublemaker? And how dare Fabian accuse her of switching the sugar to salt?
The thing that was bothering her the most, however—bothering and unnerving her—was that all the time Fabian had been noticing the little oddities that had happened around her. Everything he’d said had been true, from the wilted flowers to the shoelaces tied together: all things that the fairies had done. It shocked her that he had noted it all and never said a word until tonight.
In the end Tanya knew she was just winding herself up, and made herself force it all from her mind in an effort to get some sleep. But when sleep finally came, it was not to last.
She awoke with a start and the unshakable feeling that she was not alone in the room. Her initial thought was that the fairies had come, but as her sleep-fuddled brain came into focus she neither saw nor heard anything that would suggest their presence. The room was silent. There was no fluttering of wings, no whispers, no strange earthy smell. Just her, and the sparse, unwelcoming room.
Unsettled, she allowed herself to lean back into her pillow, trying to shake off the weird feeling and relax. It must have been a dream. What with the upheaval of the past few days, it wasn’t surprising she was having trouble sleeping. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, forcing herself to exhale slowly.
Then she froze as she heard something in the darkness, like the soft hiss of a snake—or was it slithering? Something was sliding slowly along with precision, with caution. It was the noise that had woken her, she was sure of it.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Trapped by fear, a prisoner in her own body, she could only listen as the slithering continued. She couldn’t even work out where it was coming from. It seemed so close that it had to be in the room with her… and yet something told her that it wasn’t. But wherever—
whatever
—it was, it was close. Very close.
Something snapped in her then, pulling her out of the frozen state she was in. Choking back a cry of terror, she threw back the bedclothes and leaped up. A small noise stopped her in her tracks. She froze a second time—but this time it wasn’t with fear. It was to listen. For what she had heard had been unmistakable. The slithering had stopped. But she had heard something—something distinctive.
Someone had
sneezed
.
In that instant, Tanya understood. She strode over to the wardrobe, opened the doors, and swept aside the few clothes that were hanging up, then gave the back of the wardrobe a sharp tap. It was hollow.
She took a step backward as her suspicions were confirmed.
Her wardrobe had been constructed in front of the old doorway to the servants’ staircase. Where, right now, someone was creeping along the passage on the other side. Suddenly, Tanya had a very good idea of who that someone was. She banged on the back of the wardrobe again, hard.
“I know you’re there, Fabian,” she hissed. “And let me tell you—”
Her words stuck in her throat as a horrible noise started from behind the wardrobe: a high-pitched, desperate mewling, like a kitten being slowly strangled. It chilled Tanya’s blood to hear it. Then there was a gurgle and the noise seemed to muffle and grow lower, before stopping altogether. Then the slithering began again, accompanied by the barely audible footfall of someone who was trying to be very, very quiet. It faded as the passage continued past the room and by the next.
Tanya never remembered how she ended up on the opposite side of the room, backed up against the wall as far as she could go. When she woke at four to the bleak morning light, she was huddled cold and stiff in the corner, and as
dare
Warwick say she was a troublemaker? And how dare Fabian accuse her of switching the sugar to salt?
The thing that was bothering her the most, however—bothering and unnerving her—was that all the time Fabian had been noticing the little oddities that had happened around her. Everything he’d said had been true, from the wilted flowers to the shoelaces tied together: all things that the fairies had done. It shocked her that he had noted it all and never said a word until tonight.
In the end Tanya knew she was just winding herself up, and made herself force it all from her mind in an effort to get some sleep. But when sleep finally came, it was not to last.
She awoke with a start and the unshakable feeling that she was not alone in the room. Her initial thought was that the fairies had come, but as her sleep-fuddled brain came into focus she neither saw nor heard anything that would suggest their presence. The room was silent. There was no fluttering of wings, no whispers, no strange earthy smell. Just her, and the sparse, unwelcoming room.
Unsettled, she allowed herself to lean back into her pillow, trying to shake off the weird feeling and relax. It must have been a dream. What with the upheaval of the past few days, it wasn’t surprising she was having trouble sleeping. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, forcing herself to exhale slowly.
Then she froze as she heard something in the darkness, like the soft hiss of a snake—or was it slithering? Something was sliding slowly along with precision, with caution. It was the noise that had woken her, she was sure of it.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Trapped by fear, a prisoner in her own body, she could only listen as the slithering continued. She couldn’t even work out where it was coming from. It seemed so close that it had to be in the room with her… and yet something told her that it wasn’t. But wherever—
whatever
—it was, it was close. Very close.
Something snapped in her then, pulling her out of the frozen state she was in. Choking back a cry of terror, she threw back the bedclothes and leaped up. A small noise stopped her in her tracks. She froze a second time—but this time it wasn’t with fear. It was to listen. For what she had heard had been unmistakable. The slithering had stopped. But she had heard something—something distinctive.
Someone had
sneezed
.
In that instant, Tanya understood. She strode over to the wardrobe, opened the doors, and swept aside the few clothes that were hanging up, then gave the back of the wardrobe a sharp tap. It was hollow.
She took a step backward as her suspicions were confirmed.
Her wardrobe had been constructed in front of the old doorway to the servants’ staircase. Where, right now, someone was creeping along the passage on the other side. Suddenly, Tanya had a very good idea of who that someone was. She banged on the back of the wardrobe again, hard.
“I know you’re there, Fabian,” she hissed. “And let me tell you—”
Her words stuck in her throat as a horrible noise started from behind the wardrobe: a high-pitched, desperate mewling, like a kitten being slowly strangled. It chilled Tanya’s blood to hear it. Then there was a gurgle and the noise seemed to muffle and grow lower, before stopping altogether. Then the slithering began again, accompanied by the barely audible footfall of someone who was trying to be very, very quiet. It faded as the passage continued past the room and by the next.
Tanya never remembered how she ended up on the opposite side of the room, backed up against the wall as far as she could go. When she woke at four to the bleak morning light, she was huddled cold and stiff in the corner, and as
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