The Sign of Fear (8 page)

No one there. The sound came from below, she realized. Where Emily entertained Matthew.

Christina stood motionless, listening. Emily laughed again.

The sound cut through Christina. It cut straight through to her heart.

What is happening downstairs in the sitting room? she wondered. A thousand painful images crowded through her mind.

Matthew and Emily sitting together. Matthew holding Emily's hands as tightly as he'd held hers.

Christina's hands tightened on the pticher. The blue veins stood out along the back of her hands.

What if Matthew doesn't come back for me? she thought. What if he comes back for
her?

The pitcher shattered into a dozen pieces. Christina cried out as the sharp pieces of pottery sliced into her hands. Bright red blood spurted from her cuts. So much blood.

Christina rushed to the door. But her hands were too slippery to pull the door open. Slippery with her own blood.

Christina wrapped one hand in her skirt and opened the latch on the door. She dashed down the corridor, blood dripping from her fingers. She felt dizzy and light-headed as she forced her feet to carry her down the stairs.

She burst into the sitting room, bloody hands stretched out before her. “Matthew! Help me!” she cried.

Matthew, Emily, and Mistress Peterson leapt to their feet. Matthew started forward. But Emily pushed him aside. She darted over to Christina and seized one of her bloody hands.

Christina screamed. Emily squeezed her hand, her sharp fingernails digging into Christina's bloody palm.

“Hold still!” Emily commanded, her blue eyes wild. “Hold still or you'll spoil everything.”

Blood oozed from Christina's cuts. Emily cupped one of her hands, so she could catch every drop. Christina's ears began to buzz. Spots danced in front of her eyes.

Emily squeezed her hand again.

Christina gasped in pain. She's going to bleed me, she thought. She's going to bleed me dry.

“Blood,” Emily panted. She stared down at the red liquid she held in her cupped hand. She raised it to her nose and took a deep sniff. “Fresh blood.”

Still panting, Emily ran from the room.

C
hristina's knees buckled. The world whirled around her. Matthew caught her before she struck the floorboards.

“Did you see her, Matthew?” Christina gasped out. “She wanted my blood. She took some of it.”

“Nonsense!” Mistress Peterson cried sharply. She hurried forward to look at Christina's hands. “You misunderstood her actions, that is all. Emily was just trying to cleanse your wounds. You'll heal faster if you bleed freely.”

“Christina, what happened?” Matthew asked. He helped her up into one of the chairs. His touch was gentle and comforting.

“I broke the pitcher,” Christina said. Her ears still buzzed a little. Her head felt strange. She couldn't think clearly. “I didn't mean to. It just exploded in my hands.”

“There now,” Mistress Peterson said. “The
pitcher's not important. But we must tend to those cuts. I'll fetch some bandages.” She bustled out of the room

Matthew grasped one of her hands in his. He carefully removed the slivers that still remained in her cuts. “We'll take care of you,” he said.

Fresh blood welled up. At the sight of it, Christina began to shake uncontrollably. All her fears about the Petersons returned.

I'm not wrong, she thought. I know Emily Peterson wanted my blood. But why? Why would she do such a horrible thing?

Christina shivered. It has to be for some strange, unnatural ceremony! The rumors in the village must be true. Emily must practice the dark arts!

Horror gripped Christina. “Matthew, I can't stay—”

Mistress Peterson strode back in the room. She gave Christina a sharp look. She heard me, Christina thought.

“Cleanse her hands in this water, Matthew,” Mistress Peterson said briskly. She set a basin down beside him along with several strips of fresh linen. “Then bandage them with these.”

Matthew carefully bathed Christina's hands. The water in the basin turned a bloody rose color.

“There,” Matthew said to Christina, when he had finished. “You should heal nicely now.”

“Thank you, Matthew,” Christina murmured. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. But Mistress Peterson stood watching them closely.

Matthew rose to his feet. “I must continue on to the village,” he informed Christina and Mistress Peterson. “I have arranged for a place to stay there.”

He gazed over at Christina, his eyes warm. “I will return as soon as I can.”

Silently, Christina and Mistress Peterson walked Matthew to the door. They stood on the cold front porch and watched him mount his horse.

Christina squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. I'm all alone now, she thought. There is no one to protect me. I must be strong and take care of myself . . . until Matthew can return for me.

Mistress Peterson put her arm around Christina's shoulders. “Don't worry about Christina, Matthew,” she called. “We will take good care of her.”

“Thank you,” Matthew answered. “I know you will.” Then he spurred Thunder and rode away.

The second he disappeared from sight, Mistress Peterson grabbed Christina by the hair. She shook Christina's head back and forth. “You broke my pitcher, you stupid girl! Nobody breaks my things and gets away with it. It's the cellar for you tonight!”

Mistress Peterson hauled her inside. Christina struggled, twisting and turning. But she couldn't loosen Mistress Peterson's grip.

Step by step, Mistress Peterson dragged Christina to the dark cellar door. She threw the door open, and pushed Christina in. She stumbled on the narrow wooden steps.

Mrs. Peterson slammed the door shut. A chunk of dirt fell from the wall and landed near Christina.

“No!” Christina cried out, throwing herself against the door. “You can't do this! It isn't fair! I didn't mean to break it!”

Mistress Peterson slid the latch into place.

T
he earth walls of the cellar made Christina feel as if she had been buried alive. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She noticed dozens of red spots along the floor and dotting the walls.

Eyes! Not spots—dozens of tiny red eyes!

Christina pressed her back up against the cellar door. I'm imagining things, she thought. There's nothing in here with me.

But everywhere she glanced, she could see them. Tiny pinpoints dividing up the darkness. Tiny red eyes.

She heard a rustling sound. The eyes moved forward up the stairs toward her. Something scurried over her feet. Christina kicked it away.

High-pitched squeals filled the cellar. A thousand scrabbling feet raced over her. Piercing her with their
sharp claws. A cold nose pressed against her cheek. Another rooted in her hair.

Christina screamed. And screamed again. Rats! Dozens of rats.

She reached into her hair and pulled out a wriggling, warm body. She threw it down the cellar steps.

Thunk!

She tried to grab another one. The rats scattered, scurrying out of reach.

Christina sat down on the top step. She rocked back and forth with her back to the door. What if they weren't rats? If the Petersons practice black magic they could be—

Stop, she ordered herself. Things are bad enough without making up monsters. I've got to be like Matthew. I've got to be strong.

She wished Matthew was there with her. Holding her. Just the thought of him made her feel better.

Christina wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay warm. She felt something hard pressed against her chest. The silver pendant. She had almost forgotten about it.

She tugged on the chain and pulled the pendant free. She cradled it in her hands. It felt warm to the touch.

Holding it made her feel comforted. Just as thinking of Matthew did.

♦ ♦ ♦

“Get up, you lazy girl! I didn't pay good money for you just to have you sleep all day!”

Mistress Peterson opened the door to the cellar with a jerk. Christina tumbled backward and struck her head on the bottom cellar stair.

“Clumsy oaf,” Mistress Peterson muttered. “If
you're not out in the yard in ten seconds, there will be nothing for you to eat this day.”

Christina scrambled to her feet. Her head swam. But she forced her feet to carry her up the cellar stairs after Mistress Peterson.

She stuffed the silver pendant back inside her dress. She didn't want Mistress Peterson to see it—and take it away from her.

“Very good,” Mistress Peterson said when Christina made her way out into the yard.

It's barely dawn, Christina realized. She felt exhausted. Her sore ankle throbbed and every muscle ached.

“You can begin your chores right away,” Mistress Peterson said. “When you've done the first one to my satisfaction, you can have some food. Start by cleaning up the mess you made in your room yesterday. Hurry, now! I will not tolerate laziness. Go get a bucket of water from the well.”

Footsteps dragging, Christina fetched a bucket and filled it with water. She slowly carried it to her room, careful not to spill one tiny drop. If she did, she feared Mistress Peterson would lock her into the cellar again.

Christina got down on her hands and knees, and began to scrub the floor. It took forever to get the bloodstains off.

She tried not to remember how the stains came to be there. Tried not to remember the sound of Emily Peterson's laughter or the way she smiled at Matthew Fier.

When she finished, her tiny room shone. That should satisfy even Mistress Peterson, Christina thought. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She hefted the bucket of bloody water and started back downstairs.

She heard a rustling from Emily's room. Christina hurried past the door, not wanting to see the blond girl.

And she heard someone moan.

Christina dropped the bucket. Water splashed out onto the hallway floor. The moan came again, louder this time.

Is Emily sick? Heart pounding, Christina crept closer to Emily's door. She didn't want anything to do with Emily. But she couldn't ignore her. What if she hurt herself somehow?

Christina put her hand on the door. I can't just pretend I didn't hear anything. I've got to find out what's going on!

“Don't go in there!” a voice behind her shrieked.

Christina spun around. Emily glared at her from the top of the stairs.

Christina heard the moan again.

If Emily is out here—who is that moaning in her room?

E
mily rushed down the hall toward Christina. “Get away from there!” she screeched. “That's
my
room. You can never go inside. Ever.”

What does she have in there? Christina wondered. Is a person locked in there? Who was moaning?