Page 67 of An Invocation of Monsters

There was that low, grumbling sound again. If I strained my ears, it almost sounded like a voice.

I heard Juno take a sip of something. Probably hot tea, knowing her.

“She’s moved on from using my bladder like a trampoline to trying to kick my ribs out,” Juno said. I winced, holding my own ribs in sympathy. “And I’m only letting you blatantly change the subject because you’re my favorite baby cousin.”

“I’m your only baby cousin,” I said with a grin.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m concerned about the safety of any basements in your vicinity.” I heard another sip, then a pause. “Elle, all I’m saying is that… if there’s anything weird going on, you can tell me. I will believe you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, no matter what. Because—”

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth,” I finished for her, smiling.

But even Juno, with her ghostly eyes, had to draw the line somewhere. There was a limit to the insanity a person could take.

“Just keep it in that whimsical noggin’ of yours, all right?” she asked. “Remember that I’m here for you and—aaaghh, there she goes on the bladder.”

“Of course I’ll remember. I love you.” I made a loud smacking kiss into the phone.

It was returned with a squeal of static. “Love you too, Elle. And send me anything about Sophie if you can! Bye!”

I hung up, still smiling, a weight off my chest.

God, I loved my weird cousin.

21

Elle

Despite the warmth Juno’s pep talk had given me, a chill still crept down my spine when I looked at the open pages of the Deepwater history.

Thanks to Juno, I knew that a lot of paranormal investigators tended to seek out areas like this: places that were utterly soaked with death and despair over a long period of time.

I thought about it for a moment, staring at the pages listing tragedy after tragedy.

Maybe these places were good for more than ghost-hunting. Maybe they made it much easier to open doors.

Doors to places no sane or rational human would ever want to go.

“Which makes me neither sane nor rational,” I muttered to myself, slamming the book shut. I shoved my phone in my pocket and left my room, wandering back upstairs to the dusty, dim corridors that seemed untouched for years.

It was easy enough to find the parlor with the picture of Sophie. My footprints were the only ones disturbing the fine layer of dust on the floor. I closed the door behind me and flicked on a light, which lit the room with a wavering, yellow light.

This time I made an effort to ensure the pictures were framed well. I snapped more shots on my phone of the photo of Sophie, Marie, and Tessa, taking several close-ups and a pic of the plaque with their names.

As I fired them off to Juno, I looked more closely at some of the other photos.

Unsurprisingly, Sophie cropped up in one or two more.

There were no plaques declaring who the people were—I supposed that particular photo of the girls had been of importance to Margaret, the original owner of the Lodge—but it was now a little easier to pick out Sophie, with her long, pale curls and sly grin, compared to the young versions of Marie and Tessa.

But she was the same age in all of them. I examined them one by one, slowly determining that these must have all been taken in a slew over the course of one summer: the girls wore loose dresses with ruffled tops and short sleeves.

One of them was of what was likely this very room: the girls gathered around for tea, a fire burning in the fireplace.

I recognized the parquet floors and the shape of the window. The original draperies were still here, their true color disguised by a thick layer of dust.

I snapped pictures of these, sent them to Juno, and finally peered at the large armoire that hulked in the corner of the room. Something about it tugged at me.

Maybe there were more photos in storage.

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