Page 21 of The Manor of Dreams

She made her way to the cracked stone fountain in the garden and looked back at the exterior of the house. It really was beautiful. As she stood watching, the lights in the windows went out one by one. Her mother and Yí Ma must be preparing for bed.

The round lights on the terrace didn’t work anymore, so as she walked on, she relied on the bright moon to light her way. Slipping her hands in her pockets, she stepped onto what seemed like the remnants of an old path, and, stopping to the left of the fountain, carefully picked her way to that perfect rose. Several pale pink buds, almost luminescent at the tips that surged to a deep red toward the center, formed bursts of color among the roots and overgrown vines. Madeline took in a breath and reached out for the petals. They were light and fluid, as if they were crafted from silk.

She leaned in, expecting the buds to have a faint, sweet scent. But instead the petals emitted that raw, sharp odor of rust.

The air was clear with no mist, but the ground felt damp to the touch. Madeline glanced back at the darkened house again and saw the kitchen light from downstairs sputter on. Who had gotten up?

Suddenly she stumbled, as something laced around her ankles and pulled.

She pitched forward. She scrambled, first in confusion, then in panic, to grab at what had now fastened itself around her feet and seized her ankles.

They werevines.Thick and unyielding as rope.

Her panicked breaths rushed in and out. She grasped the vines, dug into them with her fingernails, trying to pry them off, but they didn’t budge. Even the ground was unsteady. The dirt was warm and soft, pulsing like a living thing, giving way beneath her.

A whimper escaped her lips. She wrapped both hands around her leg in an effort to tug it free, but it was useless. New vines shot out from the ground and lashed around her knees, dragging her farther into the dirt.

She was going to have to cut herself free. She fumbled around in her pocket. Nothing. A pen. She pulled it out, stabbing at the vines around her, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief when they seemed to retract, like a wounded animal, but it was only for a second. Before Madeline could react, the vines surged forward again with a vengeance and lashed around her arm.

Something punctured into the skin of her arm, and she screamed. She heaved onto her elbows and stomach, her face only inches away from the roses she had just been admiring. The rotten, revolting smell of rust rose from the dirt itself. She tried to find purchase, but her fingers sank into soil that seemed to be rising around her. The vines laced around her back now, and her breath sputtered out in frantic gasps. She could feel the cords creeping up her back, to her shoulders.

Madeline tried to scream louder, but the vines pulled her face forward into the dirt. Wrestling her head to the side, she tried to keep drawing air into her lungs, but she sucked in dirt instead and now she was gagging on it.

Dirt filled her mouth, choking out her screams. Madeline imagined for a fleeting moment what it would be like to be buried alive, to be crushed under the leaden weight of the earth.

And then she felt someone’s fingers grab on to her.

NORAset the kettle on the stove. It made a clatter and water sloshed out. Impulsively, she cringed and looked around, hoping no one else was there to see. But this instinct to be invisible made her angry. So what if she made a sound? She was tiptoeing around, eating after the Yin family had eaten, like she was the help, even though this was technically her mother’s house.

She turned the stove on. The burner glowed to life, and she peered out at the garden, looking for any sign of her mother. If Ma didn’t remember gripping Nora hard enough that she’d left a mark, what else could she do in her sleep?

But Ma wasn’t out there tonight. Nora was just on edge. The water came to a boil, and she cut the flame and poured it over her tea. She was practicing taking deep breaths when she saw something move in the garden.

Nora nearly dropped her tea. It splashed on the table and over Nora, burning her. She yelped in pain and marched to the glass kitchen door. She wrenched it open.Wassomeone out there?

If this place is messing with me again—

She heard a shrill scream and saw the flash of a white sleeve.

Madeline.

Nora didn’t think. She bolted down the stone steps and out onto the grounds, trying to follow the sound. There was another flash of white and she ran toward it.

At first, Nora couldn’t see Madeline at all. Breathing hard, she found herself standing in front of what looked like a large tangle of dead vegetation, until it dawned on Nora that it was moving. Madeline must be underneath, covered—no, swarmed—with vines. She heard a stifled cry and saw another flash of Madeline’s shirt to the left. She was reaching out as roots wrapped around her feet and her stomach, across her shoulders.

Nora leapt over and grabbed Madeline’s arm. She yanked ferociously on a thick handful of the vines. Digging her heels in, she threw her weight backward, but as she pulled, thorns sliced through her palms, causing her to jerk away.

Her blood dripped onto the vines as she stood over the tangle, her mind blanked with panic and in pain. Gathering herself, she reached for the vines again and pulled, gritting her teeth through the sharp pain. This time, the vines slackened.

Nora’s knees buckled from the sudden lack of resistance, and she fell back, pulling some vines with her. Madeline ripped one arm free. Nora tugged on Madeline’s arm, out of the vines. All at once the vines retracted and they tumbled, hard, against the ground. The back of Nora’s head hit the ground, hard. Dazed, Nora heard Madeline’s ragged gasps against her ear and registered her weight on top of Nora.

Looking around her, Nora realized she was now eye level with several roses.Roses?When had these appeared in the garden? She had thought everything out here was dead. But these were a beautiful light pink, though something like mud seeped from their centers.

No—it wasblood.

Madeline and Nora sprang apart. Madeline flung the remaining vines off. “Get—away,” Madeline choked. They raced back toward the house. They ran up the steps and tumbled onto the terrace. Nora knelt on the ground, panting. Madeline coughed and gagged, heaving over the stones.

Nora looked over and her first thought was:she’s bleeding.So was she. She could feel the searing pain at the center of her left palm where the thorns had cut the deepest. Blood was welling up inside the other cuts and dripping down her arms.

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