Page 137 of The Seven Rings
Laughing, she threw her arms up.
The wind swirled. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. And rain poured out of the sky in a torrent.
On shrieks and laughter, people ran toward the house until only the three stood outside as the rain drenched the lawn.
“Soon enough.” Smiling, smiling, Dobbs admired her fingers and what gleamed on them. “Death comes to the bride.”
She lifted her face, shouted at the sky. “I am mistress of the manor, for all time.”
On another whirl, she vanished.
“Hell of a show,” Owen managed. “And what we came here to see. We’re soaked. Time to go back.”
“He heard me calling him. He went back for me.”
“That’s right. And we’re going back.” He pulled her to the mirror, and through.
To a dry, clear summer night.
“Jesus, you’re soaked.” Trey reached for her. “And crying.”
“It rained, it rained on the party.”
“You’ll tell us, but we’re going up.” Cleo took her hand. “I’ll help you dry off and change. Trey.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make tea.”
“I’m not driving now.” Owen shoved at his dripping hair. “I’m having whiskey.”
“I’ll take care of it.” As he walked to the house, Trey looked back.
The mirror had done what it came to do, and was gone.
Not just soaked, Trey thought, not just crying, but so pale he wondered his arms hadn’t passed through her. He watched her walk upstairs with Cleo as Owen followed with Jones in step beside him.
And he’d make goddamn tea.
“Stick with me,” he told the rest of the pets. “Give them some space.”
Not for the first time, he wished the mirror, and the manor with it, to the far reaches of hell.
Upstairs, Cleo drew Sonya into her room. And saw Molly, most likely, had already turned on the fire.
“You’re shivering. Stand by the fire. You need to get out of those wet clothes. I’ll get towels.”
Because it was Cleo, Sonya let the last thread snap. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“Oh, Son. Baby. Whatever happened, I’m so sorry.” Wrapping around her, she stroked, she swayed. “Don’t talk now. Just tell me if you’re hurt.”
When Sonya just shook her head, Cleo held her. “I’ve got you,” she said, and let Sonya cry it out.
When the sobs tapered off, Cleo eased back. “I’m going to get you towels and dry clothes.”
She turned, and saw while she’d comforted Sonya, Molly had taken care of the essentials. Towels, a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and thick socks lay on the bed.
“You’re an angel,” Cleo murmured. “I think that’s literally. Here now, let’s get you out of that wet dress.”
Sonya let out a breath, drew another in deep, let it out. “Okay. Okay. I just needed to get that out.”
