Serafina and the Splintered Heart. Robert Beatty

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СКАЧАТЬ was all this possible? She was right there, as plain as night.

      Serafina studied Braeden, and then looked at herself. The rays of moonlight coming down through the vine-covered lattice above her shone onto her body, casting her in an eerie, dappled-white light.

      Am I truly here? she wondered.

       Or am I still buried underground in the coffin and just imagining that I crawled out?

       Have I been cursed by a spell?

       Or am I some sort of whispery ghost or haint or spirit?

      She thought about how quickly she’d been able to dart away from the talon-clawed creature in the forest, how skillfully she’d escaped the sorcerer, how quietly she had slipped past all the guests at the party.

      She brushed back tears as the emotion welled up inside her. What had happened to her?

      Determined to make it stop, she stepped closer to Braeden.

      ‘It’s me, Braeden. I’m back. It’s me,’ she said again, her voice cracking.

      But Braeden did not respond. He looked out across the moonlit forest and fields. His heart seemed forlorn, his mood dark. There was a tension in his face that she’d never seen before.

      She lifted her hand and looked at it. She slowly turned it one way and then the other in the moonlight. It seemed normal in every way to her, and yet he could not see her. She had felt hungry earlier, but maybe it was because she had seen the food at the party. She had felt pain when she fell from the tree, but maybe that was what she thought she should be feeling. Was she just remembering how things felt?

      Braeden breathed a long, heavy sigh, then began to move. He gripped the side of the bench, and with much effort, his arms shaking, he managed to get himself up onto his crooked legs. He stood lopsided, tilted over like his body had been broken. Clearly exhausted by the exertion of getting onto his feet, he rested there, leaning his shoulder against the column for a moment.

      When he tried to take a few steps forward, it seemed at first as if he was going to be all right, but then he winced and his leg buckled beneath him. The metal brace tripped him up and he lurched off-balance. Serafina reflexively darted forward to catch him so that he didn’t fall, but he hit the ground anyway, grunting in pain as he crashed into the gravel.

      Serafina stepped back in confusion. She was certain she had reached him in time, but she hadn’t been able to hold him up.

      As Braeden struggled to get to his feet, she stepped forward again and grabbed his arm to lift him. At first she thought she was touching him. She had to be touching him, because she could see her hands were on him. But then she slowly realised that she could not actually feel him the way she should, the true warmth of his living body. She knew she should feel it. She could imagine feeling it. But this was more like a memory of feeling.

      Her spirit was remembering the physical world the way an amputee lying in a hospital bed remembers his missing leg, feels the movement of it, suffers the pain of it, even though it’s gone.

      She slowly reached out and tried to touch his shoulder, and then his bare hand. There was something there, something like a physical object, but she couldn’t feel the living warmth of it, and it was clear that he couldn’t feel her at all.

      Up to this moment, she’d been interacting with the world based on her memory of her past life. But now she was like the amputee who sees with his own eyes that his leg is actually gone. It was becoming clear to her that she could no longer affect the physical world around her. It was as if the more she realised what was happening to her, the more she faded away.

      Gritting her teeth, she tried to hold herself together, but it was no use. She pressed her hands to her face and squeezed her eyes shut, trying just to breathe. She began to cry in confusion and fear. A dizzying nausea swept through her stomach. It felt like she was going to pass out, but she had to hold on.

      Braeden slowly dragged himself and his bad leg over to the terrace’s stone railing. He clung to the top of the railing for support as he looked out into the night. He seemed lost in thought, like he was remembering something. At first she thought he was gazing out at the trees and the bank of clouds rolling in across the night sky, but then she realised that he was looking in the direction from which she had come. He was looking specifically towards the graveyard and the angel’s glade.

      ‘No, she’s not missing,’ Braeden said as if his uncle was still there. ‘She’s dead and buried.’

      Serafina stepped back in horror. She’s dead and buried, Braeden said.

       Was Braeden the one who buried me?

       Is it possible that I’m actually dead?

      She knew she’d been buried, there was no denying that, but dead ?

      She didn’t feel dead.

      And even in Braeden’s discouraged hopelessness she sensed something else, some other uncertainty in his eyes and tone of voice. He seemed to be waiting, frustrated, biding his time. Despite everything, despite the anguish and pain, there seemed to be a faint trace of hope in him.

      After Mr Vanderbilt went back down to the gardens to rejoin his wife and the guests at the evening party, Serafina wanted to stay with Braeden, just to keep him company if nothing else, but the longer she stayed there, the more upset he seemed to become. She could see it in the shaking restlessness of his hands and legs, in the pained expression of his face, and even the unsettled way he was breathing. The mere closeness of her presence seemed to sadden and disquiet him.

      After Braeden went to bed and the partygoers had gone up to their rooms in the mansion, Serafina went down into the basement to see her pa. She passed maids and manservants she knew by name. She saw footmen and assistants. But none of them saw her.

      When she finally came to the workshop, she found it empty. There was no sign of her pa. She waited a few moments, thinking he would soon return, but he did not.

      Her heart began to fill with a terrible dread. Had this, too, changed?

      She searched the basement room by room, the kitchens and pantries, the workrooms and the storerooms. Biltmore was just too large! She finally found her pa repairing the small, wheeled electric motor that powered the house’s dumbwaiter. She sighed with relief.

      Her pa was on his knees, pulling a wrench. The muscles on his bare, sweating forearm bulged. He was a large, gruff man with a barrel chest and thick limbs. He wore simple work clothes, a leather apron, and a heavy leather belt laden with tools. She had seen him working a thousand times, had handed him screwdrivers and hammers when he needed them, had run to retrieve parts and materials for him. But she’d never seen him like this. There was no joy in his work tonight, no sense of purpose. He moved slowly, doggedly, his eyes mournful. He was going through the motions of his life, but his spirit was gone.

      ‘Pa . . .’ she said, standing before him. ‘Can you see me?’

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