Free Darkest Fear by Cate Tiernan Page B

family was comforting.
    Aly came back, her arms full of folded linens. “Do you want me to help you put them on?” she asked.
    I shook my head. “No, thanks, I can do it.”
    â€œOkay, well, we’ll talk tomorrow,” said Matéo.
    â€œIf you need anything else, there’s a cupboard in the hallway where we keep spares and extras,” said Aly, and I nodded. “Sleep well.”
    â€œThank you,” I said inadequately, and they left, closing the door behind them.
    I peeked in at the bathroom. It was small and narrow, with a shower, sink, and toilet—no bathtub, which was fine. Overhead, someone walked almost silently in an attic room. The tall windows showed the darkness outside, and I went over to them, wondering how sturdy the locks were. We were on the second floor, but I remembered how easily I’d jumped fifteen feet up into a tree, and shivered. Surely the attacker hadn’t followed me here. Guiltily I wondered if I was exposing my cousin—and everyone else here—to danger. But Matéo’s parents had been killed a year and a half ago, and he hadn’t mentioned any ensuing attacks on himself. So maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe trouble hadn’t followed me.
    I kicked off my shoes, pulled back the covers on the tall bed, and climbed in. Flopping down onto the pillows felt like dropping into a bowl of marshmallow fluff. Holding my parents’ sheet like a stuffed animal, I breathed in their scents until I fell asleep.

C HAPTER F IVE
    I PULL MY MOTHER’S HEAD onto my lap. Her blood runs red and unexpectedly warm down the skin of my legs. I stroke her fur, look into the golden eyes. Beneath my fingers she begins to change, shrinking, fur disappearing, hair growing long and black. The change continues as I watch in horror—her skin melts away; her muscles wither and curl back from her shining white skull like drying apple peels. Her golden eyes stare at me from fleshless sockets, unable to blink. Screaming, I drop her skull, kicking to get away from it. Then I’m staring at a skeleton, lying on blood-soaked grass. A skeleton with my mother’s eyes and hair.
    I jolted awake, skin clammy with sweat, heart pounding. Yet another nightmare, though this was a new one. Would I ever not have nightmares?
    It took a minute before I remembered where I was, why I was sleeping in this tall, fancy bed. The room was dim, and I clicked my cell phone to see what time it was. Two thirty. Narrow blades of hot sunlight sliced through where the curtains met: It was light outside,so it was two thirty in the afternoon? When I’d collapsed last night, it had been barely ten. I’d slept for . . . sixteen hours? I hadn’t slept that much since—
    Frowning, I went to the windows and pulled open the curtains. Bright light streamed in, making me blink and step back, warming my skin even through the glass. Summer in New Orleans.
    I looked around the room, seeing what I hadn’t noticed last night. The walls were a pale green, faded and uneven in color. Some of the plaster had cracked and been crudely repaired. The ceiling had cracks in it too. But the furniture was beautiful—I assumed real antiques. My small case sat on the floor, but I didn’t feel up to opening it and finding something to wear. Or taking a shower. Or brushing my hair. Instead, I realized I was hungry.
    Before I opened my door, I listened, hoping to not hear voices. Facing a bunch of strangers would be a challenge. Maybe everyone was at work. I opened the door and found myself in a hallway that was wider than my room at home. Double French doors lit the hallway at each end, front and back. Through the window panes I saw porches; the one in the back of the house looked screened in. All the doors that opened off the hallway were shut, and I pulled mine shut too. Barefoot, I padded downstairs, the wooden steps cool and satiny. My eyes were again drawn to all the