“Thank you very much, John,” Mr. Vanderbilt said as he took the tea and kept moving. “Take good care of everyone.”
“I will, sir,” John said, a worried twinge in his voice as he watched his master rush up the steps toward the terrace.
Finally the footman turned and continued on his way toward the party.
As Serafina slipped behind a tree trunk to avoid the passing footman’s notice, she couldn’t help but wonder about how little people noticed the things around them. She knew that theoretically she could walk openly among the guests of the house, and she had felt left out about not being there, but the truth was, she still felt far more comfortable spying on a party than attending it. And the soaking wet, grave-dirtied, dress-torn, bloodstained look of her would have shocked them all. Right now, she had her eyes fixed on one person, and that was Mr. Vanderbilt.
Serafina went right after him. She ran across the gravel path, making barely a rustling step of noise, then bounded up the stone steps at the southeast corner of the house to reach the Library Terrace. It was a flat area just outside the glass doors of the Library with a view to the forest and the Blue Ridge Mountains. The terrace was covered by an arbor heavily laden with long, hanging purple wisteria. The vines grew thick and twisty around the arbor’s stout posts and up into its latticework above. The warm amber light of the Library fell through the open doors onto the terrace.
A boy was sitting on a bench, facing out toward the forest. When she first saw him, she didn’t recognize him. But as she crept closer and saw his face, she knew.
It was Braeden.
But what she saw—the way he was sitting and the look of his face—struck her such a blow that she couldn’t help but suck in a gasp of air. She was too startled to move immediately toward him like she normally would have. She watched from the shadows and tried to understand what she was seeing.
The first thing she noticed was that Gidean, Braeden’s once-beloved black Doberman, wasn’t lying at his young master’s feet like he normally did. The poor dog was lying twenty feet away, his head down, his ears drooped, a sad, dejected expression on his face, as if Braeden had sent him away, scorned and unwanted.
Braeden sat on the bench alone. There was a plaid blanket around his legs despite the fact that it wasn’t cold outside. He was twelve years old, but he looked smaller, frailer than she had ever seen him before. His brown hair was longer, his skin different, paler, like he hadn’t been outside as much as he usually was. But what caught her most of all was that there were long, jagged scars on the side of his face, and his right leg had been strapped into some sort of leather-and-metal brace, with hinges at the knee.
Her heart swelled with grief. She wanted to reach out to him. What had happened to Braeden? Had the dark forces she’d seen in the forest already attacked him?
“It’s just me,” Mr. Vanderbilt said softly as he approached his nephew. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Braeden said, his voice somber, “I’m all right,” but his words were laced with tones that tugged at her heart.
Braeden seemed so sad. His mouth hung grim. His eyes were dull of spirit. And as she crept closer to him, an even darker, more despairing expression clouded his face, as if something was suddenly causing him even more anguish than moments before.
But she could see him trying to steady himself the best he could, at least for his uncle’s sake. “Did you come all the way up here for me?” he asked.
“There wasn’t anything to do down there,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, smiling a little, and Braeden gave him a wan, knowing smile in return.
Mr. Vanderbilt offered him the glass of sweet tea. It had always been Braeden’s favorite. But as he reached out with his left hand to take the glass from him, his hand was shaking so badly that it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to hold the tea without spilling it.
“I don’t want that!” Braeden snapped at his uncle, knocking the tea away.
Mr. Vanderbilt stepped back and took a long breath. The master of Biltmore wasn’t at all used to someone treating him like that, but after a moment, he stepped closer once more.
“Try it again,” he said gently, handing the glass to Braeden. “Your right hand works better, I think.”
Braeden looked at him sharply, but slowly reached over with his right hand and took the glass. His right hand was trembling, too, but not nearly as badly as the left.
Steadying the glass of tea in two hands now, Braeden took a long drink in silence. When he was done, he nodded. It was as if he had forgotten how much he liked the drink. “Thank you,” he said to his uncle, almost sounding like his old cheerful self again for a moment, but then he pressed his lips together and shook his head, barely holding back tears.
Mr. Vanderbilt sat on the bench beside him. “Is it bad tonight?”
Braeden nodded. “For the last few weeks it finally felt like I was getting a little better, but all of a sudden, I feel so awful.”
“Is it the party?” Mr. Vanderbilt asked regretfully.
“I don’t think so,” Braeden said shaking his head, “I don’t know…maybe…maybe it’s the beautiful night, the moonlight, the stars. She loved nights like this.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.
“Sometimes, I almost feel like I’m going to get back to normal again, but other times I feel a terrible aching inside, like she’s standing right beside me.”
I am, Braeden, Serafina thought. I’m here! But she was so transfixed by what she was seeing and hearing that she couldn’t speak or move. It was like she was locked in a dream that she could only watch.
“Sometimes,” Mr. Vanderbilt said gently, “you have to push on through your life even when you don’t feel too well. She might have left Biltmore for any number of reasons. But if the worst has happened, then we need to keep her in our hearts. She’ll live on in your memories of her. And she’ll live in my heart as well. She was a good, brave girl, and I know she was a very special friend to you.”
Braeden nodded, agreeing with everything his uncle was saying, but Serafina noticed a peculiar expression on Braeden’s face, a hesitation in his movement. Serafina knew him well enough to know that there was something he wasn’t telling his uncle.
Mr. Vanderbilt put his arm gently around his nephew. “No matter what’s happened, we’ll get through this.”
It was strangely fascinating to watch and listen, to imagine a world where she had disappeared, but Serafina couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to tell them that she was alive and well, that she was finally home. And more than anything, she had to warn them. The talon-clawed creature, the black shapes, the storms, the dark river, the sorcerer…they were coming.
Taking in a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the column and showed herself to both of them.
“Braeden, it’s me. I’m back.”