Chapter 11: The Deal*
968 Words
The west wing smelled like a wound.
Evelyn walked alone. The key in her hand was pulsing now, warm like a second heartbeat against her palm. Every step echoed. Too loud. Like the house was listening and repeating her back to herself.
The air was damp. It clung to her skin, to her hair, to the inside of her throat. It tasted like copper and dead roses. Somewhere far off, water was dripping.
_Drip. Drip. Drip._
Not from a pipe. From somewhere inside the walls.
“Damien?” Her voice broke in the hallway.
Only the portraits answered. Their eyes had all turned to follow her.
Room 13 was open.
The door hung crooked on its hinges, like someone had ripped it outward. The scratches on the wood were fresh now. Deep. Five lines. A hand.
Cold air poured out of it and hit her face. It smelled like wet stone, rust, and something sweet and rotten underneath.
The blood in the stone tub was still. Too still.
No ripples. No breathing.
But the surface was black. Not red. Like it had been burned.
Evelyn stepped inside. The floor was slick. Her foot slipped and she caught herself on the doorframe. Her fingers came away wet.
Not water.
“Damien?” she said again, louder. Her voice bounced and died.
_“You came.”_
The voice was behind her. But also in front of her. Also in the tub.
Evelyn spun.
Standing in the doorway was a girl.
Pale. Barefoot. Hair plastered to her face with something dark. She wore a nightgown that used to be white. It was stained up to the knees. Her eyes were Evelyn’s eyes. Exact. But the pupils were too big. Like the house had been living behind them.
The locket on the floor behind Evelyn cracked again, even though she wasn’t holding it.
“My name is Eliza,” the girl said. Her voice was soft. Polite. Like they were having tea. “I’m the one who was supposed to die.”
Evelyn’s throat was dry. “Where’s Damien?”
Eliza tilted her head. “Making deals. Just like he always does.” She stepped into the room. The wet footprints she left hissed on the stone. “He traded his sister once. Now he’s trying to trade you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” Eliza smiled. Her teeth were too sharp. “Ask him who locked me in here. Ask him who poured the first cup.”
The blood in the tub moved. A slow swirl.
Eliza didn’t look at it. “The house is hungry, Evelyn. It’s been hungry for 20 years. The contract broke because you lived. Because _I_ lived.”
She held out her hand. Palm up. Scars ran across it in circles, like rings on a tree.
“And now the house wants a choice. Me. Or you. Or him.”
Evelyn backed up until her shoulders hit the cold wall. “I’m not choosing.”
“You already did,” Eliza said. “By coming here. By bringing the key.”
She nodded at Evelyn’s hand. The key was glowing now. Faint red light leaking from the teeth.
Footsteps. Heavy. From down the hall.
Damien appeared in the doorway, chest heaving. His shirt was torn. There was blood on his knuckles. Not his.
His eyes went straight to Evelyn. Then to Eliza. And his face broke.
“Eliza,” he said. Just her name. Like a prayer and a curse at the same time.
“Brother,” Eliza said sweetly. “You’re late.”
“What did you do?” Damien’s voice was raw.
“I didn’t do anything,” Eliza said. “_You_ did. Twenty years ago.”
She looked at Evelyn. “He was supposed to put me in the tub. But he couldn’t. So he set the fire instead. Thought if the house burned, the debt would burn with it.”
A laugh. Wet. “It didn’t.”
Damien stepped between them. “Don’t talk to her.”
“Or what?” Eliza’s head c****d. “You’ll hurt me again?”
“Stop.” The word came out of Damien like a growl.
The lights died.
For three seconds, there was only breathing. Four sets.
Evelyn’s. Damien’s. Eliza’s. And a fourth. Slow. From under the blood.
When the lights came back, Eliza was standing right in front of Evelyn. Close enough that Evelyn could see her own reflection in those too-big pupils.
“The house will take one of us tonight,” Eliza whispered. Only Evelyn could hear. “It’s in the new contract. I saw it.”
She lifted Evelyn’s hand with the key and pressed it to her own chest. Right over her heart. It was cold. Too cold.
“You can give me. You can give him. Or you can give yourself.”
A pause.
“But if you give me, he dies with me. If you give him, I take you both. If you give yourself…”
She smiled.
“…the house is full. And everyone goes free.”
The key burned.
Damien grabbed Evelyn’s wrist. “Don’t listen to her. She’s not—”
“Not what?” Eliza cut in, eyes never leaving Evelyn’s. “Not real? Not your sister? Not the monster you made?”
The tub bubbled. Once.
Evelyn looked between them. Damien, desperate and guilty and bleeding. Eliza, broken and furious and _right_.
The house groaned. The walls shifted. Dust fell into her hair.
Evelyn’s voice was steady when she spoke. Even though her hands weren’t.
“What happens if I refuse to choose?”
Eliza’s smile faded.
“Then the house chooses for you.”
_Drip. Drip. Drip._
A pale hand broke the surface of the blood.
- Writer
