The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

in the main hall, more packed into tiny rooms converted into classrooms with a dreary-looking teacher standing at the small chalkboard.

Usher House had a long history, and all of it seemed well-documented. Grandfather Usher may not have spent his life in residence here, but he’d certainly kept it alive, like fingers stretching through time as it humbly limped into the modern era. We’d only been at the house for an hour, and already it was beginning to grow on me.

I’d found it dark and ominous on the outside, but within its walls was a rich and complicated story. If a house could reflect the girl that lived inside of it, I think it would be this one reflecting me.

And maybe it’d found me at just the right time.

“Zarrrra!” A shrill voice rocketed up the stairs.

I groaned. “What?”

“Take a walk to the cliffs with us! Mom said we could go down the stairs that lead to the beach!”

I couldn’t contain the cringe when Yarrow called Mother ‘Mom’ with such casual warmth. “Have fun.”

“You don’t want to investigate with us?” Yara spoke up sweetly.

“Not with you, no.” I held up the photos, knee deep in my own investigation of another sort.

“Boring. People we don’t know.” Yarrow’s face scrunched up like a spoiled brat.

“It’s my family history.” I glared back at him.

“Whatever.” He spun, snatching Yara by the elbow and dragging her out of the room with him. I heard her protest as they thumped down the stairs together, her shrieks trailing them the entire way.

I sighed with relief when the front doors opened and closed with a thunk.

“I wish they’d stayed lost in that garden.”

I was just turning back to a photo with a weird medical instrument hanging above a hospital bed when shrieks of real terror entered the house, Yara’s tears audible for the entire west end of Shelter Island to hear.

“What’s the racket?” I met my half-sister at the landing.

“Yarrow stabbed me with thorns from the rose bush!” She thrust out her arm, half a dozen tiny, jagged black thorns poking out of her otherwise creamy flesh.

“Yarrow!” I belted, yanking her into the washroom as I did. Her tears were torrenting down her cheeks and landing in fat splatters on her wounds, salt probably making the pain worse.

“Calm down, would you? I can’t think when you’re screaming.”

“It hurts!”

“I didn’t do anything, she got in my way!” Yarrow arrived at the door, Mother appearing a second later behind him. Annoyance crossed her face when she caught sight of the situation.

“Toughen up, little cookie, Zara will yank those out in a jiff.” False positivity sounded in Mother’s tone.

I sucked in a breath and then, frowning, swiftly yanked every single deadly oversized thorn out of Yara’s arm. Heavy drops of blood pooled in the holes the thorns had left.

“You look like you’ve got chicken pox!” Yarrow pointed and laughed.

Yara burst into another fit of tears before I wrapped her arm in the nearest thing I could find, the black sweater Yarrow held in hand.

“Hey!” he spit before Mother pulled him out of the bathroom and closed the door.

“You should stay away from him, you know, he hates you,” I seethed at Yara.

Her innocent features wilted. “He doesn't.”

“He does. He told me. And people who carry hate in their hearts hurt people. Stay away from him, Yara. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Her defiant eyes held mine through shiny tears.

“Or else, you know.” I slipped my index finger across my neck and stuck my tongue out.

She crumpled into more tears, the pure, pathetic nature of her under my skin. She’d never last a year in my mother’s house, it was eat or be eaten.

“Go on, baby.” I pushed her out of the washroom and down the hallway.

Shoulders hunched, she sulked off down the stairs. Instead of turning to go out of the front doors, she went the other way, opening the door to her basement bedroom.

“It’s time you grow up, Yara Thornberry! Or else.”

SIX

Ryn

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Thax shoved a burnt piece of toast in his mouth and chewed.

“Why did you want me to read it? I got halfway through Lilies in the Cellar last night before I fell asleep with it in my hands. I woke up drooling on the pages and more confused than ever. It’s just a creepy kids’ book.”

“Oh, no my friend, you’re overlooking the subtle yet sinister elements. And you’re not even at the batshit crazy part yet, keep reading.”

I slunked into the folding chair, arms crossed and forehead resting on top. “I’m too tired for you this morning.”

“Here, I brought double espressos. I’ve got your back, Weaver, never forget it.”

I couldn’t help the smile when the strong scent of coffee beans invaded my senses. “What did you do with that Zara tin anyway?”

“Threw the dead birds in a trash can on Fifth when I went for a smoke, washed the tin in the bathtub of my room and shoved it in the back of my closet.”

“You’re keeping it?”

He shrugged, shredding another piece of toast. “Evidence.”

I shook my head. Thax was dedicated to his cause, I had to give him that.

“Well, there’s no Zara in the book—maybe it’s a nickname Yara used when she was a kid or something.”

“Maybe.” He took a sip of his espresso, one hand shoved in the pocket of his jeans as he spoke. “I came across a few names last night in the genealogy section though.”

“Oh?”

“Does the name Zahara Usher ring a bell?”

“The author of Lilies in the Cellar?”

“Yup, it seems she was the librarian for years and lived right here behind the walls of the library with the Thornberrys. I don’t know how she’s connected exactly to Yara and Yarrow, but the name Zahara sure sounds similar to—”

“Zara.” A tiny light bulb went off. “Do you think Zahara Usher is the real governess in the book?”

Thax’s grin widened. “Just you wait.”

I was about to jump all over him for whatever he wasn’t telling me, but then the door of the