The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

the mornings she took the time to teach them math and administer their vitamins. I’d carefully dodged the shots before now, but I’d taken to searching the house in my free time in search of the ingredients she might be mixing into that cocktail.

So far, I’d come up short.

My only find was the recently opened bedroom near mine that Walton and she had argued about that afternoon, and inside I’d only found ancient medical and laboratory equipment with an inch of dust settled on top. Jars of pickled anonymous items sat on shelves, and stacks of medical texts were strewn on every bare surface around the room. The only free space was a recently cleaned stainless surgical table, a broken light bulb hanging haphazardly above it.

Everything about Usher creeped me out, but that room sent me over the edge.

I watched as Yara clung to Yarrow now, her thin shoulders shaking and lips blue despite the fact that she wore two long-sleeved shirts and a wool sweater on top of her dress and tights. She looked so prim and proper in her little school uniform, picture perfect, until you focused on the sunken state of her eyes. The dark circles contrasted with the pasty pallor of her porcelain skin were nearly ghostly.

No social worker had ever come to Usher to investigate the governess’s living arrangements, but if they had, they would see that Yara herself was one very sick little girl.

“Can I have Yara’s pudding?” Yarrow swiped it from his sister.

She didn’t bother to fight him, because her eyes had fallen closed.

“Yara?” I rushed to her side. I pressed my hands to her cheeks. “She’s so cold.”

Yarrow only paused to glance his sister’s way, before shrugging her off of his shoulder and into me. She fell limply, only a soft moan echoing over her lips. “Yara, honey, hang in there, okay? Yarrow, can you bring me a glass of cold water and a washcloth?”

I didn’t wait for his answer, only carried her up the stairs and headed straight for my room.

“The governess won’t like her up there.” Yarrow passed me a washcloth and glass of water once I settled Yara on my bed.

“I don’t care, she needs a doctor.” I tucked the blanket around her. “Can you run to the neighbor’s house and ask to use the phone to call a doctor?”

Yarrow shook his head, lips clamped tight. “The governess will kill us.”

“Yarrow!”

He stood stock still, unwilling to do what I asked. My eyes cast down his small form, his gaze held strong on mine as his chin shook minutely. “I can’t,” came his whisper. “She said she’ll kill me next time I disobey her. We’re not allowed to leave Usher, Zara, you know that.”

“She’ll die if we don’t get someone to help!” My hands were shaking now.

Yarrow shook his head, water forming in his eyes. “She’s been sick a long time, Zara, maybe it’s meant to be.”

“Yarrow, no, no, please, it’s not.”

Yarrow stood as still as the statue that sat in the center of our garden.

“Maybe there’s medicine around here?” Yarrow finally offered.

I shook my head, dread soaking my muscles. “I wouldn’t know what to use or how to do it, Yarrow.”

“There are medical books, you’re smart. Does she have a fever?”

I held a hand to Yara’s forehead. “She’s freezing.” I clasped his hand and held it to her clammy flesh. “Like an iceberg. It’s scary.”

Yara’s breath grew shallower, labored with a soft rattle that sounded deceptively innocent, like a sheer curtain dancing over a hot register on a cold day. “It sounds like pneumonia.”

“It’s probably black lung from those tunnels.”

I sighed, mind running with the possibilities. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Keep her warm and let her sleep, if the governess wants to call a doctor in the morning, then she can.”

“Yarrow, I don’t know if she’ll last that long.”

“If she knows what’s good for her, she will.”

I pressed my fingertips against her wrist in search of a pulse. It was low, freakishly low, I could tell that much. “I wish the governess had left a phone number where we could reach her.”

“What good would she do? Think Zara, you’re smarter and you read way more than she does.”

I frowned, wondering how that could be true. I suddenly felt bad for not standing up for the twins more while they worked their little fingers to the bone in the cold cellar beneath Usher.

“Well, I think we should go to the neighbors and ask for help.”

“What about Walton?” Yarrow interjected. “Maybe he can help us?”

“Or maybe he knows how to get ahold of the governess,” I replied and Yarrow shook his head.

“I think that’s the worst thing we could do, it would take her half the night to get back here. Yara could be gone by then and then what?”

Fear scissored through me, followed by defeat.

I sat at the edge of the bed, my hand resting on Yara’s frail shoulder. “I’ll sit here with her. Can you watch out for the little kids? Make sure they brush their teeth before bed.”

He nodded, eyes cast to the floor. He lingered a moment before gazing at Yara’s drawn face. I hated that this tiny vibrant little soul had been snuffed out by whatever evil lived inside of Usher.

“Good night, Yara.” Yarrow tapped the blanket that covered his twin sister’s leg. “Good night, Zara.”

“Good night, Yarrow.”

I heard the door close quietly before I tucked myself alongside my half-sister and prayed that she’d see the morning light.

* * *

“Zarrrra!”

I sat straight up in bed, sleep filling my eyes as the governess burst through the bedroom door. She crossed the room and spread the curtains wide, allowing daylight and dust bunnies to crash through my vision.

“What?”

“That’s no way to greet the next #1 New York Times Bestselling Author, is it?”

“What are you talking about?” I grumbled, before remembering why I was so tired. What had kept me up. Yara. I turned, pressing a palm to her forehead. Chilly, but her breathing was shallow yet