The grandfather clock in the foyer was a towering relic of dark wood and brass, once the most reliable timekeeper in the Saint-James household. Elias had wound it every Sunday at noon which is an absurd ritual for a man who didn't believe in anything but control.
Arabella passed it on her way back from the east wing, pausing out of habit.
The pendulum wasn't swinging.
The hands read 3:16.
She frowned, tapping the glass once. No movement. The second hand sat still, a thin black bone against the face.
She checked her own watch.
The time matched.
She shook her head and moved on. Something about it clawed at her mind, but she buried it. She had more pressing matters, like Lisette, for example.
In the kitchen, the maid was burning sage.
Bundles of the stuff crackled in a small iron dish on the stove, sending trails of pungent smoke curling toward the ceiling. Lisette's eyes were red, not from tears, but from determination.
"You're drawing something into this house," she said without turning. "Something worse than memory."
Arabella opened a cupboard and retrieved a glass. "You were never so poetic when Elias was alive."
"That's because I was too busy scrubbing his sins off the sheets." She retorted
The glass paused at Arabella's lips.
Lisette finally turned. "He knew things he shouldn't have. Now your boy does too."
"He's not my boy."
"And He's not just a boy." Lisette clap back
Arabella sipped slowly. "Then we make a fine pair."
That evening, just before dusk, Arabella returned to the main hallway.
The clock still hadn't resumed.
She leaned close, pressing one ear against the wood. No ticking. Just silence, but she could faintly hear something else in it.
It sounds like music, like someone's playing the piano.
She froze.
The notes were soft and tentative. A melody she hadn't heard in years. *Elias's hands had always played too hard, but this wasn't Elias.
The melody is slower and gentle.
The music room was locked. It had been locked for five years. The key was hidden in her vanity drawer beneath a pair of lace gloves.
She stepped back from the clock.
And immediately the music stopped.
Jonah passed behind her just then, barefoot, gliding down the hall like a shadow. His presence made the air shift.
She turned to watch him.
Surprisingly he left no footprints on the tile or the rug.
Not even on ground.
The house was too quiet and she suddenly found it creepy.