The house had never been crowded, not with just the two of them living modest on a watchman's wage, but tonight it felt as if the walls had swollen with company.
Evelyn stood by the settee, jaw set, the honey spoon still in her hand. Elise lay wrapped in the winter blanket, her river-gray eyes open, following shadows that didn't move with the lamp. And Gregor Hale had crossed the threshold, carrying night on his coat.
At the foot of the stairs stood Jonathan, heart battering, and above him—leaning over the rail—was another Evelyn. Same braid, same nightdress, same shape to the shoulders. But her eyes were wrong, too steady, too hungry.
"You brought him in," the upstairs Evelyn said, lips curling around a smile that didn't fit. "Good. He belongs where she belongs." Her chin tipped toward Elise.
Gregor stood tall beside Jonathan, iron-colored gaze fixed on the double. "Names are expensive in here," he murmured. "Don't spend yours unless you must."
Jonathan's stomach turned. "Which one is she?"
The two Evelyns spoke together.
"I am."
The harmony tore something in him, like paper ripping in his chest.
Evelyn—his Evelyn—threw the spoon into the hearth, where honey hissed on coals. "Get out of my house," she snapped at the double. Her voice cracked, but her feet were planted.
The upstairs Evelyn tilted her head, mock-curious. "And leave you with him?" Her gaze flicked to Gregor, then down to Elise. "And her? You've already let strangers cross your floor. What's one more mouth?"
The floorboards creaked under Jonathan's boots as if listening. He swallowed hard. "What do you want?"
The double's smile stretched. "To be kept."
Jonathan shivered. The phrase echoed the pit beneath the asylum. The Archivist had said it, Elise had said it, now this not-Evelyn said it too.
"No," his Evelyn said. Her voice was steady now, fiercer than he'd heard it even when she fought with the landlord. "This house keeps us. That's all. It doesn't keep echoes."
The double frowned. "Echo?"
Her mouth moved again, but not in English. The syllables slithered down the stairwell like cold air, pricking Jonathan's skin. Elise flinched violently, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.
Gregor hissed. "It speaks a word not meant for walls. Shut it out before the house remembers too much."
Jonathan's chest squeezed. "How?"
"Salt," Gregor said. "And denial."
Jonathan lunged for the jar by the stove. His hands shook as he pinched a fistful, scattering granules across the stair treads. The double shrieked, voice splitting like glass, but the sound held shape—Evelyn's voice still, twisted thin.
His Evelyn clapped her hands over her ears. "Make it stop!"
Jonathan hurled the rest of the salt. White dust spattered up the stairs. The shadow-Evelyn jerked backward, retreating a step, eyes burning brighter.
"You can't keep me out," she hissed. "You already opened the door."
The words struck like nails. Jonathan staggered back, heart pounding. He had invited Gregor, yes. But what else had slipped through?
Gregor's hand landed on his shoulder. "Keep your rules in your mouth. Houses listen."
Jonathan forced breath into his lungs. "This house keeps my wife," he said, voice cracking. "Not her copy. Not her shadow. My wife."
The double froze, lips parting. For an instant, her face blurred, like wet paint dripping. Evelyn's features ran, melted, then hardened again into the shape he knew too well.
"I am your wife," she whispered, but softer now, fragile. "Don't you remember the penny in your coat? The song? The red ribbon?"
Jonathan's eyes burned. Every word was true. Every word was his.
Gregor spoke cold. "Memory is a thief's tool. Don't buy what you already own."
Elise stirred. Her mirror eyes flared silver. She rasped a word Jonathan couldn't grasp—like the one she had spoken in the chamber. The double shrieked, clutching her head. The walls trembled.
Jonathan reached for Evelyn—his Evelyn—and pulled her close. "Stay by me," he whispered.
The double at the top of the stairs smiled through blood trickling from her nose. "You can't keep both," she crooned. "You'll pay. The house writes everything down."
Then she turned and fled into the dark hallway above.
Silence fell, broken only by the kettle hissing on the stove.
Jonathan's Evelyn trembled in his arms. "It sounded like me," she whispered. "It knew me."
Jonathan kissed her hair, lips shaking. "It isn't you. It isn't."
Gregor's iron eyes lingered on the stairs. "It isn't gone. It waits."
Jonathan swallowed, throat raw. "What does it want?"
"The same thing everything here wants," Gregor said softly. "To be remembered."
The words felt like chains rattling in the dark.
From upstairs, a new sound began. Not a voice this time, but humming. Evelyn's tune. The kettle-with-nothing-in-it.
Jonathan's blood ran cold. His Evelyn buried her face against his chest. Elise's eyes reflected the stairwell, silver mirrors showing only blackness.
And the humming grew louder.