Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 45
“Very much. I should have liked to have stayed hidden amidst your books forever, but the more I read the more questions I seemed to have.” It was on the tip of her tongue to confess to the theft, so easy and natural was Ana’s society, but she restrained her tongue and, instead, promised herself she would return the book before she departed for Winterthurse.
“It is the curse of every good scholar, I’m afraid,” said Ana. “We never stop learning or questioning.”
From the tail of her eye, Emma studied the lady and wondered if she might give voice to some of her questions without sounding like a lunatic. She glanced around to make sure there was no one standing close enough to overhear their conversation, even above the music. “And what if one begins to question, or rather accept, the existence of supernatural forces?”
Ana had been watching the dancers, but she turned to gaze intently at Emma. “Then one has begun to truly open one’s eyes.”
“Then you believe?”
“I do,” she said, becoming grave. “And you, my dear Emma, would not have come in search of us if you did not hold with the same belief.”
“The belief that we walk among…monsters?” It was what Mina had said right before the door had shut between them.
Ana’s brow pinched momentarily. “Yes, I suppose that is one way of considering these supernatural entities.” Then she shook her head, gesturing to the crowded room. “But this is a conversation for another time, don’t you think?”
Disappointed though she was, and impatient to know more, Emma nonetheless agreed.
“Oh, look,” said Ana suddenly, pointing towards a group of dancers waltzing at the far side of the ballroom, “isn’t that your sister dancing with my brother?”
Emma followed Ana’s finger towards a beautiful, tall man with a long mane of silver hair tied at his neck like the gallants of old. And pressed to his side was her sister, laughing up at him like the coquette she was. Had her uncle borne witness to this illicit waltz, he’d have been apoplectic. “My sister, Milli,” said Emma.
“My brother appears quite taken with her.”
“And she with him.” Emma’s lips compressed. “First it was Mr. Valko and now, in his absence, it seems her attention has been transferred to your brother.”
“Ah, the mysterious Mr. Valko. Yes, I can understand her fascination.”
“No doubt a fascination short-lived.”
Ana took Emma’s hand suddenly. “Will you take tea with me next week, I think we have a great deal to discuss.”
“I desperately wish I could,” said Emma, “but Milli and I are expected at Winterthurse next week.”
“Oh?” Ana slowly dropped her hand, her face becoming like stone as she looked towards her brother and Milli. “That is…unexpected.”
“Perhaps when I come back…?”
“Yes, perhaps then.” After a moment the tension seemed to leave her. “I wonder if I might offer some well-meaning counsel?”
“Please.”
“I feel it incumbent upon me to warn you about the Winterlys.” She paused as though to consider her next words carefully.
“Watch and be on your guard, they are not what they seem.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean that a dream isn’t always just a dream and the devil doesn’t always breath brimstone or wear his crown of horns.”
The latter was surprisingly similar to what Winterly himself had said, that the devil often wore a mask of beauty.
“The history of Winterthurse,” Ana continued, “is a very dark one and its inmates are the legacy of an ancient and bloody race.”
“I suppose every family has its ghosts and evil antecedents, but it would be wrong of us to hold the sins of the forebears against their sons and daughters.”
“It is more than that, Emma, the place is cursed.”
“So is London.” Emma glanced towards her sister who, still laughing, was being lead towards them by Monsieur De Grigori.
Ana sighed. “All I ask is that you keep your eyes open, especially at night. The family ghosts, as you call them, are bloodthirsty still.”
Milli and M. De Grigori were drawing close now, and it was for their benefit only that Emma still smiled; it was, however, a brittle affectation—the sort imposed by sudden disconcertion. “Do you mean to scare me, Ana?”
“It is necessary,” Ana whispered. “Fear makes the mind keener. It is how we watchers have survived millennia after millennia.”
“Watchers?” Emma whispered back.
“The De Grigoris are a race of scribes and watchers, Emma. Our eyes have ever been open.”
Emma opened her mouth to ask more, but the brother had by now moved within hearing distance.
“Ah, Miss Rose,” said M. De Grigori, his silver hair brushing over his shoulder as he bowed, “what a pleasure.” Some fell shadow must have fallen over Emma’s features, for he was glancing between his sister and Emma with a knowing look.
The conversation, however, waxed amiably as Milli, none the wiser to her sister’s inattention, lauded M. De Grigori’s as an excellent and skilled dancing partner. And then the eldest sister, Tanith, joined them. Emma was obliged to school her face and engage her mind to the present, a mind still reeling over Ana’s queer divulgences, such as they were. It was not as if anything substantial or clear had been revealed to her, only a vague warning to sleep with her eyes open because devils and ghosts might be lurking in her dreams, waiting to suck her blood? It was all too bloody laughable. And yet Ana’s words and expressions had been so heartfelt, so candid.
“And have you sustained any lasting injuries from your meeting with my sister, Miss De Grigori?” Though Milli was speaking to Tanith, she gave her sister a playful jab in the ribs.
“None whatever,” was the reply.
“I believe you are still owed a new reticule.” Milli’s elbow came out once more.
Tanith glanced at Emma. “It is none the worse for wear.”
Emma jabbed her sister back, her smile tight.
“Our Tanith is quite the apothecary,” said Monsieur De Grigori. “No ache