The door creaked on its hinges, revealing not a monster, but Sabrina—or something wearing her face.
Moonlight bled through her nightgown, outlining the curves Julian had traced with worshipful hands just nights before. Her bare feet left damp footprints on the floorboards—why were they wet? The well was fifty yards from the house.
"Julian?" Her voice was velvet, but her eyes were wrong. The amethyst hue had darkened to near-black, pupils swallowing the irises whole. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Because I have, he thought. The thing under the bed—had that been real? The sapling was gone now, the floorboards seamless.
Sabrina stepped closer. The scent of willow sap and wet earth clung to her, overwhelming her usual lavender. When she reached for him, Julian recoiled.
Her smile didn't falter. "You're shaking." Her thumb brushed his lower lip—too cold, too smooth. "Let me warm you up."
Every instinct screamed to run, but his body betrayed him. Heat pooled low in his belly as she pressed against him, her thigh sliding between his. Her breath hitched—a sound she made when he bit her collarbone just right—and for a dizzying moment, Julian forgot the wall, the roots, the whispers.
Then her fingers dug into his hair, yanking his head back.
"Look at me," she commanded.
Her pupils split vertically—like a cat's.
Julian's blood turned to ice.
THE KISS
Her mouth crashed into his, all teeth and desperation. Julian groaned, torn between revulsion and raw need. This wasn't Sabrina—it couldn't be—but his body didn't care. His hands found her waist, gripping hard enough to bruise a human.
She laughed into his mouth. "You want me to be her, don't you?" Her tongue traced his bottom lip. "I can pretend."
The voice that spilled from her lips next was perfect—Sabrina's breathy moan, the one she reserved for when he pinned her wrists above her head. Julian's hips jerked forward—
—and his dagger found her ribs.
Sabrina gasped, but no blood welled. Instead, black sap oozed from the wound, thick as molasses. Her face rippled, features melting like wax.
"Clever boy," the thing crooned, its voice now a chorus of whispers. "But she's already mine."
The bedroom door slammed shut behind them.
THE WELL
Julian ran through the storm, the doppelgänger's laughter chasing him. The old well stood crooked in the moonlight, its stones slick with moss.
"The real Sabrina is still in the well."
His hands shook as he heaved the cover aside. The rope was rotten, but he climbed down anyway, the darkness swallowing him whole.
The water was frozen, though the night was warm. And there, beneath the ice—
Sabrina floated, her hair a raven halo, her nightgown billowing. Her eyes were open.
Dead.
Julian's fist slammed into the ice—once, twice—
—a hand burst through, grabbing his throat.
Sabrina's lips found his ear as she dragged him under:
"You were supposed to run."