Sara looked up the spiral staircase. At the top, bathed in the blue glow of a chandelier, stood a girl of about fourteen. Same sharp cheekbones. Same cold, green eyes. But not Chloe.
“Good choice,” Ivy whispered. “Now the real game begins.”
“Wait,” Sara said, her mind racing. “If you drink that, you’ll die. And I’ll be blamed.”
Ivy collapsed into Sara’s arms, her lips turning blue. Her green eyes stayed open, watching, triumphant. The stepmother 3 sara stone
Ivy uncorked the bottle. The smell of bitter almonds and roses filled the foyer. She raised it to her lips.
The girl smiled. “I’m the new one.”
“Sara? What’s all the noise?”
She was the prey.
“Where did you get that?” Sara whispered.
She dropped the bottle. It shattered on the marble. Sara looked up the spiral staircase
But as the paramedics rushed in and Ivy was carried away on a stretcher, the girl reached up and grabbed Sara’s wrist. Her grip was iron.
She found the letter on the marble foyer floor, tucked beneath a vase of wilting lilies. The handwriting was hers. Or rather, a perfect copy of hers.
Footsteps. Heavy. Concerned.
She reached into her nightgown pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle. Inside, a dark liquid swirled. Sara recognized it instantly. It was the same belladonna syrup she’d used on her first husband’s daughter. The recipe she’d burned afterward.