Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: C429; Extratorrents; Kat
Description: Book Two of the Dollhouse Trilogy Cassie discovers the truth behind the existence of the dollhouse– leading up to a terrifying revelation about herself, one that will challenge every last thread of her sanity.

PAPER DOLLS

Anya Allyn

Copyright 2012 Anya Allyn

All rights reserved

Book Two of the Dollhouse Trilogy

No part of this book may be used or reproduced without prior written permission, excepting quotes not greater than four paragraphs used for review purposes.

Cover design by stephaniemooney.net

Note:

If you read a version of Dollhouse Book #1 prior to September 2012, you may need to update your version. Important changes were made. To update, please go to http://amazon.com/MYKupdate.

For more info, click here.

1. SLUMBER

The last of the tea seeped into the stone floor. I craved its poison. I craved sleep from which I'll never wake. But I can't have it, anymore. Whether the cup slipped from me or I slipped from it, I couldn't tell.

Down the empty corridor, only the wind sounded. Every natural breath was spent. As a living ghost, I wandered.

I unlaced my boots and let them fall to the ground, then unrolled my stockings. I wanted to feel the floor beneath my feet—but I couldn’t feel it at all. My body and mind were numb, merging with the cold stone of the floor and walls.

I found my way into the bed chamber. Four dolls lay in their beds, with waxen faces and still limbs. Four dolls who will never again open their eyes. I climbed into my own bed and pulled the covers over. My arms folded across my chest automatically.

No sleep came. Something restless banged inside my head like a drum. Something that wouldn’t allow let me to remain here like this. Something that refused me peace.

2. RAG DOLL

Kneeling in the storage room, I unzipped my backpack. Most of me was still back in the bed chamber, waiting for death. It felt like betrayal to not stay with the others, to not die with them. But blood hammered through my head and body and I was compelled to keep moving. To stay alive.

My wetsuit was still crammed into the bottom of the backpack, just as it had been when I packed it in there. I barely remembered myself as I was back then—so desperate for resolution and answers, so desperate to help Ethan.

A blast echoed from the other side of the carousel. Ethan must have found something to make explosives with.

Then… nothing. The nothing stretched out infinitely. No more sounds came.

I struggled into the rubber suit and zipped the back up. My fingers faltered when I touched Lacey’s bag. She had an extra beanie and a balaclava and I needed both of those. I stretched the balaclava over my face, then two beanies over my head.

I pulled two pairs of socks on each foot, then runners. I took leather gloves from the drawers and wriggled my fingers into them.

I shrugged a thick jacket on and jeans over the wetsuit. I could never have fit jeans over all that before—but I was now bone thin.

Placing the headband torch over my forehead and shoving the big torch down my jacket front, I was as ready as I was ever going to get.

The Dark Way was empty and still as I made my way down it. The shadow hung back as I found the tunnel in the wall.

My feet slipped on the scattered diamonds as I struggled to climb up to the opening. I clambered over the hessian bags, dirt and dust thickening in my nostrils. Below was a narrow, downwards descent. I was going to have to climb backwards. Ice-laden air breathed over me as I began the climb. My foot skidded. I slid on my back a few feet. It hurt. I breathed short erratic breaths. What was I doing in here? This was crazy.

I slowed my breathing, gathered myself.

Lifting the large torch from my jacket, I shone it directly down the tunnel. The tunnel descended at almost a ninety degree angle. I’d have to inch down, and pray I didn’t fall. There was almost certainly no way of getting back up to the top again. And there was no telling how far it went straight down—it could go for miles like this.

And if I succeeded in getting down there, underground rivers might cross and flood the tunnel at any point.

As I pulled the torch away, something moved below me.

A large animal? I knew it wasn’t. With nausea rising in my heart and stomach I shone the torch downwards again. Something climbed, fast, with jerky movements that belonged to no animal.

Much bulkier than a human.

I backed up—straightening each leg against the rock as I pushed myself up. My legs burned. The thing crawled towards me. I trained the torch directly on the thing—the thing that was surely about to devour me from the legs upwards.

Dead eyes glared at me above a wide smiling grin. It moved a large lace-up boot near its head at an impossible angle, and pushed itself forward.

Struggling upwards, I bumped my head—hard. The thing pushed at me—pushed me up—at a crazy speed.

Both of us tumbled from the opening.

It crawled forward grotesquely. I scrambled to get to my feet, my layers of clothing impeding me. Whipping my torch out, I shone it downwards. The thing was slickly wet, covered in black mold and rotting clothing.

It collapsed on top of the diamonds.

The next second, I knew what it was. I should have known the thing would be in the dollhouse somewhere. Every child knew that a Raggedy Ann doll came in a pigeon pair—with a Raggedy Andy doll. The hair had been eaten away and the clothes were stained and dark—but it was unmistakable.

I could guess how he got there. Jessamine had put him there for protection. Judging by the condition of him—that time was many decades ago. I doubted he was much protection, anymore.

There was nothing to do except... go back in there.

If anything else was in the tunnel—it was all over. If I’d been further in when the Andy doll rushed at me, I’d have been crushed to death against the rock.

I lifted myself back into the tunnel.

Wind blew around me, biting into the skin around my eyes. I welcomed it—despite the pain—the odor of slime and dank was overpowering. My arms and back scraped and slid along rock. I made the backwards descent down into the almost vertical section, my heart pounding.

My legs burned as I struggled to keep myself from falling—positioning them hard against the rock. There was nothing to grip onto—just small, slippery ledges.

I kept moving. I didn’t know how long I’d been in complete darkness. Probably less than ten minutes. My heart dilated and constricted—a caged animal in my chest. I tried to disengage my brain, stop all thought—stop everything except the relentless climb downwards.

3. DRIPPING ROSE

The tunnel changed course—into an almost a ninety degree turn. I wriggled my body under a protrusion of rock. Crawling was easier now—my body almost horizontal. I inched along like a worm. I wished I could face forward, but there was no turning space.

I crawled like that forever. I felt my mind filling in, like sand filling in a child’s sandcastle moat on the shore. I tried to remember songs—anything to stop my mind from closing in. But the music jarred in my head, turned into tinny carousel tunes.

I’d been moving for at least hours—or at least days—or perhaps I’d died, and it was just my spirit roaming the tunnels.

No, none of that was true.

Ice water drizzled on the face and ran underneath me.

The tunnel sloped upwards ahead, ending in a high ledge. I had to climb feet first. Upwards. I couldn’t do it. And there wasn’t enough space above me for me to use my arms. I grunted with each small effort.

A sharp rock edge scraped along my side, ripping through to my skin. Bitter water ate into me.

Almost immediately, my body began to shake. The insulation I’d had between my body and the wetsuit was gone. My bones turned to ice. The cold chewed into my bones like a rabid dog.

I couldn’t last like this. I didn’t know how long I had before my body refused to move, before it shut itself down to conserve energy.

I tried to find a foothold on the upper ledge—but my body kept slipping down. My legs flailing, I tried again. And again. And again.

Exhausted, I leant my head back in the icy water. My head froze, hurt. Even if I made it—I couldn’t manage miles more of this. And in the end, was it all just to deliver myself to the serpent?

My brain slowed and mushed—my head filled with snow. Flurries of snow swirled before my eyes. Beautiful.

People die all the time, Cassie, in places not nearly as awful as this. It’s easy to die. Humans are fragile. Let it happen. The hurt will go. You’ll be free.

Shadows slipped and slithered on the rock wall. I felt the barbs pierce me. It wasn’t so gentle this time. The shadow was anxious, tired of waiting.

In the midst of the snow, a face. Ethan’s. I kissed it. But I couldn’t remember why I wanted to. Couldn’t remember Ethan. The face turned ugly—diamonds in his eyes and between his teeth.

I was disappearing, drawing down.

A dripping rose.

Prudence.

Something—at the back of my mind—kicked me.

Go!

The voice was urgent.

Go!

I realized the voice was my own.

The shadow wrenched itself from me—leaving me breathless.

I was cold, so cold. My limbs numb.

Water gurgled around me. If it rained in the outside world now—the tunnel might fill with water. And I’d drown... drift... forever.

But if rain and wind from the outside could reach in here, perhaps there really was a way out at the end....

4. THE TERROR

My body jack-knifed. My head crashed back into the rock. I threw my body forward again. My legs found purchase on the rock ledge. I used elbows, hands, head, shoulders—everything to get the rest of me up there. I pushed my legs out—forcing my body to follow.

I made it. I was moving again.

My mind might still be somewhere back there—but I was moving. My body ached and shook. The tunnel continued on its upward incline.

The tunnel opened out—the ceiling lifting to a full foot above my head. Crying out, I twisted my body around to a crawling position. I crawled on for what seemed hours. I counted in my head—trying to stop myself from losing all track of time, from losing myself....

The shriek of wind intensified. A deeper, booming noise introduced itself. An underground river?

I edged along. My left hand slipped over the rough lip of the rock. The tunnel seemed to end here. Extending an arm out, I shone the torchlight around. A cathedral-sized cave stretched before me, pillars of transparent crystal rising from a wide, murky pool. A waterfall rushed from the soaring ceiling of rock into the pool. In my heart I knew the water stretched downwards to unimaginable depths.

There didn't seem to be anywhere to continue on. No more tunnel. But I couldn’t turn around and go back. There was no choice but to jump the eight or so feet into the water below and hope I found something, some way forward.

I might drown with that hope inside me.

I closed my eyes as my legs splashed into ice water. Icy water closed over me. Terrified, I struck out, struggling to the surface. Taking a lungful of air, I swam to the slippery, crystalline walls. My feet found purchase on an underwater rock shelf.

Desperately, I wanted to sit, lie, rest. But there was nowhere here for any of those things.

I sensed the shadow. But it didn't come to me, it didn't seek me. With a sickening in my stomach, I knew it no longer had to seek me. Because I'd come seeking it. I was here, in the bowels of the serpent. I felt it begin to digest me, disassemble my mind.

Snatches of sound echoed in the cave. I strained to hear.

I remembered being so sick once that my mother had to take me to the hospital. I was only three. My temperature rose so high, I imagined things, hallucinated. Family came to visit—but they sounded so far away, so garbled. Like a radio transmission fading in and out.

That’s what the sounds reminded me of now.

Then I heard it clearly. Girls singing. An old nursery rhyme I couldn’t place.

A grey light wavered near the middle of the water. Not light exactly—more like a reflection of light.

It was a figure, a girl, standing on the water. She turned to me. She wore a yellow dress—a dark stain on the bodice. Her waves of hair were stringy, unbrushed.

“Prudence.” The name slipped from my tongue.

She gave a single nod.

Her hair fell down the small of her back as she lifted her head back and pointed upwards. My gaze travelled up the rock wall. There was a strange, crisscrossed pattern in the rock. Was it some pattern left behind by cooled lava? I stared closely. The patterned parts were different to the rock—almost stony.

My stomach tightened. They were tree roots. Aged, but still, tree roots. That meant I had to be somewhere near the surface—didn’t it?

Prudence was gone.

Although she’d been there but a moment, I immediately felt the loss of her. But another presence edged in, a presence that was not Prudence.

I edged frantically around the walls of the cave, keeping to the shallows of the frigid black water. Stepping onto a ledge on the other side, I peered upwards.

Light—dim, inconstant. Was I imagining it? I snapped my torch off. The dim light still shone above.

Heaving myself up, I tried to reach the lowest of the tree roots. My legs were heavy, paining—I couldn’t make them move and lift me.

Something swam below the water’s surface, thrashing.

The rushing waterfall seemed almost to freeze, the water moving like it was being filmed in stop-motion. The water rose in jagged shapes when it hit the pool below. In a way I’d never seen water do.

I lunged at the tree root again, my feet slipping along its wet edges.

Something rose behind me.

I pulled myself up to the next root, treading along it with shaking legs.

I whipped my head around before jumping to the adjacent root.

A flash of silvery scales in the recesses of the cave. A large unblinking eye. It turned to face me.

The serpent.

It watched me with diamond eyes, eyes like glass, eyes that knew me—had looked inside me. Centuries streamed through the cold gaze.

My mind bent inwards—turned on itself, my body immobile.

The serpent moved towards me in a blinding flash of silver, giant eyes cutting into my soul. Every nerve and vein of my body choked with her bitterness, her revenge—choked with the rage that had cooled into immeasurable hatred.

She slipped away into the black water. I sensed her icy satisfaction at my fear. I searched the cave from side to side, my chest squeezing painfully.

Then she was there. I threw my back against the wall, a scream fleeing from my throat.

The open jaw filled the air, monstrously large. It smashed against the wall, meshing itself in the roots of the tree. The tree roots ripped away, pulled down by the serpent as it dove down into the water.

I leapt from tree root to rock ledge. An ear-splitting crashing sounded above. A wall of wood steam-trained past me. The entire tree coming down. Straight down. Branches whipped by my face. Any second, I'd be torn downwards with the tree. Far above, ground filled in as the top of the tree was drawn down. I was being entombed.

5. BREATHE

A set of rock ledges gleamed wetly on the far wall, underneath the waterfall—ledges that led upwards. But too far to reach.

There was a chance—one chance—to jump from the falling tree over to a ledge.

It was death to try.

It was death not to try.

With outstretched arms, I leapt to a thick branch. My body was taken down at terrifying speed. Flung hard through the waterfall, against the wall.

Sliding downwards, I desperately grappled a ledge with my arms and legs. And clung there as the tops of the tree were wrenched deep underground.

Through a curtain of water, I watched the ground above being constructed at a terrifying pace. Dirt swirled in the open spaces. Desperately, I heaved myself upwards along the jutting ledges.

She was coming back. I could feel her. A presence—palpable, ancient.

The waterfall rushed past my body, almost sending me into freefall. I gripped a wet tree root, my gloves ripped and hands bleeding. The only way up was through the surging water. Taking a lungful of air, I climbed up into the stream, letting the icy water drown me. My heavy clothing dragged me backwards. I tugged at the zipper of my jacket, allowing the stream to tear the jacket away.

The water wrapped itself around me in a whirlpool. I threaded my arms through the tree roots. The serpent was willing the waterfall into a vortex, trying to send me plummeting down.

My lungs hurt, my brain screamed for oxygen.

Water spiraled downwards, leaving the river bottom above dry. Blowing out a lungful of stale air, I clawed my way up. I rose, standing on the dry river bottom. I squinted in the world of light, breathed in pale-colored air—stunned at the sight of forest and sky.

A wall of water crashed along the riverbed as the river reclaimed itself. My body was tossed out onto hard ground.

I loped away, raw panic winding along my spine—not knowing which way I was running.

I yelled. Yelled into the trees. Fear, horror, grief, sorrow, relief—all of it cut through me.

Sun fell on me, weak but intense and beautiful. I gloated on the yellowish of it, the depth of color, gazing upwards at the green leaves and snatches of pale blue sky through the branches.

I tore the beanie and balaclava from my face—then peeled off the clothing and wetsuit. They slid from my body like cold fish skin.

I stepped from the socks and shoes, kicking them into the forest.

My soaked slip stuck to me as I blundered forward.

Cassie, you know some things about the forest, I told myself. Think—what kind of trees are here? I stared about me. Not alpine. I was lower than that. Not sub-tropical. Just fairly ordinary-looking trees and shrubs. Mountain peaks rose in the distance. I was no longer on Devils Hole. I could be close to the bottom of the mountains.

I followed the river as it flowed downwards. I walked on and on. There were no campers by the river, no signs anyone had been here.

The river flattened and widened out, running thinly over gray pebbles. A high rock ledge spanned the river ahead. I stopped. I’d have to climb around and onto that. I had no strength left.

A small head appeared over the edge of the platform. A child—a girl—wriggled down onto her stomach, and threw a fistful of leaves down. The leaves swirled down to the water.

She was dressed in normal clothes—a light green jumper and pink track pants. A cry caught in my throat.

Catching sight of me, she stared at me with curious eyes for a moment—then waved.

I waved back.

A smiling woman appeared on the rock ledge, a camcorder in her hand as she filmed the girl. The woman’s smile dropped as she looked to the river below. Her hand reached to her mouth.

I tried to speak, but I had no voice.

Two more figures appeared on the ledge—a man and a pudgy boy.

They stared open-mouthed at me.

I gazed down at myself. The side of my slip was tattered—blood soaking wetly into the material. The scrape on the rock had cut deeper than I’d realized. My limbs were bruised green and purple. The boy stared in horror at my face, shielding himself from the sight of me with his hand. I remembered then—the doll makeup. It would be smeared all over my face.

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

The man held up two hands, indicating for me to stop. “We’ll get you help.” He turned back to the woman. “Kate—get the kids in the car.”

The woman reached for the little girl’s hand—confusion in her eyes. “But—”

“Just get them out of here—could be dangerous. We don’t have to get mixed up in it. We’ll get the police.”

He stared past me—to the woods beyond. He didn’t give me another glance as he pulled the boy away. The woman and girl left—the girl looking back over her shoulder at me.

I struggled up and around to the ledge, following after them like a stray dog. A car roared away down at the road. A road meant I was close to help. But some of the roads around here could be empty of cars all day.

A child’s toy had been left behind on the rock—a small purple teddy-bear—and a cane picnic basket. There was nothing to do but walk along the road until I could flag down a car.

Strength left my legs, my body. I could no longer feel anything.

A cold weight passed through me.

6. A LIGHT SO GRAY

Stipples of light flickered and dashed over my eyelids. Something pressed at my chest—a heavy weight. One of the dolls? I wasn’t out of the underground, after all. Getting out of there had been a dream. The glassy eyes of the serpent bored into the back of my skull.

A thick material was pulled over me.

“She’s alive.”

A voice—human. Deep.

“Vital signs are okay.”

Pale sunlight dashed over my eyes as I opened them. People in blue and white clothing swarmed around me. A silver blanket covered me.

Sets of hands lifted me. I was carried through the air.

A face moved in front of mine. Mom’s dark eyes.

“Move back please.” A strident male voice.

I stared about me. Police and ambulance officers stood around me. I was on a stretcher, being put into the back of an ambulance.

I gripped mom’s arm, not allowing them to close the ambulance door. I wanted to tell her to make them stop, but my throat seized up.

I held up my hands and tried to mimic writing on a piece of paper.

“Cassie, baby. I can’t believe it’s you. I thought I’d never—”Her eyes were bright with tears. “You have to go now. You have to get checked at the hospital. It’s okay—I’m here. All the way.”

A light clamp was placed on one of my fingers, and a needle inserted on the top of my other hand. A paramedic fitted a tube into my hand, and a bag of fluid was hung above my head.

“Just one more needle, stay calm,” someone said.

Cold liquid was squirted on my arm and side, and a needle jabbed me. Things were being inserted on my side—clips? Then bandages wrapped around my arm and torso. I was naked underneath the blanket—my wet slip and underwear gone—when did that happen?

“Almost ready to go,” they said.

I tried to get up. I couldn’t let myself be taken to the hospital—I needed to bring help to the underground. A crushing weakness claimed my body.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” The soothing voice of one of the paramedics filled my ears. “You’ve been given painkillers—they’ll kick in soon and help you relax.”

Shaking my head as hard as I could, I jabbed a finger at the palm of my hand again. I looked pleadingly at my mother.

Mom bent her head back to the ambulance crew. “She wants pen and paper.”

“Time for that later,” a paramedic told her. “She has hypothermia. We need to get her off for treatment.”

Digging in her bag, mom held up a hand. “It’s been weeks since I’ve heard my daughter’s voice. I’m not going to silence her now.”

I grabbed the pen and paper my mother handed me. My fingers refused to work, so I curled a fist around the pen.

5 underground. Rescue!!!

I pressed the pen so hard it tore the page.

Mom’s eyes were huge as she took the paper and read it. Wordlessly, she handed the paper to a police officer.

The officer’s face paled. “Are they in immediate danger?”

I nodded.

The officer turned and shouted a jumble of words.

A plainclothed man strode up, staring down at me. “Cassandra, Do you remember me? Detective Martin Kalassi. Who are the others? Can you write their names?”

He handed me a notepad.

I wrote:

Aisha

Molly

Frances

Sophronia

Ethan

I didn’t know the real name of the Indian girl—so I couldn’t give it. But I couldn’t leave her out—I couldn’t leave any one of them out. None of the living, anyway. Not even... Ethan.

The detective’s eyes widened. “All alive?”

Nodding, I started scrawling again.

Under Fiveash house. Take me there!!

“The Fiveash house?” he puzzled. “He has another basement we didn’t find?”

I shook my head, trying to shoot him a pleading look. Just trust me.

Detective Kalassi raised his thick eyebrows at a paramedic. “Can she be stabilized enough to be transported? We may need her someplace else.”

“Where to?” asked the paramedic.

“The top of Devils Hole.”

She crossed her arms. “If you get us a chopper—set up with full gear.”

“We’re going to need a few of those, by the sound of it,” he said grimly.

Detective stepped over to confer with police.

I felt myself graying out again—my head growing fuzzy. I had to tell them one more thing. But I couldn’t remember it. It was like they’d given me Jessamine’s tea and my mind was slowly stepping downwards.

7. FROM DARKNESS TO NIGHT

Helicopters whirred in the darkening sky.

I struggled to sit up on the stretcher—still wrapped in the thermal blanket. Everything ached.

I smiled thinly as a paramedic took the IV line from my arm. She bent her pinched, concerned face down to mine. “Tell us if you feel faint, or anything else.”

“Okay,” I said hoarsely.

“And try not to use that voice of yours too much. You’ll lose it for days if it’s strained any further.”

I nodded at her obediently. I was handed a small carton and a straw—a type of milky energy drink.

“Sip it slowly,” she instructed. “Like one sip every minute. If you start to feel bad—stop.”

I pretended to take a small sip—but instead drew the thick liquid down in gulps. I felt my body gearing up again, craving food.

An arm moved around me and drew me in close. My mother pressed her face to my shoulder.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t you be sorry,” she said firmly. “Not ever.” Her eyes held back pain as she gazed at me.

The night air breezed around my face. A cool mildness saturated the air.

“How long?”

“It’s September, Cassie. You’ve been gone over two months. The longest months of my life.”

Nodding softly, I tapped my wrist.

Mom checked her watch. “It’s twenty to seven.”

My back chilled. I’d slept for two and a half hours. Two and a half hours while the dolls were still down there in the dollhouse.

I pulled myself to my feet. Someone had put clothes on me—dark blue pants and shirt—which had to be a spare set of clothing of one of the paramedics.

Rescuers had pulled the entire front of the shed down. And they’d ripped the rainwater tank clean out of the ground—it lay discarded to the side of the shed. I hadn’t been there to tell them how to open it. The dogs were barricaded into a small makeshift pen, barking and whimpering. Every light was on in the Fiveash house—police moving through it. Three helicopters landed on the grounds near the house.

Detective Kalassi stepped up to me—a plumpish woman beside him. “Cassie, this is Detective Sarah Bryant."

I nodded a hello.

"It seems there's a problem below—a metal wall," he said.

“I wanted to tell you before,” I told them. “But that medicine put me to sleep.”

“Is there another way?” He moved close to hear me.

“No. You must get through the wall. And to get to the others, you must get through a carousel.”

“A carousel? Down there?”

“Yes. It has another metal wall. Please hurry!”

He listened carefully. “But how did you get out?”

“I crawled through the mountains.”

“You mean from here all the way down to where you were found?”

They stared at me incredulously, horrified.

I nodded.

He cursed under his breath. “Okay, with all the injuries you sustained, that way is out. Don’t worry—we‘ve got specialist equipment being flown in. We’ll get those kids out of there.”

I stared up at the house. “Henry Fiveash. Did you get him?”

Detective Kalassi twisted his mouth to one side. “He was gone. Gone by a week or more most likely.”

The detectives left.

A paramedic came to check me again. She handed me another of the milk drinks. I took it gratefully.

Time moved in small sluggish steps, like a slow motion movie.

More helicopters came—but these didn’t land. I guessed they didn’t have clearance—they were news helicopters, the logos of their various stations emblazoned on their sides. Reporters crashed through the bushes into the clearing—with cameras and lights. They busily set up. A female reporter had her hair tidied before she spoke dramatically into the camera in front of her.

Men and women in heavy, armored uniform carried equipment from one of the police helicopters down to the shed.

Above the noise came the high screeches of drills.

Please be quick.

I willed the last vestiges of daylight to stay. I wanted the children of the underground to come out into daylight—not the night. But darkness pulled in—falling into every space.

A police officer strode up to us. “It’s time,” he said to my mother.

Mom squeezed my hand. “Cassie, as a child psych, I've been asked to be the person who orients the children as they are brought out. If...."

Wetness welled in my eyes. I knew what she was going to say—if any of them are still alive.

If was so small a word that it was barely a word, but it held hostage lives and hopes and dreams. It held everything.

She slung an arm around me, to help me walk with her.

“It’s okay mom, I can do it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” My legs were stronger and the fuzziness had left me.

We followed the officer over to the helicopters.

Everything went quiet, hushed in anticipation.

A rescue officer burst from the shed, carrying a small body in a blanket. Reporters went into a frenzy.

The officer rushed her to mom. Mom cradled her as paramedics began setting up an IV line—whispering to her that she was okay now.

A doctor injected a liquid into her thigh. She woke with a sharp intake of breath. She let out a high-pitched scream. “Monsters!”

I knelt beside her. “It’s me, Philly. Calliope. There’s no monsters here. No monsters. These are good people.” A tear slid down my cheek. “You’re safe. You’re safe, baby. Tomorrow, you’ll see sun and flowers.”

Her eyes wide, she clung to my arm. My mother stared at me.

Detective Kalassi stood with Detective Bryant, thumbing his chin. “Her name is Philly? This one isn’t Frances?”

I touched a finger to my mouth. “She’s been Philly—Philomena—for the past year. It’s what she knows. But yes, you have her name correct.”

Nodding at me gratefully, he turned to speak into his phone. “Amy, Martin Kalassi here. We have Frances Allanzi. Yes, alive.” His booming voice was jubilant. “Please inform the family and have them escorted and waiting at the Sydney Children’s Hospital. Oh and Amy, tell them she answers to the name Philomena.”

I brushed damp hair from her face. “Your family—everyone Missouri drew in the pictures for you—you’ll see them very soon.”

She shook her head. “They’re all gone. Where’s Missy? Where’s my Missy?”

I looked over my shoulder—Missouri was being brought out—her head lying limply against the officer’s shoulder.

“No, they were never gone," I told her."You’ll see them, Philly. Your brother and sister, mummy and daddy. I promise. You’ll see Missy later.”

I hugged her and nodded at the paramedics to take her. I didn’t want her seeing Missouri now. Philly’s stretcher was placed inside a waiting helicopter, my mother holding her hand all the way.

I rushed to Missouri. Her face was alabaster, like a monument on a grave.

Gazing at the officer, I could barely form the words, “Is she... alive?”

He stared back with grim eyes, his face rigid.

“No,” I breathed. My knees found the dirt.

Rescue hadn’t come quick enough.

Paramedics spirited her away—the chopper taking off almost instantly. A reporter scrambled to stand in front of the helicopter as it was taking off, yelling to the news camera that one of the abductees was dead.

A large hand touched my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

I looked upwards at Detective Kalassi.

“Can you tell me her name?” he said gently.

“Molly,” I said. “Her name is Molly Parkes.”

“That name I know,” he said. “She went missing here years back. We never found her.” He gazed regretfully at the helicopter as it disappeared into the night sky.

He turned his head. My mother ran alongside paramedics as they carried a girl to a waiting helicopter. Mom held her hand as the IV was inserted.

Kalassi and I went to her, Detective Bryant was already waiting at the helicopter.

Sophronia lolled on the stretcher as they gave her oxygen and intravenous fluids. A paramedic injected her with the same stuff they'd injected Philly with.

Her dark eyes fluttered open, but just barely, heavy with confusion. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She fixed her gaze on me. “I see it in your eyes,” she rasped. “You saw her—the other side of the shadow.”

I bowed my head. Sophronia saw things no one else could. “Now we’re on the other side,” I whispered.

Mom tugged the blanket up under Sophronia’s chin. “You’re safe. You’re safe now. You’ll be reunited with your family very soon.”

“What’s your name, honey?” Detective Kalassi asked her.

Her gaze moved from me to the detective.

“It is Sophronia.”

“I don’t know this one,” he remarked to Detective Bryant. She shook her head in reply.

I wanted to tell Sophronia to give her real name to the police—so they could find her family. But I suspected she didn’t want to. She was smart enough to know what she wanted. Her eyes drifted shut as they took her away.

Behind us, rescuers carried a limp body from the shed. Aisha.

Mom held my hand, squeezing it, as we rushed across to her. Aisha's sleeping face was bloodless, her lips purplish.

Please let her wake.

Two paramedics unwrapped the bloody bandage from Aisha's leg while another yelled out, Where's the chopper for this one?

They're flying in another four, came a reply from somewhere amongst the police and rescuers.

Bags of blood were readied and hung as they prepared a transfusion. Run in two units, someone called. Starlight washed over Aisha's smooth features.

Mom held her hand, speaking in a low voice close to her ear about her parents, about Raif—reassuring her she was back in the world she’d known. No one knew if she could even hear Mom's words. I wanted to speak to her, but the words stuck deep within my chest.

Noise rose as photographers and journalists ran to the shed. A figure limped from the underground with the aid of a rescuer, a hoarse cough hacking its way from his lungs.

Ethan refused checks by the paramedics—instead winding through the throng to Aisha's side. Crouching beside her, he rested his head on her arm.

He lifted his gaze then and found me, his eyes staring deep into mine.

Mom bent to extend an arm around his shoulders. “Your grandfather is just fine. Worried as anything about you of course, but otherwise fine. I’ve been checking on him, and organizing his meals.”

Ethan closed his eyes while hearing about his grandfather. He didn’t deserve it—didn’t deserve any sympathy. I had to admit he looked awful though. Underground, I hadn't realized just how bad we all looked.

A news crew moved in close with their microphones. My mother held out a hand, using what I called her big voice to tell the reporters to get lost—in no polite kind of way.

Ethan managed a grin. “She’s still the same,” he said to me.

I gazed at him coldly.

His expression faded.

Paramedics brought a stretcher and equipment over. Ethan sat heavily on the stretcher, leaning over onto his knees. A paramedic checked his lungs and clipped some kind of sensor on his finger. An oxygen mask was pulled over his face. Ethan collapsed back on the stretcher.

Breathing heavily, a policeman dressed in heavy gray armor ran up to me. “Are you Cassandra?”

I nodded.

“Is there anyone else down there?”

“Not... alive. You’ll find a skeleton in the tunnel. Jessamine. I don't know if you'll find... the others.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. Would they ever find the bodies of Lacey and Prudence, and The First One?

He gave a curt nod and gave a shout to others near the entry to the shed as he ran back in there. Police reporters got the all-clear to film and photograph the underground rooms, and they moved in with their cameras.

A stretcher was brought beside Aisha's, and I was made to sit on it. I sank down, knees trembling.

Aisha's eyes moved under her eyelids, jumping as though she were having a nightmare. She mouthed the word, no. And woke with a single, clear scream.

Paramedics held her body and arms down as she struggled to rise. Her breaths came in short, rapid stutters.

“Aish,” I called desperately. I moved to place a hand on her arm. “It's okay. You're out of there. We all got out. You're with rescuers now.”

Her head shook from side to side.

“Just wake... please...."

Mom and Detective Kalassi hastened over, Kalassi with a phone to his ear.

Aisha's breathing slowed gradually and she stopped wrestling with the paramedics. Her pastel-green eyes opened to the stars above. She stayed like that for a moment, confusion tightening the curves and planes of her face.

“Yeah, Amy, Aisha Dumaj just woke. Let the family know...." Kalassi held the phone away from himself. “The father's in hospital having an op," he told my mom in a hushed tone. "Had a massive stroke this morning—the whole family's there with him.”

Mom nodded, and knelt by Aisha's side. “It's over. You're going home. Home to your parents and Raif. Cassie's here. This is Cassie's mom. You're all safe.”

Aisha shifted her gaze in the direction of mom's voice. A tear squeezed from her eye. She reached for my hand.

“How?” she whispered.

I bent my head down to hers. “The Dark Way goes all the way through the mountains...."

She frowned deeply. “The serpent …?”

I shook my head slightly, not wanting to tell her what I’d seen, not now.

“Why did you drink the tea?” I cried in a hushed tone.

“Jessamine... told us the serpent had taken you, taken Ethan, told us it was coming for us next...." She startled at the sight of the inserted tube, then stared around at the crowd surrounding her. “Ethan? The others? Did anyone else get out alive?”

“Yes, everyone.” No, no more lies and secrets. “Except Missouri.”

Pain drew her eyebrows down. She began calling for Ethan, and found him on the stretcher near hers. He slept with the oxygen mask still attached to his face.

Detective Kalassi moved closer to us, his mouth in a tight smile. “Is there anything you girls want filmed in particular—anything you want the world to know?”

My eyes watered. “Please film Missouri and Prudence’s drawings—and their writings—if you can find them. One of the cells has Prudence’s stuff. They deserve to be heard.”

Aisha nodded softly. “Yes.”

He stomped away to inform a police cameraman.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I followed after Detective Kalassi. “There’s something else I want you to film, from the underground.”

He examined my face. “Just give the word.”

“Look in Ethan McAllister’s pockets. That will tell you a story—a story of someone who already knew of the existence of the underground and what was down there.”

Thumbing his chin, he waved two police officers over. “When the boy's stable, carry out a search of his clothing. Be quick, and don’t disturb the paramedics or his treatment.”

My mother was summoned by the police to discuss Ethan. I guessed that as a child psych, they thought it best they confer with her.

I stepped back over to Aisha, guilty as I sat beside her. But I couldn’t allow Ethan to get away with what he’d done. He’d already known about the underground, before we’d ever gone down there, and the knowledge of that sat like a stone in my stomach.

A figure was brought out from the underground—completely trussed in blankets. The skeleton of Jessamine. Some of the police and reporters bowed their heads as the figure passed. Other reporters moved in close, trying to capture the best angle of the body.

Aisha stared at me intently, trying to get my attention. I followed her gaze around to the dark woods.

A figure stood there, indistinct and pale in a knee-length dress.

Jessamine. Forlorn and fearful. So different from the Jessamine of the underground. So not of this world.

Why don’t you just go, Jessamine? What’s stopping you?

The image of her faded, until she became darkness.

8. THE SACRIFICE

A slight figure rushed at us from the other direction—long blonde hair flying.

My mind traced the familiar features, but I could scarcely believe the lines of those features. My chest felt as though someone had just thrown a sucker punch.

She threw herself at me. “Oh my God! I’ve been out of my mind! My dad was informed you and Aisha had been found—and he drove me here.”

She turned back to wave at her father—the bulky sergeant in his police uniform.

I hugged Lacey tightly, screaming hoarsely. “I thought—I thought Henry hurt you!”

Her thin body sobbed, damp with sweat. “I was dumped on the street—far away from the mountains. I was found wandering. I had no memory of what had happened.”

Aisha's entire body tensed under the silver blanket.

Lacey bent to hug her, her blonde hair swinging down.

Aisha held her at arms’ length. “Get the hell away from me, servant of the serpent.”

I gaped at Aisha.

Lacey paled. “What?”

Aisha grabbed Lacey’s wrist, forcing her to look down at her silver bracelet. “Who gave you this bracelet? Well?”

“You must be very ill, Aish....” Lacey took a step back.

“Henry made you wear it—didn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aisha's mouth drew into a hard line. “As I lay in the bed chamber—slowly dying—my mind ran through pictures of my life. And I saw you, like a puzzle. I finally saw all the pieces of you, and put them together.” Her voice rose in intensity. “You brought us here on purpose, Lily Fair. Yes, I figured out Prudence’s poem. You were the one who comes and goes, while everyone else just went around and around and around.”

Lacey put a hand up, as though to protect herself.

“You put us in a dark, damp hole and you went away. We lived like sewer rats. You lived—out in the sun—while we were left to rot and die—never to see sun again. Scared the rats are going to tell, now that they’re out?”

“No one would believe it.” Her voice was small.

“Lacey.” My muscles clenched, my head spun. I willed Lacey to deny the things that Aisha was saying—things that couldn’t possibly be true.

But a look of knowing crept into Lacey’s eyes.

She wrenched her arm away from Aisha. “You can’t judge me. Neither of you can.” Her body trembled all over. “I was just a little kid. Nine years old. I was on a school camp in the forests. Henry Fiveash stole me from my sleeping bag. I was taken down to the underground. I woke with my face painted, and dressed like a doll. Jessamine said I was hers… forever.”

I gasped. “You were The First One. It was you!”

Lacey closed her eyes. “I made a deal with Henry. I said I’d bring more girls if he’d just let me go. Well what would you have done? I was a child—alone with a crazy man and a ghost. He had me put back in my sleeping bag before dawn. Two of the horrid doll things carried me through the forest, to make sure I didn't run away.”

She stared down at the bracelet like it was a snake wound around her arm. “So I’d know it wasn’t just a nightmare—he fixed the bracelet to me.”

Aisha shook her head. “Two girls died—girls you brought there. Their deaths are on your head.”

Lacey backed away.

“Why Aisha, Lacey?” I cried. “Of all people, why did you choose your own friend?”

“I didn’t choose her...." A low, pained sigh emitted from her chest. “When... when I took Frances down there, a photo fell from my wallet. It was one of me and Aisha from dance practice, back when we thirteen. Jessamine saw it, and she insisted on having Aisha from that moment on. Nothing could change her mind.... The day of the trek... it was always going to be Aisha. When she ran off by herself into the forest, that's when the toys took her."

I took a step towards her, speaking directly into the traitorous face of The First One. "So why did you even bother stealing and copying Aisha's file—pretending we were going to investigate the case for ourselves... when you knew what happened to her all along... all along...."

"I stole the file so I could see what the police knew. And I showed it to you so you'd trust me, so you'd tell me if you knew anything... about Ethan. You don't know what it's been like for me. All the lies I've had to tell... all the people I've had to hurt. From the day Henry brought me back to the school camp I've barely eaten, I've barely lived. I've had to live with this every single day...."

Something died inside of me. "Why didn't you just... tell someone? Police... your father?"

Pain wound through her gaze. "Henry said if I didn’t do what Jessamine wanted... he’d bring my little sisters to the underground and give them to the serpent.”

Horror caught in my throat.

“So you took the sisters and daughters from other families for sacrifice,” spat Aisha. “I’ll never let you forget what you did.” She stared deep into Lacey’s eyes, hatred etched on her face.

Reporters moved in close, filming, curious at the sight of the intense exchange. Paramedics turned their heads, raising their hands to tell us to let Aisha rest, to tell the reporters to move off. It almost seemed as though Aisha, Lacey and I were in a space all of our own—a toxic, locked space.

In the foreground, helicopters dipped and landed.

Lacey’s eyes closed. Her limbs froze.

The ground rumbled around her.

Reporters and police stared about them in alarm.

A shrieking wind blew out from the underground. Beneath our feet, a loud cracking sounded. Paramedics sprinted, rushing Aisha and me away and into the waiting helicopters. I jerked my head around, looking for mom. I caught sight of her, head held down by a police officer as he ran with her to my helicopter. She climbed the steps and sat beside me, her eyes large and terrified.

The helicopter lifted.

People scattered—fleeing for the forest as the front of the Fiveash house crashed to the ground. The room with the dollhouse sat exposed to the night. In the dollhouse, a tiny window lit—yellow against the darkness.

The house fell in on itself, bricks tumbling and flying out.

The walls of the old shed shot into the air like a pack of playing cards.

The earth began crumbling away.

Lacey stood, immobile, her eyes still shut. As if she could not hear the melee around her. Or knew it wouldn’t harm her.

Detective Kalassi charged headlong for Lacey, tackling her into his arms as he ran.

The house and shed disappeared into the shifting earth—trees pulled down along with them.

I gazed down into a vast hole as the helicopter battled to stay upright in the wind.

Everything was gone.

At the ragged edges of the hole, an immense shadow slithered out onto the ground. It moved like blood—thick, filmy.

The helicopter dipped for a moment, then rose into the clear sky, the whirr of the blades cutting across my mind.

JESSAMINE

1920

9. SPARROW

People say they want to run away to the circus. I want to run away from the circus.

My name is Sparrow. My name is your-entertainment-for-the-night. My name is never Jessamine, except for brief snatches between shows and rehearsals.

The briny reek of the docks saturates the air as the men hammer in the pegs of the big top. The people of New Orleans gather in the darkness beyond the circus lights—undertones of speculation in their voices, always wanting us to give them more. More thrills, more excitement, more danger.

At age fourteen, I’m the youngest and smallest trapeze artist our circus has ever had. I suspect the crowds would pay to see five-year-olds on the trapeze if we had them performing for us. The dangers we face are not real to them. We’re mere performers—circus animals.

I slam the door of my trailer, shutting them out. It would kill grandfather if I ran away. He says I'm all he has left. His only child—my father—was killed on the Wheel of Death four years ago in St Louis. At the exact moment that Mister Magnifico the Knife Thrower threw his blade at the Wheel of Death, Mister Magnifico suffered an aneurysm. My father, strapped to the spinning wheel, witnessed the knife hurtling towards him but could do nothing to avoid it. The blade struck him in the right lung.

High above the wheel, my mother—the graceful Lady Lark in her highwire act—screamed at the sight of blood streaking from my father's chest. She fell like a bird with a broken wing. The net saved her, but just barely. She was never any good after that, not as a high wire act nor a mother. Not that she'd ever been much of a mother to me except in name.

10. THE FORTUNE TELLER

I unpack from my suitcase everything I own. It isn't much. I have six trinket boxes, three dolls, seven dresses and a dozen performance outfits. Circus people must travel light, and I’ve been circus people all my life.

My trinket boxes are filled with things from every state of America and countries around the world. My tiny treasures. I hum as I arrange the dolls on my only shelf. It’s my ritual at every place the circus takes me. The first doll I place is always the small wooden clown from Mexico that looks a lot like a drugstore Indian—daddy gave it to me when I was five. The second one I place is a bear from the Steiff Circus that I begged for in Germany and the third is an exquisite Bru Bebe doll that grandfather bought me for my last birthday. Next, I arrange the trinket boxes on my dresser. In a fortnight, all this will be packed away and all trace of The Fiveash Circus will vanish from New Orleans.

The door of the carriage flings open. Audette stands there with her face like a horse and her bony hips protruding from her leotard. She places her hands on her hips with her many-ringed knuckles turned out. "Jessamine, you're meant to be practicing tomorrow's performance."

"I'm coming in a moment." I turn away and begin humming again.

"What are you doing with those ridiculous toys?" She steps into the carriage. With a sweep of her hand, she knocks the dolls to the floor. She crushes the Bebe doll underfoot before I can rescue it. "You’re fifteen in a month. Time to stop all this childishness of yours. Henry told me you’re refusing to attend a dinner with Mr. Baldcott. He's an important investor in the circus, and he has indicated an interest in pursuing a future with you. You have to stop pretending to be a child.”

I refuse to allow Audette to see me cry at the sight of my ruined doll. My back stiffens as I raise my eyes to her. "I told you before I am not having anything to do with Mr. Baldcott. Not for all the tea in China."

She sighs like a creaky piece of furniture. "We're not like regular folk. We're circus. And the assets of the circus are rapidly in decline. The captain has lost control of the ship."

"Don't you dare speak of my grandfather like that! This circus keeps and feeds ninety people—including you, Audette."

Audette crosses her arms tightly against my words. She’s twenty-four but acts more like a child than an adult. "When was the last time you saw your precious grandfather make any kind of decision to do with the circus? It's all been left to Henry."

Cold malice twists in my chest. "Speaking of Henry, perhaps you should go check what's he's doing for the circus right now. Last time I saw your fiancée, he was busily entertaining sixteen-year-old showgirls in his trailer."

Audette's horsey features droop. She storms away in the direction of my cousin’s trailer.

I want to close the door again, but a figure shifts close, like something carried on the dark breeze. She draws a shawl close around her shoulders, despite the warmth of the night.

"Who is that woman! C'est quoi ce cirque?" She waves a hand in the direction of Audette.

Her accent is very French. I know just enough French to know she thinks Audette is as stupid as I do. I shrug at the woman. "Audette is always like that."

The woman blinks and nods in acknowledgment. "I am Madame Celia. I’m here looking for work. A stall holder told me you are the granddaughter of the circus's owner. You can tell me where to find him, perhaps?"

I shake my head. "Grandfather doesn't like to be disturbed at night."

“Very well. I’ll return in the morning.” She takes a step away, then pauses and pulls out a pair of rag dolls from underneath her layers of clothing. I peer closely at them in the dark light. They are the new brother and sister dolls that children are crazy for—Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy. The dolls look handmade, with faces that are more Parisian and haughty than comical.

"Take these, child. They belonged to someone special to me. But she is dead, and I can't keep carrying them about. I will see her again soon enough."

"Was she your daughter?"

"Oui."

"Thank you. These pair are very beautiful, as I'm sure your daughter was." I take the sibling dolls from her and place them on my shelf. Then I arrange my toys carefully back on the shelf, setting the Raggedy dolls beside the now-wobbling body of the Bebe doll.

I turn my head back to the woman. “So what is it that you do?”

"I am a clairvoyant. I will give the circus sixty percent of earnings. The circus will do well. I am… indeed good at what I do. Better than it is good for a person to be."

I believe her. Her nose is pinched, and it wrinkles as she looks about, as though she is capable of sniffing out changes in the air, changes so subtle no one else can detect them, even changes drifting in from years in the future.

“Can you tell my fortune?” I ask her.

I have never had my future foretold, but I would very much like to hear it—especially of a future away from the circus. I don’t even mind if her words are just a silly bit of flibberty-flabber. I still want to hear that I get away from all of this. She nods her assent.

There is no room in my trailer to set out her cards, so I take her to find a suitable place for fortune-telling. We wind our way through the tents and trailers and empty stalls. In the fields beyond the big tent, circus clowns practice their leaps and tumbles. They wear Pierrot-style costumes with pointed caps and diamond-patterned costumes. In the deep light, they look quite magical—as though there is a twilight world where people spend their hours perfecting performances that no one will ever see. The men wear their hair longish, instead of donning the awful fuzzy wigs that clowns of other circus’s wear.

Cousin Henry and Audette are locked in bitter argument inside their trailer. Audette’s voice is rising to a screech. I know how it will end. It will end with noisy sex with their trailer door left wide open for everyone to see.

My mother sits outside her trailer in her wicker wheelchair— puffing on a cigar and laughing with a group of black jazz musicians. I can tell from the tone of her laughter that she’s drunk. Grandfather tells me she's lonely. Perhaps she is, but she is never lonely enough to converse with me for more than a minute at a time.

My governess, Miss Kitty, sits primly inside her trailer and sets out books. As the spinster aunt of my mother, she had no options in life. She was given the role of teaching all the younger performers their daily lessons. I am the only one who actually attends the lessons. She isn’t very good. She’s obsessed with obscure philosophers and Greek tragedies and doesn’t seem to teach much of anything else. She has insisted on teaching me etiquette though, and I take weekly lessons on things such as setting a table properly and the art of waltzing. Like my English mother, she speaks very proper English, but that is where the similarities between her and my mother begin and end.

I find a small table for Madame Celia near the workers’ tents. The workers are busy with putting up the big top now. They won’t play their rowdy games of poker and euchre until much later in the night.

We seat ourselves opposite each other at the table and she sets out her cards. She studies them carefully for a moment.

“Ah, Cherie, you have had an interesting life. On the road for many years, no?”

“I’ve been on the road ever since I can remember,” I say wistfully.

Her expression changes, and she frowns as though trying to push a thought from her head. Her eyes close and she reaches for my hand, cards scattering as she does so. Perspiration beads on her forehead and chin. When she opens her eyes, the color of them is changed, deepened.

Her fingers grasp so tightly my hand hurts.

“You are soon to take a train into Mexico….”

I nod. "Yes, grandfather told me we’re heading through the Copper Canyon."

Her mouth sounds dry when she says, "You must not go."

I try to take my hand away but she refuses to release it. "Of course I must go. I go wherever the circus travels."

“None of you must take this journey!”

“I don’t like this fortune very much, Madame Celia.” I struggle to stay polite.

“Vous ne comprenez pas! I am no longer telling you your fortunes.” She shakes her head violently. “There are things I have seen before, things of nightmares. Things that cannot possibly be. Things beyond this world. There are people in your circus meddling in things they don't understand."

"You're frightening me."

I will her to stop and tell me the fortune I wanted to hear. But her pale eyes glaze and widen with fear.

"Your grandfather—he must not take the circus train into the Mexican mountains. I see him. I see him taking possession of an item. I cannot see the item clearly but I sense it holds a key—a key to things that should never be unlocked. Terrible things. I see a great affliction infesting the entire world."

I jump up from the table, almost sending it toppling. “You’re mad!”

She draws her wrap close under her chin, eyeing me in horror. “And you… Que Dieu nous aide!”

I don’t want to hear more. I back away from her but I can’t release myself from her gaze.

She stares into me, stares right through me. “I see death coming for you in this year. But not a natural death. Non Cherie, you will not die a natural death…."

11. INFINITE DREAMS

I hang upside-down on the trapeze as it glides through the popcorn-tainted air, stretching my arms out. Conrado catches my hands in his strong grip and swings me in a swooping arc. I tumble into a spin before landing on the platform. Far below, the crowd cheers.

Grandfather—the ringmaster—asks the audience for another round of applause for Sparrow and Conrado. We take bows to another round of cheering. My father gave me the performer’s name, Sparrow, when I was small. I don’t know Conrado’s real name, but that’s normal for the circus. People here find their identity in performing—all else is just waiting or travelling between shows.

A group of jazz musicians play to the side of the big top rings. It’s time to perform what Henry calls the dance of the seven veils upside-down. Conrado unties seven brightly-colored lengths of silken material from a horizontal ring—the lengths almost falling to the ground. I leap onto a sash. The spotlight follows me as I twirl and spin from sash to sash. If I fall, I could end up in a wheelchair like my mother—or worse—I could die. Madame Celia’s fortune-telling crashes through my mind. I have to banish these bad thoughts. Bad thoughts are poison in the circus. A moment’s loss of concentration could cause you to slip.

Upside-down, I watch my mother as she fans herself and smiles coquettishly at one of the saxophonists. She takes a microphone and begins to sing a jazz song in what she calls her slow and sensual voice. We used to always use classical music for my seven-veils performance, but my mother insisted we move with the times. How my mother developed a talent for singing, I do not know. I think she wanted to keep herself viable to the circus. Her voice sounds more husky and harsh than sensual.

For a moment, I think I see Madame Celia amongst the audience. But her seat is empty when I look that way again.

I move onto my finale—a series of fast spins whilst hanging downwards on one sash. I hang my entire body off the sash except for one leg, and throw my arms out as though I am reveling in the moment. Blood rushes to my head and I see the audience only as lines of flashing color. The spin sends me to the brink of a dizzying faint.

The crowd hushes for a moment, and then breaks into riotous applause as I slide down the sash to take my bows. Wafts of popcorn and beer and stale soda assail my nostrils. Already, the crowd is restless, scanning the rings for the next performance. Grandfather announces the clowns and the magic act.

Groups of human Pierrot clowns move into the two outside rings with two of the small elephants and begin their routines.

Henry strides into the center ring brandishing a red cape. As usual, he wears the heavy makeup of the clowns, even though he is the circus’s only magician. I wonder if he wears it so that no one recognizes him outside the circus. Henry always seems to be either involved in shady deals or involved with someone’s teenage daughter.

Audette follows Henry in her silly mincing little skip. She is dressed in a new pink satin leotard and black striped stockings. Her breasts are pushed up, looking like a couple of fat half-moons sitting on her chest.

Henry introduces them both as Horatio and Audette. Audette apparently isn’t worthy of any special name.

Two clowns push a long, wooden box into the ring. The box sits upon a stand.

Audette gestures a look of mock-horror to the audience as Henry asks her to step into the painted box, but she dutifully steps inside and lies on her back. Henry closes and locks the box.

The clowns in the outside rings stop their performances and watch Henry and Audette with their hands either over their eyes or clapped onto the sides of their faces.

“And now, dear audience, boys and girls, women and men,” Henry announces, “I shall perform a highly-specialized cut with my saw, and render the box in two pieces. This requires a great deal of skill and mental concentration. I ask that you not speak or eat or even shuffle your feet. Not so much as a whisper. Should I make a cut on even the slightest deviation of angles, dear Audette might suffer the most gruesome of fates.”

He pauses and looks about the audience for effect, flicks his cape back and raises the saw above his head.

The audience obeys Henry’s request for quiet. During performances, Henry has a commanding tone to his voice that audiences listen to intently. Henry begins sawing the box in a backwards and forwards motion whilst the crowd holds their collective breath. The clowns hide their faces with each drag of the saw’s blade.

I wish Henry really would saw Audette in half. But I know how it ends. Audette will spring from the box—to thunderous applause—even greater applause than what I receive. And she will bow and shimmy as though she has just achieved something wonderful. And all she had to do was lay herself down in that silly box.

I slip out of the big tent. The group of young girls who perform stunts on the elephants’ backs sit with the armless unicyclist smoking cigars. Two of them are Henry’s sisters. They aren’t very good performers. But grandfather had taken in all of Henry’s family, including his parents and uncle, as they were too poor to manage their affairs. His parents are meant to run the ring-toss stall but they are quite useless. I am sure they are even stealing money from the circus.

The girls titter as I pass. They know I consider smoking uncouth—and the language they use even more so. They often tell me I’ll end up an old dried-up spinster just like Miss Kitty the governess.

The stalls come to life as people begin to stream out of the big top. The circus is finished for the night and the stalls are eager to hawk their games and wares and freaks of nature. Each stall owner is louder than the next, trying to convince the marks—customers—to spend their money with them.

The air is steamy, choking—the stench of the animals and the brine of the docks combined. The lions prowl restlessly in their cages, their rumbling growls raising the hair on the back of my neck. I used to think it was cruel to keep them in such small enclosures, until my mother pointed out that the lions have a good, safe life—far from the daily fight for survival in Africa. Safe is a foreign word for any of the big act circus people. Performers lead a precarious life—and accidents are commonplace.

Beyond the lion cages, men hose down the elephants. One of the elephants sneezes over a man with a loud bellow. The man lets free a string of expletives while the others laugh and slap their knees.

I hurry past. I detest the crude sorts that work for the circus, however essential they are. Miss Kitty sits in her trailer, pulling a pained expression in the direction of the men—then returning to reading love poems out loud.

The words drop like pearls from her tiny, thin mouth. Her choice of poetry seems odd to me at times and entirely unsuitable. She doesn’t know about lovers or love, having had neither, and therefore shouldn’t speak of them.

Retreating to my trailer, I pull out the few treasured books that I have and attempt to study them. I stumble over the words—words I don’t know the meaning of, words I cannot pronounce. Grandfather paid for Henry to be sent away to boarding school to complete his education before joining the circus. No such privilege has been extended to me. Grandfather says he couldn’t bear for me to be away from him and that education is not so important for girls.

I decide my new word of the day shall be obsequious. I see it in a book and it sounds rather grand. Tomorrow, I’ll look it up in Miss Kitty’s enormous dictionary. But the noise and clamor of the stall holders and crowds soon defeat me. I cannot concentrate for another moment. I snap my book shut. I take the wooden clown from the shelf and leave to wander the circus grounds.

A light is on in grandfather’s tent. Silhouettes of men and women move about the tent, wine glasses and cigars in their hands. Perhaps seven or eight of them. Probably investors for the circus. I want to go and sit with grandfather, but he doesn’t like me to be there when he entertains investors. So I slip inside the tent and sit behind the bar. I just want to hear his voice. Grandfather is the only person in the entire world who notices me when I’m not performing, the only person who makes me certain I am really alive.

I see Mr. Baldcott and suddenly wish I hadn’t come in. He swills dark-colored wine in his glass before drinking it down his thick neck. "Of course, I don't have infinite funds to throw at this." He looks purposefully at Grandfather.

Grandfather clears his throat. "We're close. We just need the final piece of the puzzle."

A woman dripping in pearls and heavy jewelry stretches her fingers out as though she is trying to feel something in thin air. "But is there any guarantee? I've almost bankrupted my estate on charlatans before, and yet I've come no closer...." Her voice is deep for a woman, strident.

A thin, anxious-looking man crosses his arms—Jeke. A friend of grandfather’s. "I want this more than anything. But it seems many of us are concentrating on the end result without considering what we’re delving into. None of us here should forget just what we’re doing here. There's a distinct possibility of catastrophic consequences."

What are they talking about? Something that could destroy the circus?

Grandfather holds up a hand. "Jeke, that kind of thinking is exactly what has stopped this project dead in the past. Fear keeps driving everyone back. Well, I’ll put it to you that if you’re not in with us one hundred percent at this point, then you should step aside. It’s agreed we should proceed with caution, but not with negative thinking.”

"With all due respect Tobias,” says Zeke, “none of us knew what we were getting into at the start. I've known you for a good twenty years. I saw you consumed with grief when you lost your boy four years back. I know what drives you. I know what drives all of us who stand here tonight. I would give anything to hold my children again. It’s been nine years, but I can still hear their screams in the midst of that fire. Those screams haunt me every waking hour. But make no mistake, we're heading down the left-hand path."

Grandfather bristles. "You can call it black magic if you like. Hell, call it voodoo. But we’re not doing anyone wrong. We’re not causing harm.”

Zeke runs an agitated hand through dark hair that is sprinkled with gray. “We don’t know what we’re doing, in the end.”

I draw my arms in close to my body, hugging my knees. I don't like what they are talking about, even if I don’t understand it. Their words are ugly, with sharp, jagged edges.

“We don't need any naysayers,” says Grandfather. “Not at this point. In nine days we’ll have the second book of the Speculum Nemus. I’ll take possession of it at a point along the Mexican railways. All of us have seen glimpses into the speculum. What more do we need?"

"But what more will it take?” Zeke’s voice rises and quavers. “What kind of power can send us all back to the past without grave consequences and—"

Grandfather’s face grows stormy. "Enough! Get out, Jeke. You're no longer part of this.”

The man gazes at grandfather for a moment with an expression of both challenge and contemplation, then turns and hastens away—his shoulders hunched.

The woman rubs her temples as though she had a sudden headache. The others seem to not know whether to leave or stay.

Mr. Baldcott continues to sip his wine, unaffected. “The Mexican railways you say, Tobias?”

“Yes, the tome is being brought to me from a secret location. I understand that the trip will be quite arduous for the bearers of the book. There are no easy paths in those mountains.”

“Have you arranged any kind of protection? After all, there are others who would surely give their left arm, and their right one too, if they knew of the existence of such literature.” Mr. Baldcott looks to the others for affirmation of his words, nodding in order to prompt nods from them.

“I place my trust in the people who are bringing it to me." Grandfather raises his bushy eyebrows in a way that I know means the conversation is closed. "They are native to the area, and will raise no suspicion. If on the other hand I were to send some paid henchmen….”

“Of course.” Mr. Baldcott stares into the remains of his wine as though it has soured. “Though perhaps it would be best to give a few more details, so that the rest of us might be alerted should things go astray. Such as the station you’ll be alighting at.”

Grandfather frowns at this. “I shall remain the only one to have knowledge of that. I think that’s best.”

By the murmurs of the other people in the tent, it seems they agree with grandfather.

Mr. Baldcott sets his glass down on the bar and pours himself another. He catches sight of me and a smile curls one edge of his pudgy mouth. “Ah, what do we have here? A little lost highwire performer.”

He doesn’t understand the difference between highwire and trapeze, for he always uses the terms interchangeably. Else, he just doesn’t care. I uncurl myself as all attention turns to me, feeling silly and exposed in my spangled leotard.

Grandfather extends a hand to me. “What are you doing here, Jessamine?” His tone is sharp, harsh. It hurts to have him speak to me like that.

“I came looking for you, but didn’t want to disturb you when you I saw you had people here.”

He grunts in reply.

“Well everyone,” he says, “I will be in contact again shortly. I trust that every one of you understands the vast importance of keeping this private.”

People shuffled from the tent, their heads and shoulders bowed as though held down by a great weight.

“I’ll see you at the ball, sweet lamb,” says Mr. Baldcott to me as he leaves.

Grandfather doesn’t hear him—he’s wrapped up in his own thoughts, thumbing his beard absentmindedly.

“I don’t like him,” I say.

“Who?”

“Mr. Baldcott. Henry and Audette say he wants to court me and that I should let him.”

“Hmmm, I see. Well, he is a very wealthy man and the circus needs him right now. Just keep your manners about you. In any case, soon it won’t matter. There are changes coming, little Jessamine. Changes I can’t explain to you just yet.”

Madame Celia’s words claw the edges of my mind like a cat. Grandfather dismissed her silly fortunes when I told him about her, but hadn’t the people here tonight spoken about great dangers?

My bottom lip trembles. "What’s happening? Why did that man talking about going back to the past?"

Grandfather sits heavily on his rocking chair and draws me onto on his lap. I feel awkward, way too big to sit there—but I know I am still a child in his eyes, a little girl.

"We can't return to the past, Jessamine. That's impossible."

"Is that why you were angry with him?"

"Jeke is a good man. But there's something he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that sometimes you have to take great risks for those you love."

I shake my head slightly. I don’t want to tell him that I still don’t understand. Grandfather already seems exhausted by the events of the evening. His skin is grey underneath the slightly reddened surface.

"Jess-of-mine," he says softly. He's called me that as long as I remember. “What would you give to see your father once again?"

"Everything," I whisper, surprised by the turn of conversation. I clutch the wooden clown to my chest. The sudden memory of the day daddy gave the clown to me flashes through my mind.

We were in Mexico City, caught in the middle of fighting from revolutionaries. They had cut off access to the road out of the city. I was five years old and terrified. Daddy stole away from the small villa we were staying at, and returned with a small wooden clown. He said he hoped it would cheer me up. It wasn’t much of a clown—it was stiff and painted in dull colors. But I loved it from the moment he gave it to me.

Grandfather leans his head back, closes his eyes. "Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you… This world you see around you… it's not all there is. It's not the only world. There are infinite copies of our universe. All the stars and the constellations of stars, all the planets and all the galaxies of planets—they have copied themselves an infinite amount of times.”

I look out of the tent to the small patch of inky sky framed by the flaps and wonder how he knows any of that. The tiny stars are mere pinpricks of light and planets are nowhere to be seen. No one has been to a planet, not even to the moon.

His hand reaches for mine. “And you and I, we live over and over and over. Infinitely.”

I turn to look at him, and can’t keep a frown from forming on my face. But I don’t speak. He told me to listen and I must do this.

He gazes at me intently. “A very wise sect of people from centuries past made a discovery. They discovered a way to pass through. Over the past five years, I have been collecting their literature. Obtaining accurate translations have proved difficult, not the least of which has been finding trustworthy souls to do the translations. And the passages, even in the best translations, are obscure. Their research culminated in the writings of two books—two books that were lost from the world until recently.”

His eyes close squeeze shut. “I’ve invested a great deal of money into this—everything I have in fact. The people here tonight have heavily invested also.” He exhales with smoke-laden breath. “I've seen glimmers of the other worlds, tantalizing snatches. I have seen… I have seen your grandmother… and your father.”

Tears wet the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. “You saw them?”

“Yes. We are connected to the other worlds, Jessamine, even though we don’t know they exist. We sense them, we dream of them. And they dream of us. Time is a dream in which all possible things happen.”

My throat is dry. A thought comes to me, but it’s too terrible to speak it. And a young lady should never speak of things she cannot formulate properly in her minds. My governess tells me that. But I am on the edge of a vast blackness, staring into an incalculable hole. I could fall, and fall forever. I must know and I must ask.

“How do you reach these worlds?” My voice is a whimper. “Does it hurt?”

Grandfather is silent. I am acutely aware of sitting here, with time slipping from us, each moment swiftly becoming the past. I cannot return to the second before this, even though nothing has changed in this second.

He shifts in the chair, and I know he does not want to answer me. His eyes drift open. "We need to die, in this world, before we can pass through."

My heart is a tight ball. "I don't want you to die."

He gently rocks the chair and says no more.

12. MR. BALDCOTT

"Jessamine, you're looking particularly tasty tonight."

"Mr. Baldcott, you're looking quite...tidy." It is the best thing I can find to say. He normally has mussy hair and dark sweat patches under the arms of his shirt, but tonight he has made an effort to tuck in his shirt and attend to himself.

Henry and Audette have given me dire warnings on being pleasant to Mr. Baldcott tonight. He was about to funnel a good deal of investment money into the circus. It seems he has endless wads of money—investing in the circus affairs as well as grandfather’s private venture. Grandfather made me promise not to give a thought to all that was said that night in his tent, but I couldn’t simply erase it. Fear stalked my days and I’d become what others saw as irrationally clingy to grandfather.

Heat from the New Orleans night passes through the myriad open doors and windows of the grand hall. I smooth down the skirt of my gown as the quartet begins to play. Men lead their women onto the floor. Mother watches dolefully from her chair. No one asks her to dance. A woman in a wheelchair cannot waltz. Still, she wears her best dress and has done her hair with baubles and pearls. She is beautiful—so much so that single men cast regretful looks as they pass her in order to ask lesser beauties to dance.

The ball is some sort of charity affair run by the wealthy of New Orleans. I would be excited to wear my first ball gown and practice my dancing if not for the presence of Mr. Baldcott. Awkward-looking young men keep close to the walls and steal glances at me. I should like a chance to waltz with one of them, but Mr. Baldcott practically took possession of me the moment I entered the hall. In any event, we are leaving town tomorrow and there will be no more occasions on which I’ll be required to exchange pleasantries with Mr. Baldcott.

“Might we dance?” Mr. Baldcott nods his head towards the dance floor.

I accept his hand and he leads me into a waltz. A cloud of cologne masks a vague musky odor and his body heat closes into me. His hand is cold, clammy. Inside I squirm. We whirl past Henry and Audette. Henry smirks at me and Audette bobs her head approvingly. Mr. Baldcott leads me between the hundred or so other couples on the floor, as though showing me off as a prize.

The waltz ends and we clap. Mr. Baldcott takes my elbow and steers me towards a quieter corner of the hall.

He leans in towards me. "Might I make some simple suggestions on your performance outfits? Now that you're growing rapidly into a woman, perhaps something a little... flirtier… would find favor with the audience? Even your attire tonight is more suggestive of a child than a woman."

He hooks a finger onto the neckline of my dress and tugs it outwards and downwards.

I step backwards so quickly I stumble on my heel. "Grandfather chooses my performance outfits," I tell him stiffly.

"Well, you could let me take over that little job. After all, I’m about to own a good proportion of the circus."

I attempt to stretch my mouth into a smile. "Grandfather will still have final say over how things run."

"In name only. Naturally, you needn't worry your sweet head over such things. I will bring about the changes the circus is in dire need of. The other big circuses are running past the Fiveash circus. Interest in your grandfather’s mutant animals is waning. No one cares about five-legged goats anymore. Water performances are quite popular now. The Fiveash circus must bring in the new, or perish.”

“Grandfather has been… distracted of late. But I am certain he will agree to changes, if needed.”

His eyebrows arch in his low forehead. “You were there that night in your grandfather’s tent. You must know by now that he is never coming back onboard with the business side of things. He has gone, as they say, off the deep end.”

“You’re calling him insane,” I say flatly.

“Not in the least. He’s an eccentric old buzzard. I humor his eccentricities, more than anything.”

Could all that grandfather had said to me really just be the ravings of an old man? How could they be when all those other people had been discussing the same things?

Mr. Baldcott stares into my eyes for such a length of time I have to look away. “You and I might become quite good friends, if you’ll allow it. We’ll be seeing a good deal of each other from now on."

“We will?”

“Oh yes. I’ll be flying in to manage the circus affairs quite often, wherever in the country that may be.”

I try not to show my disappointment. “I didn’t realize. But, of course we can be friends. There is virtue in maintaining cordiality towards those around you.”

“Oh, you misunderstand. I’m speaking of more than mere cordiality. I find you extremely attractive. I’m suggesting a romantic attachment, once you’re of age.”

I want to run— deep into the night. “There are other girls in the circus who might appeal more than me. The girls who perform with the elephants are far more voluminous than me.”

“I believe the word you’re reaching for is voluptuous.” He chuckles in amusement. “You are a treasure. That governess of yours should be fired, for all she teaches you.” A serious expression enters his eyes. “I could send you to the finest French finishing school, where you’ll no longer be a little circus brat with airs. You’ll learn all the things a young lady should know in order to function in high society. And you’ll learn to speak properly.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, which I know is the most childish thing I could do at this moment, but I need to shut him out. I would desperately like to go to a finishing school, but not with Mr. Baldcott paying for it. He speaks as though I am part of the fixtures of the circus—something he can own.

“In any case,” he continues, “I’m not looking for voluptuous. My tastes do not run that way. Besides, you are the granddaughter of the great Mr. Fiveash. And on that fateful day he kicks the bucket, the circus will pass onto your shoulders. You'll be needing support and direction. You'll need a husband's guidance."

"Excuse me?" My eyelids fly open.

"Sweet Jessamine, I'm asking you to marry me." He plunges his hand into his trouser pocket and fishes out a ring with a large, gaudy diamond.

I raise my palms to him. "Mr. Baldcott, please, put that away."

"It isn't attractive to protest too much, you know. It's attractive to a point but after that, it just becomes tedious. I have already discussed this with your cousin Henry, and I was led to believe that you were rather flattered about a proposal from me."

Every one of my muscles tenses. "Henry cannot and should not speak for me, and I am not flattered. I am not interested in marriage."

"I see." He nods his head as though considering his next move. He deposits the ring back in his pocket.

"And if all you want is to marry into the circus, are you forgetting my mother?” I glance over at her. She still sits with her hands in her lap, watching.

He shrugs his eyebrows. "She's a delightful woman of course... but how shall I put this delicately...? I am a man of means, with a view to marriage and starting a family. Your mother is past the bloom of youth and she's hardly able to bear children...."

"My mother is thirty-two. And it is not certain that she cannot bear children. How old are you, Mr. Baldcott?"

"Thirty-nine. Prime of life, for a man."

I try not to stare at the shiny bare patch on his forehead or the rotund waistline that threatens to pop the buttons of his waistcoat.

"If you'll excuse me, I need some air." I gather my skirts and rush from the hall. Men stand outside on the steps, puffing on cigars and loosening their collars. A few turn to look at me in mild surprise. I struggle to contain my upset. A lady’s emotions should never be on public display.

“Jessamine,” my mother calls from the hall entrance. She wheels her chair out to the deck.

“I felt a little faint. Just taking in some air,” I tell her.

She asks a couple of the burlier men to help her down the stairs. Her cheeks tinge with shame as they lift her in the wheelchair and place her on the ground. The wheels squeak and grind as she catches up to me.

“I’m bored in there,” she says. Her skin is luminous under the lights, her gray-blue eyes matching her silvery dress. She doesn’t notice my distress.

“We’ll soon be on our way out of here and on the train. Just one more night.”

She breathes out a deep sigh. “The nights are so long. I need something to get me through. Would you mind picking me up something in town?”

I turn my head beyond the bright lights of the grand hall to the darkness of the streets of New Orleans. “What do you need?”

She digs around in her purse and thrusts some notes at me. “A bottle or two of absinthe? Oh, and some sugar cubes."

My mother, always fond of wine, had begun taking on the New Orleans habit of sipping absinthe that had been dripped through a cube of sugar.

"You want me to go out there into the streets?" It shouldn't have surprised me.

“It’s not far. Not for someone with young, strong legs.”

“Very well, I’ll go. At least I’ll be getting away from Mr. Baldcott.”

“Why would you want to get away from him?” Her pale forehead creases. “He seems quite charming. I see him about quite a bit of late. I know he’s an important investor.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t you know? Henry and Audette have been plotting for me and Mr. Baldcott to get together.”

Her eyes widen. “How does Mr. Baldcott feel about that?”

I chew my lip. "He just asked me to marry him."

Her eyes register shock as she leans forward. “What did you say in reply?”

I want her to soothe me, to be indignant about Mr. Baldcott’s bold proposal. I want her to call Mr. Balcott awful names and for her to laugh at the idea of him and me ever being together. But her interest in the matter is fixed solely on my reply to Mr. Baldcott.

I wave a hand in the air. “What do you imagine I said? I told him no, of course."

"You did what?"

"I said it nicely. I minded my manners."

Gripping the armrests of the wheelchair, she struggles to rise. Reaching a slim white arm out, she slaps me hard across the face.

My cheek pains. I’m too shocked to speak or move. She slumps back in her chair, spent.

"You... could have a decent life with Mr. Baldcott,” she accuses. “You could ensure the future of the circus. I could only dream of being fortunate enough to be proposed to by a man such as that. If the circus folds, if the old man abandons it, where will we all go?"

Blood charges to my head before I can stop it. "Perhaps you could go find yourself one of those men you’re always entertaining.”

Anger stitches itself into the planes of her face. I know if she could stand and knock me to the ground right now, she would.

I sprint into the night. I don’t know which way to go. I have barely left the circus grounds since we arrived here. The low roar of the ocean echoes the turmoil in my head, and I’m drawn to it.

Lights shine on the wet surfaces of the docks. Shipments of fruit sit unloaded in the ships—the heaviness of over-ripe oranges and bananas sickening the air until I can scarcely breathe. Creole women walk with white men, their arms interlinked, laughing in high, tinkling tones.

My chest feels like it will explode.

Two men approach me from a ship. “Want to come spend some time with us, maybe?” one of them says.

I run along the docks. The ocean pushes relentlessly against the hulls of the ship. I cannot swim but want to jump into its waters.

Hands come down on my shoulders.

I turn sharply. Madame Celia stands behind me, darkness pooling in the crevices of her face. "Where are you off to, child?"

The men stop, placing their hands up as though to guard themselves from Madame Celia. They retreat to the ship.

“You’ve been following me,” I tell her. “I see you in the circus and around the grounds.”

“I wanted a chance to speak with you again.”

"Stay away from me. Grandfather says you're a witch. He says some people are so jealous of other's good fortunes that they make up the most outrageous lies about them.”

Her eyes grow sad. "I only speak of what I see."

“Well, what you see isn’t true. Those stupid cards are just cards. Pictures and nothing more.”

“It is little to do with the cards. It is me. Since I was small, I have seen things. I saw the horrors that were coming. I just didn’t know when or who would bring them. Now I know. I see a tree, and the tree is spreading its roots all over our world, strangling it.”

I shake my head wordlessly, my throat caught up and dry.

“I see it in your eyes, Cherie. You speak of lies, but you have witnessed a small part of what I am telling you. I know that you know something. And perhaps you are the only one in this world who can stop your grandfather. You are the only one close enough to him. You must not allow him to collect the item he seeks. If you cannot stop him, then you must destroy this thing. Wipe it clean from the earth!”

I tear away from her, the heels of my new shoes echoing in hollow staccato on the pavement.

13. OF PARADISE

The train rattles through the green plantations of Louisiana. The circus trailers are loaded into the back cars of the train and the animals secured in their cages. I hear the baying of the elephants. I sense the restlessness of the lions and tigers. The train rides are hard on the animals.

I lean my head back and watch gray clouds swarm and roll across the sky. A deep rumble sounds. A thunderstorm is coming. Beyond everything, I can hear the last notes of a piano recital, like the last stop in a funeral march.

I detest the long stretches between destinations. They are like death, snatching away parcels of your life. My fifteenth birthday is mere months away. The train takes me further towards adulthood, racing towards that bitter day. Grandfather barely speaks to me these days—and refuses to speak more of that conversation in his tent.

The memory of a morning at Orlando five years ago slips into my mind. The sky is the color of my dress—a powdery blue. I am ten. Heat rises from the pavement—making transparent wavering lines in the air. We are not here to work. The Ringling Brothers circus is in town and the Fiveash circus cannot compete with them. No, it is one of the rare times we are simply visitors. An ice cream is put in one of my hands and my father holds my other hand. I think I cannot get any happier. Then grandfather says he has a surprise for the family. He takes us to see the foundations of an enormous house not far from Orlando. We drive across a bridge to an island. The island is mostly just dirt and coconut plantations. A few houses have been built, but not many. Grandfather pulls up the car beside the sprawling foundations of a new house.

“This will be our home,” he says proudly. “When we are not travelling with the circus, this is where we’ll live.”

Mother, daddy and I step from the car in wonder. Miss Kitty follows, clucking in astonishment. I dash forward and almost fall into a deep, long hole.

“Hold on there, it’s not ready for a swim yet,” grandfather chuckles.

I turn back to grandfather with my mouth hanging open. The hole runs half the length of the house—it seems far too big to be a private swimming pool. My gaze travels to the shining lake beyond the pool.

“It doesn’t look like much now,” says grandfather. “But when everything is finished and the lawns and gardens are in, it will look a treat.”

Grandfather is wrong. It already looks like paradise to me. Daddy picks mother up and spins her around.

“And a special garden for you,” he says to me, pointing towards the garden beds surrounding an ornate gazebo. “And together we’ll plant all your grandmother’s favorite flowers.”

Grandfather is the happiest I’ve seen him since before grandma died. I can hardly believe we are going to have a house—a real house.

My parents excitedly pore over the house plans with grandfather, making changes here and there, which grandfather doesn’t mind. They speak of adding a nursery to the left wing of the house. Father pokes me in the ribs and asks what I would think of having a sibling or two. The idea is surprising at first, but then I nod. I could instruct and teach a baby. Daddy says he wants to leave the circus and become a gardener. My mother crosses her arms and says she’s not ready to throw in her act as Lady Lark. She doesn’t want babies or for daddy to be a gardener. Miss Kitty purses her mouth and says she’s being ridiculous—that mother has to give up the thrill of highwire act. Miss Kitty doesn’t approve of the circus. It’s always difficult to believe that she and mother are family.

The wide marble tiles inside the house are cool under my bare feet. Workmen install cupboards in the kitchen and plumbing in the powder room. I wander through into a great hall—glossy black and white checked tiles underfoot. I dance one of the waltzes Miss Kitty taught me, twirling and curtseying.

Exhausted, I throw myself down and stretch out on the floor. I imagine a baby crawling across the floor towards me and daddy tending the garden just outside the glass doors.

The dream stays with me all the way to our next circus show at St. Louis. All the way until Mister Magnifico threw his knife at the Wheel of Death. The day daddy died. The day everything turned black.

The house on the island seems not so much a memory but a scene from another life. A life that was not mine. I don’t know what happened to the house. Grandfather never spoke of it again.

14. COPPER CANYON

We make no stopovers on the way to Mexico—the only stops we make are to change trains. We sleep and eat on the train. The train now thunders into the state of Chihuahua. It’s my first time here—the landscape looks foreign, barren. Massive red mountain ranges rise around us everywhere. Rays of burnt orange sunlight spark off the tunnel ahead. The sight of the land disappearing beneath us as the train passes over a long bridge is dizzying.

Brown-skinned people clothed in traditional dress stand at the station staring openly at the carriages, pointing at the carriages that hold the animals. I wonder if any circus trains have ever been here before or if the people have even seen an elephant or a lion. The lettering on the station’s sign says Creel.

The train seems to stall here. Grandfather strides from the train and along the platform.I ache to run out there to him but he has requested to be alone on this trip. Then I notice men here and there barely concealing guns as they watch grandfather. I want to warn him, but he nods at one of the men as though he knows they are there. Grandfather has a conversation with someone and quickly takes an object from them and hides it under his jacket. I realize that the men with guns are guarding grandfather as he steps back onto the train.

The train rumbles off again as I walk the narrow corridor past Henry and Audette’s compartment. Henry wears no shirt, just trousers and suspenders and his black magician’s cape. He chews a pencil, then makes marks on some kind of map. Audette stands behind him with her hands underneath his suspenders. She makes a long lick along his neck up to his ear. I shudder.

Henry sees me and smiles with all his teeth. Audette sees me too, but she doesn’t stop licking Henry. She sticks her tongue inside Henry’s ear. He moves a newspaper across his map, concealing it from my view “What’s up, cousin?”

“Nothing. Just stretching my legs.”

“Go stretch them someplace else.” Audette speaks with her mouth against Henry’s temple.

Henry sticks his head out of his compartment. “Get back to your seat and stay there. The old man gave instructions that he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I know that,” I say indignantly.

I pretend to retrace my steps, but instead wait until they are so engrossed in each other that they don’t notice me steal my way back past them. I creep past sleeping clowns—lazy clowns who didn’t bother to remove their makeup before boarding the train. A blast of hot air hits my face as I open the door. I don’t want to step out there into the open, especially not with the train rushing along a bridge so high it feels as though we’re travelling through the sky itself. With my heart banging, I balance along the join between the carriages and grip the handle of the next carriage—and wench it open. Grandfather is sleeping in his compartment, but his sleep is restless. Sitting beside him, I curl my legs up on the seat and rest my head on his shoulder.

The train chugs on relentlessly. The sight of the vast open spaces below the tracks makes my stomach churn like butter.

A ricocheting sound explodes in my ears.

Grandfather yells as he wakes. He stares into my eyes and grasps my arms.

Screeching—metal torn, ripped apart.

The train tips, hurtles downwards, into nothingness.

Grandfather shouts my name over and over and over. We’re tossed in the air like rag dolls. Flung from roof to floor. Desperately clutching onto whatever we can. Until we’re torn away.

Until blackness consumes me.

CASSIE

Present Day

15. CRIMSON RIBBONS

Mom drew the curtains in the hospital room. I should have been jubilant I was out of the darkness of the underground, back into a place I never thought I'd see again. But my mind was brittle and dry, like bones. Clawing things swept around me—memories and nightmares. Monsters.

I had no fight left in me. I had nothing.

I woke more than I slept.

First thing in the morning, doctors came and carried out all kind of tests. One of the tests involved examining every square inch of my body and taking photographs, especially of the cuts and bruises. Another test involved examining my private areas. Mom held my hand while I waited for them to finish, whispering to me repeatedly that it’s okay.

I gazed directly at her, pretending strangers weren’t photographing my naked body. “Mom, I want to go home.”

“You will, soon. I’m so sorry, baby. They need to do their checks to make sure you’re all right.”

“Where are the others?”

She smiled tightly. “I’m not sure, Cassie. I haven’t heard anything.”

I fell in and out of sleep all day. Without the tea, I found it impossible to sleep for long stretches. Mom asked if the TV might help me into sleep and I nodded. I tried watching a movie—but the happy world it portrayed was just so remote I couldn’t bear it. Every line spoken was a lie, every smiling face was just a mask, and around every corner was some horrific vortex waiting to drag the actors inside. I began shaking, wanting to scream at the screen. Mom switched it off, brushing back the hair on my damp forehead.

A nurse came and gave me tablets.

“It’s a heavy dose,” she told mom. “But her body needs rest.”

I didn’t care that the nurse spoke to mom and not me as though I was a child. I gratefully swallowed the tablets. I wanted escape. I could no longer endure the thoughts crowding my head.

In the bleakness of the morning, I struggled awake. My head was a fog. Mom slept in a cot beside me. At least we had a private room where there was room for her to have a bed and not have to sleep in a chair.

At the back of my mind, the cruel silver eye bored through the haze, bored deep into me—knowing my past, knowing my future. My stomach knotted. I felt a sudden need to run and reassure myself that the world I used to know still stood beyond these four walls. With stiff steps, I walked to the window. I recoiled as my face triggered a furor of photo snapping from a ring of photographers in the street below.

Gathering my hospital gown around me, I made my way out to the corridor. It was empty of patients, the faint smell of bleach rising from the floor. Most of the doors were closed. Inside the few that were open, patients slept—hooked up to monitors and drips.

Was Aisha here somewhere? Sophronia? Frances? The doctors said they weren’t authorized to give that information. Desperately, I wanted to know where they all were. I’d been told they were all safe and recovering, but that was all.

A discarded newspaper sat in a trash basket, underneath a bundle of disposable gloves and gowns. A close-up of Ethan’s face was plain to see on the fold of the front cover. With trembling fingers I moved the plastics aside and picked up the paper. The photo of Ethan was the same as the one from school. Even in grainy newspaper print his eyes still held that same expression—a look that tore into your soul.

My gaze fell to the headline, Dollhouse shock find—Ribbons under floorboard. I told myself not to read on. But I did. Line after line of words laced my body with invisible cuts….

In a shocking twist to the Dollhouse case, hair ribbons matching the ribbons of the dollhouse abductees were found under a loose floorboard in the home that Seth McAllister and his grandson Ethan shared in the Barrington Tops region.

Ethan McAllister was age nine when the first of the five girls, thirteen-year-old runaway Molly Parkes, was taken from the Barrington Tops forests and kept in the underground tunnels beneath the Fiveash house. Seth McAllister claims his grandson had no knowledge of either the Fiveash house or the horrors that lay beneath it.

Ethan was found with part of an unknown Fiveash inheritance of gold and diamonds on his person when rescued from the tunnels. The inheritance was buried beneath the landslide that occurred on the Fiveash property immediately after the abductees rescue. Also buried in the landslide were the underground tunnels and the Fiveash house itself.

There is speculation that the body of an unidentified sixth girl lies within the tunnels. Due to the instability of the earth, no recovery operation can be carried out.

The owner of the Fiveash house, Mr. Henry Fiveash, fled from the property some time before the date of the rescue.

Detectives on the Dollhouse case are working to piece together the macabre puzzle.

A court date has yet to be confirmed.

The paper fell from between my fingers, fluttering to the floor.

16. THE DETECTIVES

Detective Kalassi came with a team. They were organized, their expressions intent—focused on ferreting out the truths behind the dollhouse. But there were no truths to find—at least, none that I knew. The dollhouse didn’t come with explanations or reasons.

One of my doctors—Dr. Pearson—insisted upon staying for the duration of the interview. I was his patient, he told the detectives, and he didn’t want me over-stressed.

Detective Kalassi sat heavily on my right. “Cassie,” he sighed, “there you are.”

The others smiled at the warmth in his voice.

“Maybe,” I told him. “I still don’t feel all here.”

“No,” he sympathized. “You’ve been through most ever will. But I have to tell you how good it is to see you. I can’t tell you what it did to me when I found out we’d lost more kids in that forest. We followed every lead, but nothing. And then you just… appear. It’s a good day when a missing kid is returned. A very good day.”

A few of the detectives murmured assent. I stared beyond the detectives, to the patch of muted blue sky through the window. “What about Sophronia, Aisha, Frances? Where are they? Are they okay?”

Detective Kalassi placed a hand on my arm, giving it a light squeeze. “Yeah, they’re all okay. Recovering well. All in different hospitals.”

“Have you spoken to them?”

He scratched his head. “Aisha and little Frances, yes. Sophronia won’t speak to us.”

My forehead drew in tight. “What did they tell you?”

“It’s best that I don’t go into that right now. I hope you’ll understand. And Frances is understandably experiencing nightmares at the moment—we couldn’t stay and talk with her for more than a minute.”

“She was brave in the underground—Frances.” It physically hurt me to think of her trying to process everything that had happened to her. She was just a little kid. It hurt me also that Molly didn’t live to see Frances escape from the underground. Molly would have given anything to see that day. I drew a long breath. “When will… when will Molly’s funeral be? I want to go.”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. That’s not going to be possible. There’s a private family matter that I can’t explain at this time.

Tears misted my eyes. “I didn’t get a proper chance to say… goodbye.”

“I know.” He raised his eyes to me. “I know.”

He leant his tall frame back in the chair. “Now, we have a few questions for you, but we’ll try not to overstay our welcome.”

“I’ll make sure of that,” said mom, casting her stern look around at the detectives.

The men and women were introduced, but their names flew past me. I was still drowsy from the sleeping tablets, still reeling from the newspaper article about Ethan and his grandfather. The only name I caught was Sarah Bryant—the detective who had been at the site of the rescue that night with Detective Kalassi.

A dark-eyed man with thin, pinched cheeks breathed outwards loudly. “Okay, so we know the basics, as awful as they are. I’d like to focus for a moment on the makeup you all had to wear—a rather special makeup. Can you tell us more about that?”

I steeled myself. Just answer the questions. Don’t think. “We had to wear makeup every day. Makeup that made us look like dolls.”

“Can you say why you had to wear this?”

I went to answer Jessamine, but stopped myself. “I don’t know.”

“Who required that you wear it? Henry Fiveash?”

“I guess. All the girls knew they had to wear it.”

“What happened if you didn’t?”

“If we disobeyed any orders, we were starved of food.”

The detectives busily wrote in their notebooks.

“So you were rationed?” said the thin-cheeked man. “How were the rations supervised? What would happen if you’d taken more than your allowed ration?”

I closed my eyes. “We were forced into a secret cave, to spend time in complete darkness.”

My mother gasped, placing her hand over her mouth.

“You were put in isolation?” he said.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes.

I had to wear Audette’s black dress that swarmed over me like insects and then other people’s dreams ran through my head and I found myself in endless black tunnels and I didn’t know how I’d got there and I sensed the shadow coming for me….

“Cassie, are you okay?” asked Detective Kalassi. I opened my eyes into the detective’s concerned face.

“I’m okay,” I breathed.

The thin-cheeked detective steepled his fingers. “I want to ask about Ethan McAllister. I understand he was put in a cell within the underground—for almost the entire duration that you were there.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

Because he took a knife to Jessamine. To a ghost. “Because he was violent.”

“Violent to whom?”

“He was just… very angry. Angry at those who were keeping us in the underground. He threatened to kill our captors.”

The detectives scribbled in their notebooks again.

Detective Bryant gave me a sympathetic smile. She had pale eyes that drooped at the corners and messy auburn hair. “I’d like to ask about Lacey Dougherty now. I hope that’s all right.”

I nodded, taking a breath.

She drew her lips in, appearing to think carefully about how to phrase her words. “Lacey… she came into the underground with you, didn’t she?”

“Yes. She did.”

“But she disappeared soon afterwards?”

“Yes.” I gazed directly at her. “Where is Lacey now?”

“She’s been put in special care,” she told me.

“You mean she wasn’t arrested?” I stared around at the detectives.

“There were no grounds for arrest,” said the thin-cheeked man.

Inwardly, I burned and seethed. “She brought all the girls to Henry. She admitted it to us on the night of the rescue.”

“We’ve heard… lots of things from Lacey,” said Detective Byrant. “It’s all quite… fantastical. She’s admitting all kinds of things. Even things involving ghosts and demonic creatures I’m afraid. She’s experiencing acute guilt that she escaped becoming an abductee herself. She’s in psychosis and may not be well for quite some time to come.”

“You think she’s admitting to things that aren’t true?” Anger seeped through my voice. “She knew exactly where all of us were all that time.”

Of course they believe what Lacey’s saying isn’t true. Ghosts and serpents are insane. Don’t give yourself away, or they’ll lock you away too. Don’t give yourself away. You can’t tell any of them what really happened.

“We understand you being angry at Lacey for not ending up in the same situation as the rest of you,” said the thin-cheeked man. “There’s no telling why she was allowed to go free. Often we never come to an understanding of how the minds of abductors work. But we can’t discuss this further I’m afraid. Lacey is not a suspect. That’s all we can tell you.”

“Well, is there something you can tell me?” My tone was harsher than I’d meant it to be. “I know that the police can’t look for Prudence’s body. But it’s down there. Please, I want to know who she is… who she was. Have you checked your missing person’s lists?”

A tear ran down mom’s face. She stepped away, gazing out the window. I guessed what she was thinking. Prudence could have been me.

Martin Kalassi sighed, shaking his large head. “I’ve checked the lists ‘till my head's spun. Right around Australia. Now, we know her name is unlikely to be Prudence, but there’s just no missing girl matching the description, age and dates. I remember the night of the rescue you telling me you hadn’t seen her in person, is that right?”

I saw her as a ghost. “Molly was the only one of us to see her in person. And… Lacey.”

“Lacey has spoken of a Prudence,” said the thin-cheeked detective. “But then, you and Aisha Dumaj did hold quite a lengthy and heated conversation with Lacey that night, and she is most likely just repeating things you told her. And if Molly Parkes was the only one, in essence, to actually see Prudence, then all we’re gaining is a second-hand description.” He gave an off-hand shrug. “In any case, being the first one in the underground, there’s a possibility Parkes invented an imaginary friend.”

Lacey was ‘The First One’. Not Molly. “Please don’t refer to Molly as Parkes. Please don’t.”

“Agreed,” said Detective Kalassi. “Molly deserves her first name.” He paused for a moment. “I think we’ll head onto the next subject now. The sleeping drugs—the stuff we found in the blood of all you kids that were kept underground—who gave that to you and why?”

“They called it tea.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Tea?”

“We drank it in cups, just like tea. Did you find out what was in it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A highly potent mix of chemicals designed to put a person into deep sleep. Same as sleeping tablets.”

A blonde woman in a smart city jacket pursed her lips. “Am I correct in saying that you were all given this substance on a regular basis?”

“Yes, every night. Or whatever passed for night down there.”

“So you were essentially drugged each night?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“For what purpose?” she said.

I shrugged. “To subdue us I guess. So we weren’t wandering around while we were meant to be sleeping.”

I understand that you were made to sleep in a certain way each night. As in, a certain position. Could you show us?”

Nodding, I leaned back in the bed and crossed my arms across my chest.

“And you woke in this manner?”

“Almost always, yes. We slept so heavily that we didn’t move.”

The blonde woman frowned at the thin-cheeked man. “Almost as though they were being presented,” she said in a low voice.

Jessamine made us sleep that way because we were her dolls—to do with what she pleased. But I can’t explain that. Because then I’d have to explain Jessamine….

“Cassie,” she said. “Did you ever wake to find… other people around?”

“No.”

“Never? Did any others ever come to the underground—apart from Henry?”

“Once while I was there—a large group of people came.”

The detectives murmured amongst themselves.

“Can you describe these people?” asked the blonde woman.

“They were dressed for a party, for a ball. It’s the one time we were given enough to eat. More than enough. Food of every kind.”

“These people, what did they do?” she asked.

“We danced. Then we played a game of hide and seek. And then they left.”

“Are you certain they left?” She crossed her skinny arms. “Could these people have stayed while you girls slept? Could they have in fact come to the underground every night, and touched you all while you were sleeping?” She looked over at Doctor Pearson. “Are there signs of sexual activity?

The doctor looked uncomfortable. “No signs of any interference. My understanding is that there was no sign of interference with any of the abductees.”

My mother returned to my bedside. “I think that’s enough. Quite enough. You know you could have left your speculations until you left here. My daughter didn’t need to hear that.”

“My apologies,” said the woman. “We’re just trying to get to the motivation behind the abducting of teenage girls and keeping them for years. There’s a matter of the most likely scenario, the driving reason behind all this. And the reason for keeping girls like that is almost always—“

Detective Kalassi put his hand up. “We’ll leave it there. Cassie, thank you for your time. You rest up now and look after yourself, okay kid?”

I nodded rigidly, unable to speak.

The detectives were looking for answers in the human world. They would not find their answers here. Somewhere out there, the shadow roamed. I need to tell someone—but there’s no one, no one who would believe it. The knowledge of the serpent was bending my mind, the horror packed down tight—horror that might soon explode into a million jagged pieces. And then I might remain crazy forever.

“They questioned me, too….” Aisha’s voice was a whisper coming down the phone line.

I sat cross-legged on the beanbag in my bedroom, hugging a cushion to my chest. After six days, finally the hospital had decided I could go home. Aisha would still be in the hospital for a few more days.

“What did you tell them?”

She hesitated. “Nothing. What could I tell them? After I heard where they put Lacey, I got scared. I can’t let myself be locked away again.”

“That scared me too.”

“Never tell,” said Aisha. ‘We have to promise each other.”

“I promise.”

“Cassie….”

“Yeah?”

“I heard about what Ethan did… and what he knew. One of the detectives said to me that maybe Ethan had been double-crossed—that maybe he knew too much and Henry decided to keep him locked away too.”

“They’ve got all kinds of theories. It’s like… it’s like they’re trying to lock the whole thing down into a neat little box. I don’t know what to think….” The image in my mind of Ethan kept swapping from the Ethan with the diamonds in his eyes to the Ethan with a snowflake on his eyelashes, the snowflake I’d brushed away.

“I do. I hate him.” Vehemence crept into her voice. "Who would bother pocketing gold and diamonds when we were all about to die? I spoke to him... a few days after the rescue. He barely had anything to say. Refused to explain anything. It's over between us."

"I'm sorry."

“I’m sorry too. Hey I better go. Mum doesn’t like me talking about this stuff—she says it upsets dad too much. He might get tempted to go deal out some justice to Ethan, and he’s in a delicate state after his stroke.”

I said goodbye and set the phone back on the receiver.

Mom tapped on the door. “Cassie, there’s someone here to see you.”

The door was already open and the tall, lanky figure of my father stepped into my room. I stood and he made an awkward attempt to hug me. He didn’t want to see me when I was in the hospital, he said, because he couldn’t bear hospitals. He didn’t have much to say, and in the end, the visit was as hollow as any other visit had been over the years. The fact that I’d been missing for months and almost died had not changed anything. He was nothing like Aisha’s father—who had hugged me and cried over me like I was his own daughter. Andy made me promise to call him if I needed him for anything—but it was an empty offer. There was nothing I could ever need him for and there was nothing he could ever do for me.

Over the next week a procession of people came to see me, including a psychiatrist that mom knew.

The media camped outside our house, until they were forced by police to move away. But they didn’t move far.

Lacey’s parents were the first visitors after my father. Mr. Dougherty didn’t wear his police uniform—maybe to ensure it didn’t look like an official police visit. Mrs. Dougherty held my hand and cried. She mostly talked about Lacey and how sick Lacey had been these past two months. I didn’t know if she knew what I’d accused Lacey of but she would have to know the things Lacey had been saying. She had always been uptight and anxious the times I’d seen her and today she was even more so.

The twins, Brianna and Caitlin, rode over on their bikes. For once, they were subdued and at a loss for words. I felt like a freak, like someone who’d come back from the dead.

Even being around mom was hard. Under the surface I could see the fear and anguish, and she treated me like I was made of glass, like I might shatter at any moment.

Everything seemed surreal, ugly. I was in limbo—floating in space and not knowing where I belonged anymore.

The only person I felt at all comfortable speaking to was the person I hadn’t known before the underground—the psychiatrist, Dr. Alexia. She sat across from me on the sofa, her hands on her pregnant belly, just listening. Maybe the reason I felt calmer around her was something to do with the baby inside her—sending me a message that life would go on. Maybe I needed to know that more than anything. I could tell she knew I had secrets, but she didn’t try to pull them from me. She’d give me a small smile, rub her belly and tell me that it was the little things that often mattered most and were the things that got us through.

17. DR. VERENA SYMES

Psychiatrists’ waiting rooms have the same atmosphere as doctors’ waiting rooms. The smell is different—not as chemical—but the faces of the people have that same expression. People waiting for answers.

But I'm never going to be able to find answers.

Mom held my hand as we stepped down the corridor towards Dr. Alexia’s office. I’d been coming to see her at her office for the past two weeks—the only times I left the house. I fought back a wave of anxiety. Even though the sessions helped me, it was still difficult each time to begin the process of unpacking my mind.

A smallish woman with straight dark hair and glasses sat at Dr. Alexia’s desk, her hands clasped.

“Hello, we were expecting Dr. Alexia?” said mom.

The woman adjusted her glasses, drawing her lips in tightly. "She had an unfortunate pregnancy complication."

Mom's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no. I hope she and the baby are alright?"

“She’s resting in the hospital presently,” she told mom. “They’ll be conducting further tests to discover the cause of the bleeding. I am Dr. Verena Symes—I’ll be taking on Dr. Alexia’s clients for the time being.” She moved from behind the desk to shake mom’s hand and then mine. “Please, take a seat.”

Mom eyed me with hesitation. I nodded slightly to let her know it was okay. But it wasn’t okay. I’d let Dr. Alexia into my private thoughts but didn’t know if I was ready to allow anyone else in.

Mom’s phone buzzed and she glanced down at the text message. “I’m sorry—it seems I have a rather urgent dilemma with a client. Cassie, I’ll just be outside the waiting room while I try to sort this out.”

“Understandable.” Dr. Verena stepped behind mom, closing the door.

Mom held out a hand on the door. "Cassie prefers the door stay open."

It was true. I could no longer bear to be within a room with a closed door.

"Of course,” she said.

I sat myself in the chair opposite Dr. Verena.

“Cassie, so nice to meet you. I hope that you and I can become friends.”

“Dr. Alexia will be back soon, won’t she?” I couldn’t help myself, even though I felt a little rude.

“Oh I’m sure she will. I understand that it’s difficult for a client to adjust to a new psychiatrist. And you have been through some extremely difficult events. If you prefer you can wait until Dr Alexia is fully recovered, but it could set your progress back.”

“No, I want to continue.”

“Good.” She smiled.

I relaxed a little and returned her smile.

“Well, let’s start then shall we? Now, I have a slightly different style to Dr. Alexia. I like to get to the heart of things quickly—I consider that we can get the best results that way. How do you feel about that?"

“Yeah, I want that. I want to feel… normal.”

She held her fists together under her chin, as though either thinking or giving me pause. Finally she gave me a brief smile. “Cassie, we’ll try a relaxation technique and then try to look at things on a deeper level. How does that sound?”

“Okay.”

Dr. Verena led me through a series of exercises. I felt my mind growing sluggish, slow. I drifted… floated.

“Cassie, you are entering the dream zone, a place where it is easier to reach the deepest corners of your mind. To make things easier next time, to get yourself into this frame of mind, whenever you see this signal, you will enter the dream zone. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

She put her hands flat together and made a motion that looked like a fluttering butterfly.

My head dazed.

“Horror unique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. You are now in the place you need to be. We’ll start with dreams you may have had whilst in the dollhouse. Do you remember any dreams from that time?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"See your dreams as though they are films. Watch them. Let them unfold. Hold nothing back. Can you do that?”

"Yes."

"Did any dreams seem… more real than others?"

“Yes.”

"Those are the dreams we need to focus on. Which dreams were the most intense?”

“I dreamed… about the tunnels… about shadows… about Prudence… about my father… about a train… about people with hungry eyes…"

She leaned forward. “Tell me more about the train?”

“The train is hot and airless inside… it’s heading over steep mountains….”

"Good. Go on…."

"I know the mountains. The Copper Canyon mountains. I've been there with mom."

“Describe what you see.”

"I see a man…."

"Who is he?"

"Henry Fiveash."

The dream-memory in my mind switched places with the psychiatrist's office. My heart clenched. I was back there. Really back there.

I was looking over his shoulder. I could see everything Henry had drawn—bridges and tunnels of the train tracks. And he traced over an X on a spot along the railway line in heavy pencil.

Henry turned, startled at first, and then a smile knocked itself into place on his face. He grabbed my wrist before I had a chance to leave. A suffocating wave passed over me. He pulled me towards the door of the carriage and opened it. He kissed my temple and whispered in my ear. "Go….”

I wanted to get away from Henry and I gladly hastened away.

Circus clowns with worn makeup slept in the next compartment. I crept past. Wind blasted in my eyes and mouth as I opened the door of the carriage. Nothing but the wide sky spread out all around. Below, red mountain sides cut away into impossibly deep valleys. I steeled myself to jump across to the next carriage.

I took a leap and landed with my hand on the door’s handle. The handle seemed stuck and I desperately shook it to make it turn.

A girl and an old man sat inside the compartment, sleeping. I slammed the door shut but they didn’t wake. I crept closer. The girl—she was Jessamine. Not a ghost, not a spirit. The real, live Jessamine. And the man, he was her grandfather. I recognized him from the photograph inside the locket. Jessamine sighed in her sleep—her arm tucked around her grandfather’s. She looked so young and fragile—nothing like the girl who had terrorized us all in the underground.

An explosion lit up the carriage. Jessamine woke screaming, her face white and terrified. Tobias shouted her name. A series of smaller explosions followed. The train rocked and a tremendous tearing of metal filled my ears. The carriage pulled off the rail with a tremendous screech, falling through air.

I heard rapid breathing, tortured cries.

Dr. Verena’s voice cut through the scene. "What are you seeing now?"

I knew then that the cries and the breathing were mine. I knew I was in Dr. Verena’s office. I opened my eyes, staring wildly in her face.

She held her notepad and pen up, ready to write. “Cassie, tell me what’s happening?”

I knocked her hand away. I didn't want to tell any more. Her notepad slid across the floor. There were no notes on the open page—just a drawing—a drawing of a bare tree with roots growing everywhere. She snatched up the notepad and slipped it inside her jacket pocket.

Mom rushed into the office, her eyes huge. “Honey, are you okay?” She grabbed me, held me tightly. She gazed at Dr. Verena. "What happened? I was finishing my call when I heard Cassie crying out."

Dr. Verena placed her hands on her head. "I'm so sorry. Something triggered a memory."

“I’ll take her home now.” Mom helped me up from the chair.

“Yes I think that’s best,” said Dr. Verena. “These things are going to happen sometimes when there have been traumatic experiences—but I know it is very frightening to have these flashbacks that come out of nowhere. Do go home and relax and recover. We’ll try to steer clear of any triggers next time, okay?”

Mom nodded briskly and walked me from the office.

We drove in silence through the mid-afternoon traffic. Gray rain pelted down, making people scurry and seek shelter.

I wanted to tell mom about Dr. Verena’s notepad, but mom’s knuckles were already white on the wheel and her face a tight mask. I even doubted myself whether I’d really seen the drawing or not. I remembered then I'd seen a sketch like that before. Ethan's exercise book. It had to be my mind projecting that memory onto Dr. Verena's notepad. My mind hazed over—it was hard to even remember the session now.

Mom took a noisy, deep breath and pulled off the road without warning. Several cars behind us beeped their horns in anger as they passed.

She sat with tears rolling down her face, her body trembling. “I should have taken us back to Miami when I had the chance. I can’t stand watching you go through all this.”

She had stayed strong these past weeks—holding back and remaining calm. I’d caught the turmoil in her eyes sometimes when she was unguarded, but I was still shocked to see her like this. My mom never broke down, never showed her deepest feelings—except for that time when I was eight just after my father left us.

I touched her arm. ‘Mom, I’m okay. Really….”

“No you’re not. You’re not okay. You were right. I brought you out to this country for my own selfish reasons. And everything went wrong.”

“That’s no one’s fault. Remember on our street back in Miami a girl’s ex-boyfriend shot her date dead, and around the corner from us a thirteen-year-old kid died of a heroin overdose, and probably lots more stuff happened I don’t remember. Stuff happens everywhere.”

“I’m the adult. You’re my responsibility. I let you go on that trip with Lacey. I should have guessed. I should have known what you were really planning to do. I’m always just so wrapped up in my job and clients that I didn’t notice what my own daughter was doing.”

I gazed out into the rain. I’d been so stupid. I’d been there in Lacey’s bedroom planning to search for Aisha with the person who’d known where Aisha was all along.

“I’m fifteen. You’re not responsible for everything I do.” I wanted desperately to change the subject. “Anyway, so who was on the phone back at the psych’s?”

She drew her eyebrows in. “Someone else’s fifteen-year-old daughter. She’s been on the edge for a long time. I had a tipoff from a concerned uncle that she was close to committing suicide.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah. It is. It’s not the first time she’s been in that dark place, and the thing is, I can’t stop her if she’s really determined.” She rubbed her forehead with the heels of her palms, then turned to look at me intently. “Cassie, we’re going back.”

“We’re doing what?”

“Back to Miami. That man that kept you in that place is still out there. You’re all going to go to court to testify soon. Against him. The court date has been set for January. I don’t want you here any longer.”

“Are you saying you think he might try to… stop any of us from testifying?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I just want you out of danger. If that means heading back to Miami, so be it.”

We lapsed into silence as sheets of rain blanketed the car. I drummed my fingers against the window. I remembered something Dr. Alexia had suggested to me last week. If you’re feeling strong enough, why not take a short getaway? It might help put some distance between you and everything that’s happened.

At the time, going away anywhere had seemed too big a step. But now, maybe it was something both mom and I needed more than anything.

18. DAYDREAM

My hair drifted in the warm water. The broad ocean lapped at the edges of the pool. Every now and again I heard snatches of voices in the air, children singing old nursery rhymes. The songs brought me an image of Prudence—of her soulful, dark eyes when she’d stood in the cave and showed me the way out.

The moment I’d mentioned a vacation to Aisha, she’d made me promise to get my mom to convince her parents to come with us. We’d poured over a map of Australia, ending up deciding on the Whitsunday Islands—up off the far East coast of Australia. At first I'd wanted to go somewhere far away from anyone, where neither the media nor anyone else could bother us. But then panic had set in at the thought of being somewhere isolated, being somewhere where I could just disappear. Aisha and I had found a tiny island named Daydream. At less than a mile in length and less than half that across, it seemed there could be nowhere here anyone could disappear. It was a family resort—mainly Australian families, with a smattering of overseas families and singles who'd come to view the Great Barrier Reef.

Aisha laid herself on the pool's edge, letting her arm sweep through the water. A long pink scar ran along her slim thigh—the only sign of injury from her time in the underground. My bruises had faded to the point you could barely see them and the cuts had healed.

The worst scars we had were inside us.

It helped to see Aisha here. Because if she was here—solid and real—it meant that I was solid and real too. It meant that she and I really did escape the Dollhouse, and that this wasn’t all just some cruel dream. I was not a ghost deluding myself I was really alive.

Mom and Aisha's parents read books on their pool lounges. Aisha's dad was still recovering from his stroke—finding it difficult to talk and form his thoughts into words. Raif was off chatting up every girl in a one-mile radius of the pool, which basically meant every teenage girl on the island—there were scant pickings amongst the mainly family groups with small children.

Aisha pulled herself to her feet. "C'mon, let's take a walk. I'm starting to fry here in the sun."

"Yeah, too much of a good thing," I agreed. "Mom, we're heading for a walk along the boardwalk,” I called to her.

Aisha and I tied our sarongs on.

Mom tipped her sunhat upwards, and turned her head to Aisha's parents. All three nodded and smiled at us, but you could see the reservations on their faces. It was going to be hard for them to give us the usual freedoms you'd give to fifteen-year-olds.

"Be back by lunch girls,” said Mrs. Dumaj firmly.

Sun bounced from the tropical waters. The air, the rainforest, the ocean—everything—seemed saturated with the deep yellowness of the sun. Aisha wound her long hair into a loose knot.

We pulled our sunhats low over our foreheads. A family of holidaymakers passed us, far more interested in chasing their exuberant toddlers than peering at us. We hadn’t once had anyone come close to recognizing us. Anyway, with our filled-out cheeks and newly-acquired golden tans, we hardly resembled the frail creatures who'd emerged from the dollhouse weeks ago.

Raif was on the beach with a slew of cameras around his neck. He snapped one photo after the other of a group of bikini-clad women as they posed in front of the mermaid statues that sat offshore. We walked in the opposite direction—along the boardwalk. The boardwalk stretched through a tiny tropical forest to the other end of the resort. We followed it for a while, then stepped off down to the small marina. Yachts bobbed in neat lines on either side of the L-shaped jetty.

Shouts from the water captured our attention. A couple of teen boys guided a dinghy into the dock. A small, furry bundle shot from the small boat's deck onto the dock and tore away.

"Lucy!" called one of the boys. His voice had that masculine-but-not-quite-deep quality that lots of teenage boys had. He wore a loose white tee short and frayed denim shorts.

The white-and-tan Pomeranian barreled into my legs. I bent to scoop it up just as it was about to tear away again. The dog excitedly licked my arm and then tried to wriggle away.

The boys moored their yacht and jumped hurriedly onto the dock, laughing as the dog gave up on freeing herself and began to lick my chin instead.

"Sorry. Lucy has a thing for pretty girls—finding them for us that is." The boy in the denim shorts stepped towards us, his arms out.

Aisha smiled somewhat wryly at his joke. "Cute dog," she told him.

I transferred the pup into his arms.

He rubbed Lucy on her head with his knuckles. "This is our mom's dog. She'd kill us if we lost her. We're on vacation with our olds. From Miami."

I’d known from his accent he was American, but I wouldn’t have guessed Miami. His voice lacked the tone I usually detected in anyone who grew up there. I was about to tell him I was from Miami too, but checked myself. It was best not to tell strangers anything about ourselves, or give any clue as to who we were. At least, not now while there was so much media focus on us.

"We’re vacationing with our parents too,” I said.

"Ah, a fellow American. Where’re you from?"

"Los Angeles." The city my father lived in was the first one that came to mind.

"Cool. Anyway, I'm Zach," he said. He hooked a thumb at the tall boy who walked up beside him. "And this is Emerson, my brother."

Emerson looked slightly older and his posture gave an air of being a lot more self-assured than Zach. He gave a short flick of his hand as a wave and grinned. His blond, neatly clipped hair contrasted against Zach's messy dark locks. But there was a strong family resemblance in the lean lines of their faces. Both of them had those outdoorsy, tanned good looks you saw in men's surfing-gear catalogues.

"So, do you girls come with names?" said Emerson.

"Kate and Anna," said Aisha quickly, indicating towards me and herself.

Emerson smiled at Aisha. "You're Australian, Anna. Such a cute accent. Goes with the whole package."

"Thanks," she told him. "Do you guys have a quota of compliments that you give out each day? Because I think you've reached it already."

She sounded more bemused than anything.

"Nah, we've got lots more cheesy lines in store." Zach winked. "Come grab some eats with us and we'll run through our repertoire."

Aisha and I shook our heads in unison.

“We can’t,” I replied.

"You girls got something against eating... or us?" Emerson gave a broad smile, his teeth white against his tan.

"Neither." I gave a nervous laugh. "We're meant to do lunch with the parents."

"Hey no fair," said Zach. "We're only here for an hour or two before we take off again. And we want to buy you girls lunch, for rescuing Lucy. Saved us a lot of trouble trying to find her."

Emerson shrugged. "This island is so compact, I'm sure we'll be having lunch within the same space as you girls anyway. We'll just look over and give a sad wave from time to time. Maybe we'll even bust out some short dance routines—endearing but kind of embarrassingly awkward—just to get your attention."

“You wouldn’t…,” said Aisha.

“We would. Let me give a quick demonstration.” Emerson bent his lanky body into an Egyptian pose while Zach did a head-bobbing imitation of a chicken.

Aisha snickered. "True enough. Embarrassing. Look, okay. We'll have lunch with you. Sounds like fun."

"All right!" Emerson straightened, looking pleased with himself. “Just let us put Lucy somewhere safe.”

Zach and Emerson leapt back onto the dinghy with the little dog, disappearing into the cabin.

"What made you change your mind?" I asked Aisha.

"These guys aren’t going to give up. Can you imagine them doing stuff like that at the pool or in one of the restaurants? We’ll have blown trying to keep a low profile, because they’ll draw the attention of every single person to us. I’m not ready to have people staring at me…."

“Me either.” She was right. They could even unwittingly expose us.

We trekked back around Mermaid Beach to the pool area. Mom and Aisha's parents looked up in surprise at the boys who accompanied us. The boys hung back as Aish and I stepped over to explain ourselves.

"Mom, Mr. and Mrs. Dumaj," I said. "Is it ok if we have lunch with Zach and Emerson today? We kind of saved their dog from running off and they wanted to thank us by buying lunch.”

Mr. Dumaj gestured an emphatic no with his hands.

"Dad," said Aisha. "Raif has been all over this island talking to girls. No one’s stopping him. And remember my psych said I'm meant to be doing some normal teenage things. We’ll just be in The Atrium—a five minute walk away.

He squeezed her hand, breathing deeply and nodding.

“Lunch, and nowhere else,” cautioned mom.

“Yeah, we’ll be back soon,” I told her.

Zach and Emerson smiled over at our parents as we joined them. Together we headed for The Atrium. Holidaymakers dotted the wide interior, checking their vacation photos on their cameras—restless children darting to and from the games areas. The Atrium was like being inside an enormous fish bowl—bright colors everywhere and tropical fish statues hanging from the soaring ceiling.

We wound our way through the tourists and through to the restaurant. Aisha and I kept our sunhats on—though not one person looked our way anyway.

True to their word, Zach and Emerson paid for lunch. Aisha and I each ordered a light lunch—neither of us ate as much as we used to. It hurt my stomach if I had more than a sandwich or small salad at any one time.

Emerson mouth curved up at one end. “You girls eat like birds.”

“Expensive birds,” said Aisha. “My salad has lobster in it.”

“Still loving that accent,” he told her. “I’d pay for a dozen lunches if I got to sit and listen to you talk.”

Aisha glanced at me. “Why didn’t you tell me American boys were so smooth?” she joked.

Emerson laughed. “I get even smoother out at sea. That’s if you ladies would care to come out on the boat for a quick trip around the island?”

Aisha held up a hand. “Thanks, but no. Our parents wouldn’t go for that.”

“They’re pretty strict, your parents.” Emerson shot Aisha a regretful look.

“Yeah, very,” she agreed.

Our lunches came—beautifully presented and complete with edible flowers. I had to restrain myself from eating quickly. Starvation was not an easy experience to overcome. It was even difficult to watch other people in the restaurant as they pushed away half-eaten plates of food and left their tables.

Zach and Emerson woofed down their food, so I guessed I needn’t have felt weird for polishing off my lunch within a couple of minutes.

“You girls are the first I’ve ever seen to eat the flowers on their plate.” Zach chuckled. “But I have to say it’s a pretty sight.”

“I hope you girls are not going to eat and run,” said Emerson. “Play you a game of ping pong. Or better still, pool—do you girls play that?” He nodded towards the pool tables out in the Atrium.

Aisha and I eyed each other. Our parents were expecting us back straight after lunch—but I guessed that as long as we didn’t leave The Atrium it was okay.

“Yeah, I play. I have a big brother,” said Aisha.

“I play a mean game too.” Back in Miami, pool was mostly what I did with my friends.

“Alright, game on!” said Emerson.

We walked to the only empty pool table. Kids no older than thirteen played at the other tables nearby. A big-screen TV was suspended overhead the tables, showing an American talk show that no one was watching. People were caught up in their own little vacation bubbles.

I pulled the hat from my head—it was going to be distracting to have that on while playing. Aisha followed suit, shaking her long dark hair free.

Emerson smiled in appreciation. “Nice to finally see you two. It was worth the wait.”

Aisha shrugged a shoulder, grinning.

Zach racked up the balls. "Okay, Kate and me on one team and Anna and Emerson on the other."

Zach took the break, his t-shirt pulling tight over his back and shoulder muscles as he leaned low over the table. My stomach turned to water. I didn’t think the sight of a boy would ever do that kind of stuff to my insides again.

Emerson shook his head slowly. “C’mon Anna, we gotta show them what we’re made of!”

A loud group of tourists moved onto the sofa near our table. All of them had a nasal Australian strine and used the word jeez every second sentence. A woman dressed in a floral dress that showed every roll pressed her back into the sofa and fanned herself with a brochure. A man in a striped shirt and skinny legs in platform sandals patted her hand and said, “Jeez love, are ya okay? D’wannanother drink? Hot as hell out there.”

The others that were with them—another couple—began relaying a story about how their air-conditioner had carked it last summer and how they almost died.

The tourists stayed put, fanning themselves and complaining about the heat.

The talk show host on the screen above introduced some news footage. I was barely paying attention over the noise of the tourists. Until I caught sight of Aisha standing rigidly—her gaze fixed to the screen.

Blood slowed in my veins as I read the headline—Seven missing children found in macabre subterranean dollhouse.

The din of the tourists hushed as the newscast showed photos of each of the children. The report then swapped to film of the carousel and the dark corridors, travelling through to the ruined library. The camera lingered on the drawings that were still pinned to the wall and scattered on the floor. A hand scooped up a torn, faded picture of a serpent. Aisha gasped out loud.

One of the cameramen cursed as he tripped over the oversized figure of Clown.

Scattered voices echoed through The Atrium as people watched a skeleton of old bones being wrapped and taken from a dark tunnel. Jessamine’s bones.

Cold cement poured down my spine. I hadn't seen any of this. Dr. Alexia had told mom that I shouldn’t watch or read reports of the underground. I wanted to run, but my legs were wooden. I glanced at Aisha. Her hands trembled on the pool cue. We needed to leave without Zach and Emerson realizing why. But the entire atrium had grown deathly quiet.

Holidaymakers moved out of vacation mode and drew closer to the screen. They had surely seen footage of the underground before. A full month had passed since the rescue. A rolling banner on the bottom of the screen caught my eye—it promised unreleased footage. Were the people were waiting to see that? Was the dollhouse some kind of morbid entertainment to them?

The show’s presenter interviewed some expert who speculated that Henry Fiveash had imprisoned all the teenagers and dressed them as dolls due to an unspecified mental illness—as well as other wild theories. The camera moved through The Dark Way to the diamonds and gold nuggets, stopping on the rotted and blackened body of the Raggedy Andy doll.

The camera traveled back along the dark corridors to the kitchen, showing the bare shelves inside the cupboards.

The show’s presenter announced that the shocking new footage was coming up next.

The film cut to an outdoor scene, in the forest. A tiny girl in pink track pants and a green jumper waved, turning to point over a high rock ledge. The view moved forward, freezing as the image of a thin, bedraggled teenage girl came into view. The girl stood in the river below, silently pleading for help. Blood seeped from the girl’s torn slip, bruises and cuts darkening her body, doll's makeup smeared on her face. The expression in her huge eyes was the expression of one who’d stared into hell itself.

I barely recognized that girl.

Barely recognized myself.

Aisha eyed me in horror. I hadn't told her any of the details of my escape. I hadn’t wanted to relive it.

How was there film of that moment…?

The woman… the woman had been filming her daughter and must have caught me on film as well.

My name appeared onscreen.

Cassandra Claiborne, aged 15.

I wanted to go home, home, away from here. My fists clenched, nails digging into the skin.

The tourist in the striped shirt stood, pointing. "Hey, those two girls over there. I'd swear blind they're the girls they just showed on the TV. I never get a face wrong."

His wife squinted at Aisha and me. “Jeez, you’re right! That’s them. Poor loves!”

Everyone stared, but there was nowhere to turn my face where someone couldn’t see me.

The man raised a camera to his face and began snapping photos.

Zach moved his arm protectively around me. "These are not the same girls. Wrong ages, wrong names. So back off!"

“Hey mate, don’t give me flack,” the man asserted. “Look at them. If it wasn’t them two on the screen, why are they shakin’ like that?”

Zach and Emerson held Aisha and me close to them and guided us out through the peering crowds of people.

Mom and the Dumaj's were strolling on the path towards us. Raif walked alongside them. One look at our faces and they rushed to us. I tried to speak but no coherent words came.

"I'm sorry,” said Zach, “there was some kind of news program on that had the tourists mistaking the girls for your daughters. We brought them out of there as quickly as possible."

Mom stared at Aisha and me with wide eyes, then clasped Zach’s arm. "Thank you," she said fervently.

We hastened towards a secluded spot behind clumps of swaying palm trees.

I hugged my arms tightly around myself. The sight of the girl in the river was too much to bear. I was not whole or real or sane. I was the girl from the footage—that freaky, ghostly girl—the one who had come within a hair’s breadth of dying in the jaws of a serpent, the girl who had seen death and otherworldly beings.

"Mom, I want to get off this island. Now,” I said.

Aisha nodded, her face tight. “Yeah, we can’t stay now.”

Raif pressed his fist in the palm of his hand. “You girls should have stayed with me. I would have hit anyone who tried to say crap about you.”

His sister clenched her forehead with one hand. “That would have made it even worse….”

Mrs. Dumaj dropped her phone back into her pocket, shaking her head at Aisha and me. “Not good news girls. The people at reception say there’s no transport off the island until tomorrow. They also apologized profusely about the news footage. They don’t normally show news programs. Seems someone accidentally changed their usual station, although they’re not sure how that happened.”

Emerson shifted on his lanky legs, looking uncomfortable to have been caught up in this family drama. “Look, I don’t want to intrude in any way—it’s obviously been a rough experience for the girls—but I have an idea." He shrugged his shoulders. "We were heading back to Whitsunday Island this afternoon. It's the biggest island in the Whitsundays, where you might not run into anyone all day. Our parents are there—staying in their own yacht. I don’t know what you think, but it’s a way of getting off here straight away.”

Mom gazed at me and then over at the Dumajs’. She nodded tensely at Emerson. “We would really appreciate that.”

19. WHITEHAVEN

"That's a yacht?" said Raif incredulously. "The thing has its own pool and landing pad…."

The gleaming white craft before us seemed to me a small ship rather than a private yacht.

Zach laughed. "Yeah. S'called a mega-yacht. My oldies like to travel in style."

The trip across to Whitsunday Island had taken longer than I realized it would, but I hadn’t cared. I just wanted as much space between me and those tourists as possible. Warm breezes blew across the clear, shallow ocean. Before us, Whitehaven beach was a long strip of pure white sand.

A girl appeared on the deck of the mega-yacht. Her hair was dyed-red, cut in a swinging bob. Her long tanned legs were offset by a pair of tiny orange shorts.

Raif straightened, puffing his chest out. "Who is that?"

“That's Viola. Our sister,” said Emerson. “Good luck in getting her to notice you. She’s a bit of a snob.”

A side-boarding platform pulled out. Zach and Emerson steered the dinghy alongside the platform and we boarded the yacht. The yacht’s crew of four nodded a greeting to us as the boys led the way to the top deck.

A portly couple in their late fifties stepped out onto the deck. Emerson introduced them as his parents—Mr. and Mrs. Batiste. They were dressed in casual clothing, but it was designer-casual—the kind of outfits that cost more than my entire wardrobe.

Mr. Batiste stepped forward to shake our hands with a firm grip.

"Oh gracious,” exclaimed Mrs. Batiste, “It’s just awful what happened. I couldn’t believe it when Emerson rang to tell me how those people behaved in front of these poor young girls. People go on vacation to relax, not to be accosted by strangers.”

“We really appreciate being able to get away so quickly,” said mom. “You have a couple of fine young men there.”

“Yes they are.” Mr. Batiste nodded. “Drive us crazy like all youth do nowadays—but they do have their finer points.”

“If you call annoying a finer point.” Viola walked up to her parents, a mocking smile on her face.

By the look on Raif’s face, Viola’s smile was as bewitching as it was mocking. Up close, she was extremely pretty. Her eyes were a deeper blue than those of Zach and Emerson’s and her skin flawlessly smooth.

“You’ll have to excuse my daughter.” Mrs. Batiste eyed Viola with a fond but slightly exasperated expression. “She’s been a bit bored on this vacation. The boys tend to go off and do their own thing, and she gets left on her own. She doesn’t find the ocean terribly exciting I’m afraid. She prefers shopping, or reading by the pool deck.”

Viola huffed out a short sigh. “Well I grew out of making sandcastles ten years ago. And what else is there to do on a beach?”

“Well you’re an excellent swimmer. There’s always swimming,” said Mrs. Batiste.

Mr. Batiste knitted his eyebrows—his eyebrows startlingly dark beneath his thick silver hair. “Actually no, dear,” he said to his wife. “There’s no swimming here at this time of year. There’s stingers in the water—apparently some deadly ones too called the Box Jellyfish.”

“See mom?” Vindicated, Viola rolled her eyes. ‘I could die out there.”

“But that doesn’t stop you from enjoying this beautiful place,” Mr. Batiste chastened his daughter. “You’re only young once. Why not head out for a walk with the younger people, and we parents can enjoy a nice relaxing drink on the deck.”

Viola shrugged. “Yeah, why not. I feel like stretching my legs.”

“I’d really like a walk, too” I said. The dimness and stale mossy odor of the dollhouse was all around me, infecting my mind, and I wanted to step out in the sunshine and wide spaces.

“I’ll go. Is that okay, dad?” said Aisha, looking over at her father.

Mr. Dumaj took an audible breath, glancing about at the empty beach. He nodded.

“Put your hats on, girls! And don’t put so much as a toe in the water!” Mrs. Dumaj gazed out at the ocean.

Mrs. Batiste clapped her hands. “Wonderful! It’s settled then. Come on, let us adults go unwind. We can watch the kids from the deck.”

Mom and Aisha’s parents followed the Batistes to their onboard wet bar. The rest of us took the dinghy down to the gently lapping shore.

In either direction, dazzling white sand stretched.

“So, you girls haven’t been here before?” Zach asked Aisha and me.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to,” said Aisha. “Whitehaven Beach is a photographer’s paradise. Just stunning.”

“Anna is really talented with photography,” I said. I had almost slipped and called her Aisha.

“Well there’s a spot up further that’s incredible. It’ll knock your socks off.” Zach grinned. “Get your camera ready.”

Viola squinted towards the sun. “Photographers are so pretentious. They see the world through a tiny frame while the world is all around them, and then think they’ve captured something incredible.”

“Shut it, Vee.” There was a warning tone in Emerson’s voice.

Viola shot a sorry face at Aisha. “Oh, I didn’t mean you. I just meant in general.”

Aisha shrugged. Emerson slipped his arm around Aisha—the move seeming so natural, it was like they were girlfriend and boyfriend. Aisha didn’t move away from him.

Viola pulled off her singlet-top and then stepped out of her shorts. She wore a pale-blue one piece swimsuit that fit her slim body perfectly. Raif watched intently as she ran into the water.

“Vee!” shouted Emerson. “Remember what dad said? About the deadly stingers? Get out of there!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” called Viola from the water. “Well maybe I like living dangerously. Who’s got the guts to join me?”

Raif didn’t hesitate—he tore off his own tee-shirt and followed her.

“Raif, no!” Aisha touched her fingers to her temples.

I turned my head back to the yacht—we were so far from the parents now that they probably wouldn’t even see two of us in the water.

Raif dived under the water and came up shaking the water from his head. Viola laughed and did the same. She swam in an even stroke across the ocean, stopping to float on her back with her arms stretched out wide.

Emerson splashed into the water, swimming with a strong stroke out to Viola. He dragged her into shore.

Viola sat on the wet sand eyeing her brother with venom. “Killjoy. You always wreck my fun.”

“That’s not fun—that’s crazy.” Emerson caught his breath.

“Why do we even need to worry? Nothing can hurt us anyway.”

Emerson stood over her. “If I have to tell you again to shut it, I’ll throw you back out in the ocean myself.”

Raif trudged into shore, looking a little sheepish.

“You’ve got no brains, brother,” said Aisha.

“C’mon, let’s keep going.” Zach’s hand brushed mine.

“Why is Viola so sure nothing can hurt her?” I said in a low voice to Zach.

He shrugged. “I hate to say it, but my sister is a spoiled little rich girl. She always talks like that.”

We walked on and up the sand dunes, to a high vantage point. Ahead was some kind of lookout. Emerson and Zach put their hands over our faces, guiding us blind to the top of the lookout, Zach’s body warm and protective behind mine.

Aisha and I gasped as they removed their hands. The scene far below was a swirling pattern of white sand reefs—like a giant eye— with a hundred shades of shallow, azure ocean..

“Hill Inlet,” said Zach. “This is the best time to see it, when the tide is low.”

“Incredible,” Aisha breathed. She raised her camera to her eye and took shot after shot.

I tensed as Zach pressed his hand into mine. He silently led me away to a private spot where we could still see the inlet. I took my hand from his and sat.

"It’s perfect," I said. "I can't believe the color of the sand here. It's so...."

“….white," he finished. “It’s almost pure silica.”

A sea-scented breeze lifted Zach's hair across his forehead. He looked so solid and real. Not like the children of the dollhouse. He was someone who'd lived outside under the blue sky and sun all his life and breathed warmed air.

His shoulder bumped mine as he sat beside me, sending a buzz down my arm. He seemed to sense that I was happy to sit without talking. I took a handful of sand and let it run through my fingers, feeling my body begin to relax. He grinned, catching the sand. The moment was so simple, but so personal—as though he was sending a silent message, I’ll catch you if you fall. He’d stood up to that tourist who had accused Aish and I of being the girls from the news—without a moment’s hesitation, and he’d brought me out of The Atrium without a question. He still hadn’t questioned me about it and I was grateful for that.

Being with Zach was such a different feeling to than how I’d felt around Ethan. Ethan had been such a stormy mix of fire and hatred—so driven and unknowable—and in the end, cruel. Zach made me feel safe and centered.

Raif and Viola walked up to the lookout together—Viola looking like a vogue swimsuit model.

“Chop, chop, people. We need to get back. I need to go buy my dress for tonight,” said Viola.

“You have plenty of frocks,” said Emerson.

“Well I need another one.” She made a face at her brother.

We all made our way back to the yacht together. Mom, Mrs. Batiste and Aisha’s parents were laughing and talking on the deck. Mr. Batiste and two of the yacht’s crew were in the dinghy, an open toolbox beside them.

“What’s up, dad?” called Emerson.

“Don’t know,” called back Mr. Batiste. “The crew noticed it was sounding a bit wrong when you brought it back here, so they wanted to check it out. The motor seems to be flooded or something. Too much fuel in the cylinders.”

Our parents stepped over to peer down at Mr. Batiste.

One of the crew attempted to crank the engine, but he ended up shrugging at Mr. Batiste. “She’s dead.”

The crew took a blow-up dingy from the boat and returned with Mr. Batiste to the yacht.

“Oh now I feel really bad,” said Mrs. Dumaj. “Your boys took the time to bring us all over here, and now the boat’s not going.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Batiste shook her head emphatically. “The boys were due to return here in any case. We’ll see what we can do to get you back to your island in the afternoon.”

“We’ll figure it out,” mom assured her. “You’ve helped us enough.”

“We can even stay tonight on the island, maybe?” said Mrs. Dumaj.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said Mrs Batiste. “There’s no accommodation to be had here. There’s a bit of camping available I think, but that’s all.”

Mom turned and looked out at the wide beach, empty as far as the eye could see.

Mr. Batiste walked out on deck, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “I have a thought. We’re having a little occasion here on the beach late this afternoon. We’d be honored if you’d join us. And we’d also like to have you all stay here on the yacht overnight. There’s plenty of rooms—a ridiculous amount of cabins actually.”

“We’d like for you all to stay,” Emerson put in quickly.

“That’s a very generous offer,” said mom, “but we can’t impose. And by the sounds of it, we’re in the way right now. What’s the occasion you’re having?”

Mr. Batiste put his arm around his wife. “We’re reaffirming our wedding vows.”

Mom looked surprised for a moment, then shot them a warm smile. “Congratulations. That’s lovely.”

Mom turned and glanced at Mrs. Dumaj and they both declared they couldn’t intrude on such a personal family event.

Mrs. Batiste made a broad sweep of her hand. “Not at all. It’s a very casual little affair. Actually, the kids have been rolling their eyes for days at the thought of it—so it’s been wonderful to have your children here today. They’ve been welcome company. As have you all. We really would be honored to have you there.”

The Dumajs’ and mom eyed each other hesitantly.

“No, it’s too much,” said Mrs. Dumaj.

“We understand,” said Mr. Batiste. “You folk want to get back to finish your vacation of course. We can have the crew take the yacht to Daydream. I’m afraid this big thing is unable to anchor close to Daydream though. There’s a reef protection zone. Perhaps we can try to get somewhat close and they can send a boat out to fetch you.”

“Goodness no.” Mom shook her head. “That’s far too much trouble. We won’t be finishing our vacation—it’s over as far as we’re concerned. But you’ll need your yacht here to prepare for your event.”

“Then you’ll stay?” Mrs. Batiste clapped her hands together. “Wonderful!”

Mom looked a little lost as to how her words had been construed as accepting Mrs. Batiste’s invitation.

Mrs. Dumaj held mom’s arm. “You are very, very kind,” she said to Mrs Batiste. “We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

Zach stepped over to his parents. “So you’re all staying? Sounds good to me.” He gave me a slow smile that almost made me blush.

“Do you have something to wear?” Viola put her hands on her hips and eyed my beach clothing.

“If you count sarongs and bikinis, then yeah,” I joked.

Zach nodded enthusiastically. "That would be more than acceptable in my eyes."

Viola frowned. “Well, it’s going to be casual but not that casual. You need dresses. And Raif needs a suit. Raif, Anna and Kate can be our partners—just like a real wedding.”

“Raif’s about my size,” said Emerson, “and there’s an extra suit in my cabin.”

“Well the girls can borrow my dresses if they want,” said Viola, “but I’m still buying a new dress and shoes—daddy promised.”

“How’s that happening now that’s the boat’s broke?” Zach folded his arms. “This time you don’t get your way, little sister.”

Viola smirked. “He already told me he’s going to order a helicopter. So suck it up, Zach.”

Mr. Batiste sighed heavily. “Well, she wants to look nice. Look, as long as she’s going dress shopping, why don’t Anna and Kate go too? Dresses and shoes are on me.”

Viola’s eyes lit up. “Yay, us girls are going on a shopping spree! Look out stores!”

Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s such a lovely offer, Mr. Batiste, but no, I can’t accept that. And I’m afraid the girls can’t go off somewhere on their own.”

“What if the boys go with them?” said Mr. Batiste. “My boys and your Raif. There’s six passengers to a helicopter.”

Mr. Dumaj held up his hands, struggling to find and say his words. “My girl… can go. But… I pay for my daughter’s dress. She didn’t get to go to… her formal. I want to see my… princess… dressed up.”

Mrs. Dumaj’s face was overcome with emotion as she smiled at her husband and patted his hand.

Mom brushed her dark locks from her face. “Well you have a point there. My daughter also didn’t get a chance to go to her prom.” She turned to me. “What do you think? Would you like to go? Outfit is on me.”

I didn’t know whether I wanted to go or not, but I could tell that Aisha wanted to and so I nodded.

“Brilliant!” Mr. Batiste boomed. “I’ll get a ‘copter out here now.”

“But girls,” mom cautioned, “keep your hats and sunglasses on, even in the shops, okay?”

20. THE BLACK DRESS

I peered from the helicopter window. Cairns was much bigger than I’d imagined, sprawling along the coastline. Rivers snaked out to the ocean and dense green forests blanketed the hills beyond the city. The pilot landed the helicopter on a base at the busy airport. There seemed to be nothing on either side of the airport but a broad expanse of greenery.

A couple of waiting taxis took us into the city.

Hot breeze blew down on my face as I stepped from the cab. People in bright clothing were everywhere—but not rushing like people did on the streets of Sydney. Here, they strolled as though they had all the time in the world.

Zach examined the map on his cell phone and directed the way to The Esplanade, and we made our way there. The Esplanade was a walkway that stretched along a crystal-clear artificial lagoon, filled with splashing children and adults in straw hats. Water spilled from giant fish statues. On the other side of The Esplanade, the inviting green ocean stretched out forever. No one swam there.

Frowning, Zach checked the information for the area on his phone. "Ah-ha, there's crocodiles and stingers on the beach side."

“Might shock the locals and go out for a dip later,” said Viola.

“Do that and I’ll wring your scrawny neck and give the locals some real entertainment.” Emerson glared at her.

Markets and art stalls lined the boardwalk towards the other end. Aisha was in her element as she investigated every piece of hand-painted art and craft. Emerson bought her a shell necklace that had tiny scenes painted on each shell. Raif, not to be outdone, bought Viola a pretty halter-neck top.

“Um, it’s going to seem kind of weird if you buy me something now too,” I told Zach. “So please don’t.”

“You mean I can’t give you this?” Zach produced a book of photographs of the Great Barrier Reef from behind his back. Embarrassed, I took the book from him. The book detailed facts about the reef that went far beyond the usual tourist blurb, accompanied by stunning photos. Zach had obviously been listening when I’d said I’d love to study the reefs one day as a biologist.

“Thanks,” I said shaking my head in amusement.

A market stall holding a bubble-making demonstration caught my eye. A man dressed as a clown blew a bubble and then blew another within that bubble and then another and another—worlds within worlds. Children squealed as they dipped their wands in the buckets below the clown and made bubbles as big and long as sausage dogs. A man standing behind the children stared directly at me. He turned quickly and shuffled away in his baggy clothing and downturned baseball cap. I guessed a place like Cairns must attract drifters. But I didn’t like seeing one of them near kids.

I told myself to relax, enjoy the day, stop seeing dangers around every corner. What happened in the underground was an anomaly—and there weren’t people on every corner just waiting for their chance to snatch children.

We headed down Wharf Street and into the shopping precinct. The boys swiftly elected to go elsewhere while Aisha, Viola and I browsed the stores for dresses.

Viola strolled into the first store with look of disinterest on her face. “Who would walk out in public wearing any of these!” Viola spoke loud enough for everyone in the store to hear.

Aisha and I hastened to the next store—one with displays of upmarket fashion in the store window. Viola wasn’t happy with this store either—or the next. We browsed through six stores before she found one that she liked. She picked out an armful of dresses and thrust them at Aisha and me.

“Try these,” she said.

I had to admit that she had good taste—and good guesses at size. I would have automatically gone for a larger size. I still wasn’t used to being this slender. I slipped the hat and glasses off. There was no one in the store other than the two sales assistants.

The first dress fit well but clung so close that my ribcage was prominent. Aisha shook her head when she saw me in the dress. Both of us had the same problem—we’d put on weight but still had prominent bones.

Aisha ended up choosing an aqua dress that set off her eyes perfectly. Viola chose a sophisticated yellow satin dress with a laced up back. I tried on the last of the dresses Viola had given me—a daring red backless dress.

Zach slowly clapped when I stepped out of the changing room. “She’ll take that one,” he told the store assistant, a wide grin on his face.

I didn’t know the boys had come looking for us.

Raif gazed from Viola to Aisha and me in our colorful dresses. “They look like coral,” he said. “Live coral—not the dead, dried-out stuff that washes up on the beach.”

“Gee thanks brother,” said Aisha wryly.

“I especially like the yellow coral.” Raif leant on one hand against the wall.

Viola rewarded him with an amused smile.

We returned to the changing rooms to get back into our beach gear. The boys waited as we took the gowns to the counter to pay for them.

“We’ll be back later to pick them up.” Viola waved a hand towards the dresses on the counter. The store assistant nodded and went to fetch boxes. The boys cringed when they learned we had yet to buy shoes.

Viola, Aisha and I shopped for shoes while the boys stood around watching, making jokes and generally being as annoying as possible.

Out on the street, we merged into the crowds. Something seemed to be happening in every corner. A street band performed a kind of vocal dubstep. Raif jumped in and executed a quick series of dance moves. He was good, and collected more claps and cheers than the band itself was getting.

“You’re a scream, Raif,” said Viola.

Zach took my hand. His hold was firm but relaxed. I relaxed into his hold, into being next to him like this. I knew that today and tomorrow would be the last I’d see of him, but it still seemed right. Living in the moment was the best we had in life.

We lunched in an outdoor restaurant, watching the tourists and locals stream by. It was almost shocking—so much life and color. Life, spilling out, unrestrained and free. The dollhouse seemed a dream at this moment—a nightmare in which all color drained away. Afterwards we merged into the crowds. Even Viola was laughing and enjoying herself.

"Man, three ‘o’clock already." Emerson slapped his forehead. "Better get back for the parents’ shindig. Don't even know why they have to do this. I mean, it's kind of ick to have to go to your own parent's wedding."

"No, it's romantic," said Raif. "True love is forever."

Raif reminded me a lot of his father. Mr. Dumaj was always very attentive to his wife. It was sweet. I wondered what life would have been like if my parents had loved each other like that.

Sunset was just an hour away.

Mom hugged me as I stood on the deck gazing out at the ocean. She hugged me all the time now, especially if I was away from her for even a short time.

“Time to get your frocks on, ladies,” called Viola from below deck.

I joined Viola and Aisha in the cabins. Viola was already dressed in the yellow gown. She looked amazing.

“I’ll do your hair after you dress,” offered Viola. “I’m good with hair.” She closed the door as Aisha and I began cutting the string from the boxes. The dresses were beautifully packaged in tissue paper.

Aisha lifted her dress out and laid it on the bed. "This has been a crazy day.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Like a whirlwind.”

She stopped cutting the strings for a moment and her expression looked wistful. “But fun, I mean, the being with Emerson and Zach part of it. I feel guilty sometimes for finding a bit of happiness." She gazed directly at me. “I feel guilty for getting out of the underground alive when…”

“I know.” I breathed out slowly. “It haunts me too.”

She pulled her mouth in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dampen the mood. Let’s get dressed up and knock Emerson and Zach’s socks off.”

I opened the box and tore the tissue paper away. A black, velvet material sat underneath the tissue paper. The store assistant had gone overboard on the packaging. My fingers pulled at the material—it was heavy, voluminous. A black garment fell to the floor. No red dress lay beneath. I tipped the box upside-down.

Aisha groaned. "They must have mixed the order up."

I reached to grab the black garment and hold it up. My hands shook. The velvet folds and ribbons. It was the dress. Audette’s dress.

Aisha's hand flew to her mouth.

A scream caught in the deepest part of me.

It couldn’t be. Not that dress. But the revulsion on Aisha’s face told me it was.

On hands and knees, I searched the floor until my fist curled the steel of the scissors. I ploughed the scissors into the dress. Over and over and over, I cut through the dress, reducing it to shreds.

Aisha grasped my arm. "Cassie, please stop. You'll hurt yourself."

I stared at the massacred dress. Zach and his family would think I was crazy if they saw this. With a cry I gathered up the dress and ran out up the deck.

“Cassie!” Aisha called.

I cast the black mass into the ocean, where it streamed out like tentacles before sinking into the water.

My chest heaving, I gripped the rail.

Zach stepped behind me. "Kate, what was that? What happened?"

“I’m not Kate,” I said through gritted teeth.

His hands came down on my shoulders. “What?”

Aisha raced up onto the deck—Emerson and Viola following.

I turned to face Zach. “I’m not Kate, okay? My name is Cassandra Claiborne. I’m the weird girl from that news program. From the dollhouse. I’m the girl with the bruises and the blood and the doll’s makeup.”

Zach seemed at a loss to say anything. He crushed me close to him, stoking my hair.

I shook beneath his hands.

Viola’s eyes widened. “Wowza!”

Emerson gazed from me to Aisha with confusion in his eyes. “If you’re that girl, then Anna is….”

“Aisha Dumaj,” said Aisha in a brittle voice. “Yes, one of the girls who were carried out of the underground half-dead.”

“God.” Emerson stood frozen.

“You two are the girls who were kept in that freaky place underground?” Viola’s lower lip dropped.

Emerson ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what to say. Why couldn’t you tell us? Did you think we would have treated you like those people on the island?”

“Please understand,” said Aisha. “Ever since the rescue, we’ve been bombarded by…everything. Reporters, detectives…everyone wants to know about what happened. We just needed space.”

Emerson bounded over to Aisha and his arms came around her. “Hell, I can’t believe this.” He raised his eyes to me. “What was it you threw overboard? It was something black—that’s all I saw.”

“Cassie’s dress was not the one she was supposed to get,” Aisha explained in a dead tone. “The dress in the box was from the underground.”

“What are you talking about?” said Viola. “Those dresses came straight from the store.”

“I have to agree with Viola,” said Emerson. “If the dress was wrong, it had to have been just a mix-up. Just a dress that looked a bit similar.”

“No,” I said fervently. “I could never mistake…that dress. There’s no way a store would carry a dress that looks like that. It was an old vintage dress.” I stared into the horizon. “The thing is... that dress, along with almost everything else from the underground... was destroyed with the landslide."

Zach rubbed his forehead. “Someone must have made a replica of it, someone who has seen the news footage. As terrible as this sounds, it has to be someone who’s been following you. There are strange people out there.”

His words hung in my mind. Was it possible it was just some macabre joke? I knew that when there was a major crime that caught the attention of the public, people who had nothing to do with it sometimes confessed. With the dollhouse case being so public, had it attracted those kind of weirdos?

He squeezed my arm. “If we find out who did it, they’ll wish they’d never been born.”

I gazed at Zach. “I shouldn’t be here. This is your parents’ special day, and here I am ruining it.”

“Slow down,” he said. “First thing, you haven’t ruined anything. Anyway, the parents are all on the other side of the yacht. And Aisha’s brother. They haven’t even heard any of this—and we don’t need to tell them, if you don’t want to. Second thing, it’s not your fault.” His eyes softened. “Third thing… I wanted you here.”

“Well,” Viola pushed in front of Zach. “This is all very sweet. But we have fifteen minutes to get ready now.”

“I’ll stay on the yacht,” I said quickly. “I don’t have a dress, and I’m a wreck at the moment—I don’t want to spoil the ceremony.”

A frown dented Viola’s smooth forehead. “You’ll spoil it by not being there. We’ve got three groomsmen, and we need three bridesmaids.”

“She can’t, Vee,” said Zach. “She’s had too much of a shock.”

“Maybe none of us should go,” said Aisha quietly. “Me, Raif and Cassie will wait here, while you all go ahead just as a family thing.”

Viola put her hands on her hips. “If you want to keep the stalker thing secret, that’s not going to work. Is there any way we can just get through the oldies’ ceremony and deal with all this later? I’ve got dresses here that would fit Kate—I mean Cassandra. They won’t be nice and new, but I promise they’re nice.”

I nodded. “I don’t want to be any more trouble. You’ve all been so helpful to me and Aisha. Viola, any dress you have will be fine.”

Viola smiled as though she’d won a small victory. I followed her down to her cabin.

A brilliant orange-pink sunset widened on the horizon, fusing with the dusky blue of the sky. Mr. and Mrs. Batiste stood on the white sand, wearing matching cream outfits. Zach, Emerson and Raif partnered me, Aisha and Viola along an aisle of flowers, with us standing to either side as the Batistes walked the aisle.

Mom and the Dumajs’ stood watching.

The four violinists standing behind us began to play. I knew the tune. I knew the names of so many classical arrangements now... as I had danced to them all. Week after week practicing dance routines no one would ever see. This one was Chopin's Etude number three. The music was beautiful, but bitter-sweet. I let my body sway slightly to the music, allowing myself to be carried by the notes and not the memories. At least, trying not to let those memories invade my mind. I glanced at Aisha. She smiled tightly at me, pain etched around her eyes.

The celebrant led the couple through their vows above the sound of Chopin and the light breezes of the ocean. Emerson stepped forward with the rings. The rings were exchanged between the Batistes and they kissed amidst our claps and cheers.

The Batistes stepped into a slow waltz.

Zach's hand slid around my waist as he led me into a waltz. His lips brushed my ear. “Thank you for being here,” he whispered.

Beside us, Emerson and Raif led Aisha and Viola into the dance. I rested my head on Zach's shoulder. Closing my eyes was a mistake. The music took me straight back. Back to the last time I'd heard Chopin. Darkness, death, despair and the odor of rotting moss rose around me.

"You're trembling. Are you cold?" Zach closed his arms around me.

"I'm okay. I’m fine." I stared up at the sky in surprise. Night had almost claimed the sky—the moon imprinting itself upon the indigo blue ceiling. The Batistes waved mom and Aisha’s parents into the waltz, with Zach stepping forward to waltz with my mother.

The yacht’s chef brought around silver platters of cheeses, grapes and hors d'oeuvres. I ate a little to be polite but the food was ash in my mouth.

Zach gave his mom a quick hug. “Congrats. We’ll be there at the next one, when you celebrate the next thirty years of marriage. I’ll bring the walking sticks.”

His mother pinched his cheek. “Always the joker, aren’t you Zachary. Thank you for being the wonderful son you are.”

Zach grinned, then gestured at me. “Mom, Kate here has developed a bit of a headache. Would it be okay if I take her for a stroll?”

“Absolutely.” She gazed at me kindly. “If you need anything, Kate, just call out. Richard gets frequent headaches and we have a veritable armada of pain killers onboard.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll be okay.”

Silently, Zach and I stepped along the beach, following the streak of soft moonlight. Thick, warm air ushered around my shoulders. A lizard ran across our path, disappearing in to the foliage.

The quartet played another of Jessamine’s favorite classical tunes. Chopin’s nocturne. This one, more than any other, would haunt me to the end of my days. Zach linked his hand with mine.

In the distance, sprays of water shot up high from the ocean.

"Whales.” I watched the volumes of dark water spout in seeming synchronization with the music, or at least in sympathy with it.

"Yeah?"

"They're returning home to the Antarctic after breeding in the warmer waters here."

"Brrr, I'd just stick around here if I were a whale." Zach laughed. He moved his arm around my shoulders. "Wish I didn't have to go home either. I could stay here on this beach happy forever I think. With you."

He turned to gaze at me seriously. "Tell me if you want me to shut up, or go away and stop bothering you. I can dig a hole in sand and stick my head in it if you want me to.”

I laughed. "You're not bothering me. The opposite."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He breathed out audibly. "This is insane, but I don't want to lose you. I've only known you one day, but this day has meant everything to me. Yeah I know, holiday romance and all of that, but I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t want to go back to the States and be without you. Now that I know who you really are, I'll worry if I can't be here by your side."

The intensity of his words caught me off-guard. I didn't know what to reply, how I felt. Inside of me, everything was still so numb. And how could he possibly use the word romance after a few short hours?

But he moved his body close to mine, his chest so close his heart almost pumped blood through my chest. And his mouth was on mine. Warm and tasting of the ocean air. This time, when I closed my eyes, there was nothing but Zach.

21. THE PHONE CALL

I pulled at the high collar of my blouse and adjusted my skirt. The new clothes mom had bought me for the courtroom were stiff and uncomfortable. I stepped out to the kitchen to grab a glass of orange juice. A bouquet of flowers sat on the table.

“From Andy?” I queried mom.

She gave a silent shrug. My father had sent flowers to the hospital weeks back but never since, not even when he came to visit me. I opened the envelope. The words inside simply said, Thinking of you every moment today, Zach.

I bent to breathe in the scent of the flowers, as though the flowers would somehow smell of Zach. They didn’t. They smelled of that slightly sweet, refrigerated, wet scent that delivered flowers had. But they were beautiful and he’d remembered that roses reminded me of the dollhouse because there wasn’t a single rose amongst them.

“You must really have made an impression on that boy,” mom remarked. “That’s quite an impressive bunch of flowers.”

“He’s one of the nicest people I ever met.”

“Well it was sweet of him to send this to you. It’s not going to be an easy day.”

I didn't know if I could face any of it. We'd been briefed by Detective Kalassi—I was going to be shown all the videos and photos police had taken that night in the underground. And I had to give my testimony—against Henry Fiveash.... and against Ethan.

I shivered as I sat trying to get some toast and peanut butter into my stomach. My stomach refused to cooperate. Aisha would be the only one there who knew what the underground was like. Frances was too young to attend court. Sophronia had disappeared into the world above—and no one, not even the hardest-nosed journalist had been able to ferret her out. And Lacey... Lacey had been in the dollhouse, but only for minutes at a time—she didn’t know what it was like to live there, with no hope of ever leaving. Anyway, I had been told Lacey was still in psychosis and wouldn’t be attending court today.

The phone rang and mom took the call.

The blood drained from her face. She struggled to compose herself, gazing over at me and then squeezing her eyes shut as she listened to the rest of the call. Her hand shook as she placed the phone on the table.

“Mom, what is it? What’s happened?”

She swallowed. “I don’t even know how to begin to tell you.”

My heart clenched. “Someone died, didn’t they?”

She shook her head. “No… someone lived….”

“What?”

“Cassie, that was Detective Kalassi. There’s going to be someone in the courtroom today—someone who you won’t expect to be there.”

“Who? Is it Sophronia? Did something bad happen to her?”

She shook her head. "It's not little Sophronia. And it’s nothing bad. It's a good thing. A very good thing. But it will shock you, and even good shocks can be difficult to process when you've been through intense stress. So I want you to be prepared. There's a lot of things here to explain—"

"Just tell me who? Please!"

"Honey... it's Molly."

Blood ran hot and cold through my veins. Mom could not have just said that name. Molly.

Molly. Missouri. Molly. A person I’d never forget until the hour I drew my last breath on this earth. A person I’d thought had drawn her last breath...

Mom reached to hold my hands. I barely felt the pressure of her hands on mine.

"Detective Kalassi said Molly was still clinging to life when she was taken onboard the helicopter that night. Just barely.”

“What?” Thoughts streamed through me, an incoherent jumble.

“Molly lived, Cassie. She didn't recover consciousness for days, and it was expected she’d be in a coma until she passed away. But she fought for life… and won the battle. She retained all functioning—both brain and physical.”

"Molly is alive." I whispered it myself. Her name echoed in my mind over and over.

Tears streamed wetly on my face. "Why wasn't I told?" I demanded. "Why? Why?”

"It was a police decision. Because her life was in danger."

"Danger from who? Henry?"

"Henry remains a very dangerous man. But this involves someone else. Did Molly tell you any of her past?"

"No. Well really just one thing. She'd been in a foster home, and she ran away. That's it. She did say something strange. She said that being in the underground wasn't the worst thing.”

“Poor girl.” Mom pushed her thick hair behind her ears. “Cassie, Detective Kalassi is still on the line. He’d like to talk to you.”

I took the phone, staring at it with trepidation before holding to my ear. “Detective?”

“Hi Cassie.”

“Is it really true?”

“It’s really true," he said.

“Where is she?”

“She’s here. She wanted to speak to you in person, not over the phone. I’ll be bringing her to the courtroom later, but she won’t be giving witness. She needs to stay hidden. She wanted to be there though—for you and Aisha. I have to ask that you wait until court is out though. There’s a family matter and things are very dangerous for Molly.”

“Oh God….”

“I have to go now. But you’ll be seeing Molly later and I wanted to talk with you first. She’s sleeping right now. She’s still very weak. She’s been here with my wife and I since being released from hospital last week. Cassie, I know you don’t understand any of this, and I’m so sorry that we couldn’t tell you straight away.”

I tried to collect my breathing. I could scarcely believe he was there talking about Molly. Not a dead Molly but a living Molly...

22. CONFESSION

The courtroom smelled of polished wood and air-conditioned air. The sight of the judge’s bench and the witness box was imposing, intimidating.

Desperately, I craned my neck around, looking for any sign of Molly—but found none. Was she really going to be here? Was she really alive? Aisha and I caught each other’s eye and nodded at each other. Mom told me that Aisha’s parents had told her about Molly this morning as well. I also looked for Sophronia, hoping against hope she’d made her way here. But there was no Sophronia either.

We were shown to our seats. I exhaled a tightly-held breath.

Ethan and his grandfather were brought in and seated, each flanked by different sets of guards. I guessed that Ethan had been held in a different place than his grandfather, due to his age.

The judge walked in—a grey-haired woman with a stern expression. The judge’s associate introduced the case and the room fell into a complete hush.

Detective Kalassi was the first to be brought to the stand. He was questioned by Ethan’s defense attorney—a Miss. Fletcher—about the circumstances under which Ethan was found in the underground.

Next the tourism operator who had seen Ethan’s grandfather in the area where Aisha disappeared was questioned by a prosecutor named Mr. Lydon—a sharply dressed man with dyed brown hair.

Ethan’s grandfather was then called up by his defense lawyer, a Mr. Khouri. I’d only seen Mr. McAllister a handful of times before but he’d never looked so bowed and disheveled. His skin was gray and his eyes rheumy. He stared straight ahead as he was sworn in.

“Seth McAllister,” said Mr. Khouri, “I understand that you have recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Could you please affirm for me that this is true?”

Seth dipped his head and sighed. “So they tell me.”

“Might this affect your ability to testify, resulting in making any attempt at a fair trial invalid?”

Objection,” called the prosecutor. “The diagnosis is recent, coming after Mr. McAllister’s arrest.”

“Your honor,” said Mr. Khouri to the judge, “I have medical statements which attest to the fact that Seth McAllister has had this condition for some time, even though it is was not formally diagnosed.”

“Objection sustained,” said the judge. “A disease of the mind may indeed affect Mr. McAllister’s testimony, but due to the seriousness of the charges and the relatively recent date of the diagnosis, we shall proceed.”

“Thank you your honor,” said the prosecutor.

Mr. Khouri nodded. “No more questions.” He left to go and sit back down at the bench.

Mr. Lydon walked over to the witness stand with a confident air, coming to rest his hand on the stand.

“Seth McAllister,” he said, “your grandson, Ethan, came to live with you at age nine—correct?”

“After the deaths of my daughter and her husband, yes.” His voice was strained and gravelly.

“Please just answer yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Now during the time that Ethan lived with you—a course of six years—three young girls disappeared from the forests. Your house is on the edge of the forest is it not?”

“It is.”

“And you and Ethan took regular excursions into the forest, camping there for days at a time. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“So you knew the forests extremely well and you spent a great deal of time there,” the prosecutor summed up. He took a brief walk away from Mr. McAllister as though he needed distance for what he was about to say. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, immediately after the disappearance of three-year-old Frances Allanzi, a handkerchief belonging to Mr. McAllister was found in the area where Frances disappeared. Mr. McAllister was also seen in the area where Aisha Dumaj disappeared, by a bus tour operator.” He turned to Seth. “Can you explain your presence in these particular locations at the times of the disappearances of these girls?”

Mr. McAllister looked confused. He leaned heavily on the stand. “Was I walking there at those times?”

“You tell us, Seth.”

“Objection. Irrelevant line of questioning,” called the defense attorney.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Lydon, please keep your questions concrete.”

“Yes your honor,” said Mr. Lydon. He cleared his throat. “Mr. McAllister, did you know about the existence of the Fiveash house at Devils Hole?”

“I did.”

“Can you explain how you knew about the house?”

“My father—Thomas McAllister—was a gardener contracted by the original owner.”

Ethan turned to gaze in surprise at his grandfather.

“So, your father worked for the original owner—Mr. Tobias Fiveash. Did your father ever take you to the Fiveash house?” said the attorney.

“No. I was just a baby when my father disappeared.”

‘What do you mean, disappeared?”

“My father vanished one day when he was meant to work at the Fiveash estate, and his body was never found.”

“And how did you know your father worked for Tobias?

Mr. McAllister breathed heavily into the microphone. “My father’s belongings were passed down to me after my mother died. A few years ago, my daughter—Alkira—showed an interest in family history and I gave her my parents’ things. Alkira found a diary belonging to my father in a false bottom of his tool box. The diary started out just a work diary—people he’d worked for and what he was owed—but then the pages started filling up with other entries. Strange events. She became obsessed with finding out what really happened to Thomas, and she spent a great deal of time researching the history. She was calling me every day to tell me things she’d found out.”

“So, your father listed Tobias Fiveash as one of his employers?”

The old man’s knuckles clenched the witness box. “Yes but there was much more than that….”

“Did your father mention the Fiveash inheritance in his diaries?”

“Yes, he did. And he also said—“

The prosecutor held up a hand. “That’s all we need on that point. You knew about the existence of the inheritance on the Fiveash estate.”

Seth McAllister closed a gnarled fist around the microphone. “He also said the Fiveash house was a place of great evil.”

A muttering of voices rose around the courtroom. The judge called for quiet.

Mr. Lydon tittered. “Pardon me, Mr. McAllister, but that does sound quite fanciful. Can you produce your father’s diary?”

“No, I cannot. On the day Alkira was driving to my house to show me the diary, my beautiful daughter had a truck plough into her car.” He struggled to gain composure. “Both she and her husband… died. Only Ethan survived. I never did find out what happened to the diary.”

“Well, we’ve established you knew about the Fiveash house and about the inheritance. Now, Mr. McAllister, what was your involvement in the abduction of the three girls?”

Seth McAllister stared wild-eyed at his defense attorney.

“Objection!” called Mr. Khouri.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Lydon, I remind you that questions must be of a nature that a defendant can reasonably answer.”

“Yes, your honor,” said Mr. Lydon contritely. “I’ll rephrase. “Mr. McAllister, did you have any involvement in the abduction of Molly Parkes, Sophronia Sharma and or Frances Allanzi?”

He shook his head. “No.” His voice was weak and shaken.

“In September of last year, five ribbons matching the ribbons worn by the abductees were found under a loose floorboard in your home. Can you explain why you hid these ribbons there?”

“I don’t know…” Seth seemed dazed. “Did I put them there?”

“Please answer yes or no.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Seth McAllister doesn’t seem to be able to give us a straight answer. I understand forgetting small everyday things. But hiding girls’ ribbons under a floorboard—that is a very deliberate act and certainly not an everyday event. And remember, these ribbons are an exact match. They are almost a century old. There is only one place from which they could have come.” He stepped back from the stand. “No more questions for now.”

Ethan was next to be brought to the stand. He had remained thin and gaunt, as though he'd barely been eating. He gazed down as he was sworn in.

Mr. Lydon strode up to Ethan. "Ethan McAllister, on the morning of June 6th of this year, you took a school trip into Barrington Tops, together with Aisha Dumaj, Cassandra Claiborne and Lacey Dougherty. Correct?"

"Yes."

The sound of his voice sent a shock wave through my body. It was Ethan, but not Ethan. This was a very different Ethan to the one I’d known on that school trip to Barrington Tops.

"Nearing the conclusion of that trip,” continued Mr. Lydon, “you led the girls off the track and into an area close to the Fiveash house, correct?"

"That was because—"

"Please just answer yes or no."

"The answer is yes."

"So, you took the girls deep into a remote part of the forests, almost directly to the Fiveash house?"

"Yes,” said Ethan through gritted teeth.

"Hmmm. Let's orient ourselves. At the point that you all discover the house, your party of four stands within meters of the entry point to the underground, correct?"

"I didn't know that at the time, but yes."

"Strike that from the record,” he said. He turned back to Ethan. "You have been instructed to answer simply yes or no."

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

"Now, within an hour of bringing the girls to this particular part of the forests, you and Aisha Dumaj argue. Aisha is upset and she runs off. Correct?"

"Correct."

"You are then the one to pursue Aisha. Cassandra and Lacey don't see either you or Aisha for a period of at least the next fifteen minutes. Is that correct?"

"Correct, yes."

"Now, you, Cassandra and Lacey search for a period of thirty minutes. After which time, you send the girls off the mountains, telling them you'll stay and search by yourself. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. We all know what happened. Aisha Dumaj disappeared. An enormous search failed to find any trace of her. Of course, we now know that she was taken to the underground prison underneath the Fiveash house."

He turned to the jury. “Now, did Ethan McAllister have time to physically carry Aisha back to the house during the initial fifteen minutes? Perhaps not. But he did have time to knock her out—"

"Objection. Prosecution is wildly speculating,” said Miss Fletcher.

"Overruled. Investigation into what was physically possible during the time periods may be warranted,” said the judge.

"Thank you,” said Mr. Lydon. “As I was saying, Ethan did have time to apply the chloroform we now know was used to subdue the females taken into the underground. And during the hours in between Cassandra and Lacey exiting the forests and the police arriving— a period of at least two hours—there would have been ample time to move Aisha into the underground space."

The prosecutor stopped for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Ethan, two weeks after the disappearance of Aisha Dumaj, you flee from the police, at first concealing yourself overnight in the bedroom of Cassandra Claiborne and then taking up camp in the forest."

"Objection,” called Miss Fletcher. “There were no charges laid at this point.”

"Sustained,” said the judge.

The prosecutor nodded at the judge then turned back to Ethan. "Okay, so you flee back to Barrington Tops. Back to the area next to the Fiveash house. But first, just before you leave, you travel to the house of Cassandra Claiborne, breaking into the house through a window, and insisting you be allowed to hide there overnight. Correct?"

Ethan’s head turned slightly, and his eyes met mine. My chest tightened.

"Yes. Correct."

"You tell Cassandra of your plans, perhaps hoping she'll follow you?"

"No. I didn't want her to follow me. It was night and even I know it’s crazy to take off into those forests at night. I wanted to wait until it was light.”

Mr. Lydon sighed. “Let's take the story back a few years, back to when the first girl was captured—Molly Parkes. You were a child of nine when Molly Parkes was taken. Weeks earlier, your parents had died in an unfortunate car accident. You were sent to live with your grandfather. Your grandfather was well-acquainted with the forests was he not?”

"Yes."

"Did you know of the existence of the Fiveash house prior to the school excursion when Aisha Dumaj was abducted?"

"No."

"No? I have recorded evidence here that Cassandra Claiborne states that upon finding hessian bags in one of the underground tunnels, you knew exactly what was inside the bags. Correct?”

"I could guess. But—"

He held up a hand. "So how it is that you could guess?”

“My granddad has been talking to himself a lot over the past year. I heard him talk about an old inheritance of gold and diamonds hidden in bags in the forests. I spent many weekends looking but didn’t find anything. Granddad had been sick for a long time and I thought if I could find the inheritance, I’d have enough money to pay for someone to care for him, without him having to be taken away to—“

“Nice story,” Mr. Lydon cut in. “But it hardly sounds believable. Your grandfather mentioned the inheritance but not the house? We’ve already heard from his testimony that he knew about the Fiveash house.” He shook his head at the jury. “We’ll continue. Upon finding the hessian bags, you then proceeded to cut them open and fill your pockets with the diamonds and gold that were inside. Yes?"

Ethan dropped his head. "Yes."

"And whilst Cassandra returned to her fellow abductees, you deserted the girls and went to find your own way out of the underground. Am I correct?"

"I didn't desert them."

"Did you return to them?"

"No."

He turned to face the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have just heard from Ethan himself that he knew of an inheritance at the Fiveash estate and upon finding it, at a time when the circumstances for the abductees was at its most dire, he filled his pockets with the spoils. He then abandoned his supposed girlfriend—Aisha—and in fact all of the girls.” His voice rose to a harsh, accusatory tone.

“Objection,” called Miss Fletcher. “That’s conjecture.”

“Overruled,” said the judge. “Although Mr. Lydon did color his language somewhat, he was stating a version of events that is consistent with what we know thus far.”

"Thank you your honor. That is all. No further questions at this time,” said Mr. Lydon.

I jumped when my name was called next. I knew it was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared. My back was stiff as I left my seat.

I gazed down at my seat in the witness box as I was sworn in. I could feel Ethan’s eyes on me and the last thing I wanted to see those eyes.

“Cassandra,” said Mr. Lydon, “you were one of the captives held in the underground, and you were the one to escape and bring rescue to the others. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind telling us how you managed to escape?"

"I found a passage—a tunnel—one that went all the way through the mountains."

"And how did you find this tunnel?"

"After the... after the earth disturbance, the statue that was fixed to the cave wall shattered. Behind the statue was the tunnel."

"At this time, things were at their most dire. Could you please educate the jury on the exact circumstances...?”

"We... there was no food left. Nothing. We were starving."

"At that point, a decision was made. Can you tell us what that decision was?"

"The decision was made that was all should drug ourselves and slip into an endless sleep. To die.”

There was a collective gasp from the jury.

"Men and women of the jury, let me repeat what Cassandra has just told us. The situation was so desperate and dire that these children—yes mere children, including a five-year-old— had to make the decision to end their lives. Cassandra, tell us how you managed to find the escape tunnel?"

"We heard, felt... wind blowing in the underground. We wanted to know where it was coming from. There hadn't been wind like that in the underground before."

"And what did you do then?"

"Ethan and I went to find the source of the wind. The others stayed behind and waited."

"And you found the source of the wind?”

"Yes. The entrance to the tunnel that I just spoke of. There were... hessian sacks inside the opening."

"Can I stop you there to ask what was said at this point between you and Ethan?"

"Ethan saw the bags and said, ‘The inheritance’.”

"Men and women of the jury,” said Mr. Lydon, “there is no mistake that Ethan McAllister knew about the contents of these sacks—something he couldn't possibly have known unless he knew about the underground—"

"Objection,” said Miss. Fletcher. “Mr. Lydon is making wild connections."

"Sustained. Barrister please contain yourself to the facts at hand,” said the judge.

“Yes your honor. Cassandra, what did Ethan do when he saw these sacks?”

I bowed my head. "He cut the sacks open. Diamonds and gold spilled everywhere. Ethan... filled his pockets."

"With the diamonds and gold?"

"Yes."

"Then what happened?"

"He said he was going to try to blast open the wall—there was a metal wall at the other end of the underground. He asked me to come with him."

“Did you go?”

“No. I was angry and confused.”

“Did you ask Ethan to explain himself?”

“Yes, but he said he didn’t have time for that.”

"Where did you go after Ethan left you?"

"I returned to the bed chamber."

"To the other girls?"

"Yes."

"Tell us what happened next?"

"The girls... had all taken the tea. They were all sleeping. I... went to fetch myself the last cup of tea."

"And then?"

"I thought of the wind, that it must have come from the outside world. I had a thought to give escape one last try."

"And what did you do?"

"I put on the wetsuit from my backpack—the one I’d brought in on the first day I’d come to the underground—and whatever else warm clothing I could find. And I went back to the tunnel."

"Where the gold and diamonds were?"

"Yes."

"Did you see Ethan again?"

"No."

"Men and women of the jury, I have some slides to show you."

A screen overhead flickered on.

"This first image is an artist's impression of the tunnel Cassandra crawled through,” said Mr. Lydon. “As you can see, for many kilometers, it is barely wide enough for a human being to pass through. You can also see the great distance she managed to travel.”

The next slide was of me after I’d emerged into the forest, standing in the river. The jury gasped.

“As you can see from the myriad injuries she sustained, it is miraculous that she managed to pass through that tunnel at all.” Mr. Lydon coughed and cleared his throat.

He next showed police photos of the McAllister house and the ribbons found underneath the floorboards.

Last, he showed a series of images of the abductees after rescue and photos of the underground itself.

The jury stared with disturbed expressions at the screen.

Ethan’s grandfather began shaking in his seat, gazing at the pictures and then turning his face away, his body wracked with silent sobs. He steadied himself, gripping the bench and breathing erratically. Ethan jumped to his feet and went to his grandfather.

Ethan was held back by two guards. “No!” he yelled. “He’s sick. Can’t you see that?”

Seth was escorted from the courtroom by the same guards that had brought him in.

The judge called for order.

Ethan refused to sit. “He shouldn’t have even been here!” he yelled at the judge.

She lowered her glasses and reminded him that he would be in contempt of court if he said another thing.

Ethan was called to the stand again—this time by his defense, Miss Fletcher.

“Ethan, I know this case has been very hard on you,” she said. “Your grandfather has been called to the stand and there has been all kinds of speculation presented by the prosecution. Now, we’ve heard that you were just a child of nine when Molly Parkes was abducted and it is ludicrous for anyone to believe that you had a part in—“

“It was me.” Ethan spoke with loud determination, his dark eyes flashing. “Henry Fiveash paid me to be his helper. I knew about the underground. I helped with all the abductions. I hid the ribbons. My grandfather had nothing to do with any of it.”

“Ethan—you’re upset,” the defense lawyer cried. “Retract your statement!”

He stared out with glazed eyes. “I can’t do that... because I’m guilty.”

23. INTO THE CRYPT

I was aware of people around me, but that was all. I was drowning, sinking. Ethan’s last words were the weight of the entire world bearing down on me. I needed to breathe, get out of here.

Was it possible Henry had used both Ethan and Lacey to help him bring children to the underground? Had Ethan and Lacey been working together all along? Had Ethan and Lacey been working together all along? Every which way I tried to imagine it, my thoughts fragmented into tiny pieces.

A figure stood still amongst the milling people. She wore a dark green scarf, her head bowed.

Molly.

I stepped beside her, trying to assemble words in my mind, words to say to her.

“Meet you at the church.” She whispered the words without looking up and stepped away quickly.

I lost her in the crowd. Mom had my arm, guiding me. We moved with the tide of people until we were outside in the street. Cameras and microphones were thrust in my face. People shouted words and questions, but I couldn’t focus on any of them.

“No comment.” My mother waved them away.

Aisha’s parents had their arms around her, steering her towards us.

“We need to get the girls away from these reporters,” cried Mrs. Dumaj. “Don’t they have any sense of decency?”

“Mom,” I said quietly, “Molly is here. She wants to meet up. Can we go?”

Aisha’s eyes widened. “You saw Molly?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I want to see her.”

“I know.” I smiled at Aisha as my eyes misted. “She said she’ll be at the church.”

Mrs. Dumaj frowned. “There’s two churches close by. Which one? We’ll come too.”

Detective Kalassi made his way over to us. “Molly wanted to speak with the girls alone, and I’m allowing her that,” he said to the Dumajs and mom. “That’s if it’s okay with you. They’ll be safe—I have plainclothes police watching her every move, and also that of Aisha and Cassie.”

Aisha’s mother gave a brittle nod, a tear squeezing from her eye. “Okay girls. We’ll go grab a coffee at the café across the road.” She indicated towards mom and Aisha’s dad. “But girls, you must not be long.”

Aisha and I hurried away from the throng of people—but not before we heard the prosecution, Mr. Lydon, announce to the media that Ethan had confessed to being Henry’s accomplice. I knew the press would be whipped into a frenzy over that, rushing away to do the news stories and articles.

Aisha and I slipped away unnoticed to the end of the street and around the corner. An old church with a soaring spire stood in the square. Signs around the church forbid anyone to enter as it was having renovations.

“Can’t be this one,” said Aisha. “I know of a big church a little further down.”

We wound our way through the thick workday streams of people. The ceaseless sounds of traffic filled the air. Cars and vans surged in all directions, skyscrapers bore down on us. Aisha led me across a park lined with old, gnarled fig trees. The church sat directly opposite—gothic and imposing, the morning sun only accentuating the deep crevices in the sandstone façade. The sign said, St Mary’s Cathedral.

Inside the church the air was cooler, scented with fresh flowers and furniture polish. The figure in the green scarf sat patiently on a pew. We’d rushed all the way here, but now we stepped hesitantly towards Molly—as though it couldn’t really be her sitting there and we’d see someone else when we’d reached her.

She turned, her cheeks pink beneath fiery tendrils of red hair, her eyes a soft green. Her skin was still pale but a translucent pale—nothing like the chalky white it had been in the underground.

“You found a way out, Calliope,” she smiled. “How can I thank you?”

“You kept me sane every day I was there,” I replied. “I can never thank you enough for that.”

She gazed at Aisha. “And Angeline… I can’t believe the three of us are here.”

She rose and we hugged, our heads bent towards each other’s. I breathed deeply, perhaps for the first time that day.

Molly tucked in a stray lock of red hair from her scarf. “I thought a church might the safest place to meet. I knew no reporter would dare follow you in here. My mother loved this church—she brought me here quite a few times when I was little. Detective Kalassi told me he explained things a little. I’m so sorry that you weren’t told… about me.”

“I couldn’t believe it,” said Aisha. “Just couldn’t believe it…. ” She cried openly.

“I was in a coma for months.” Molly shook her head softly. “But I’m here. I made it.”

“You have to stay safe now, Molly,” I told her. “Detective Kalassi said you were in danger—something from your past.”

“Yes, I have to remain hidden.” Molly exhaled softly. “I have to stay dead, basically. It was a risk coming here today. But I wanted to—I know this is extra-rough on you both, seeing as your friend is on trial.”

“I am not his friend, not now,” said Aisha. “I don’t know how I ever gave myself to him. And poor Cassie had to witness his betrayal. Maybe it would have been better if he’d died in the underground.”

“Don’t say that,” said Molly quickly.

I nodded at Molly grimly. None of us deserved the fate of dying in that place. “Molly, what’s happening? Why do you need to stay hidden?”

Her blonde eyelashes drifted down. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the story of my life when I was a kid…” Her chest lifted in a silent sigh. “When I was seven, my mother suicided. I still remember her—she had red hair like me. She tried to be happy and give me a happy childhood, but when she was sad she’d cry for days. I was sent to live with my uncle Devlin and his girlfriend after she died. There was no one else. My uncle had been involved in a string of petty crimes but nothing major. They weren’t nice people. They were cold to me most of the time, and when they’d been drinking—which was most of the time—they’d hit me… lock me up in a wardrobe… or make me drink too and think it hilarious a little kid was drunk.”

She gazed into the multi-colored light streaming from the stained-glass windows. “One night, around four in the morning, I couldn’t sleep. At the time I had a stray cat hidden away in the garage—a cat that had just had kittens. They were the only good things in my life. I went out to check on her and the kittens. My uncle drove in with some strange man, and pulled guns and bags of money from the van. He saw me, and I ran. I hid in neighbors’ lawns, watching the headlights of his car as he searched the streets for me. I was too terrified to go back to the house. I made it to the police station hours later."

She stopped and sighed—the sigh of a person relating a painful memory. “For a while there, I thought the police were going to send me back to Uncle Devlin. I didn’t come across like a sweet, innocent kid. I was almost thirteen, and I talked rough, because that’s all I’d known for years. And I dressed like a little punk street kid. They thought I must have heard the news report about two security guards being shot dead the night before and that I’d decided to make up a story about my uncle. But Detective Kalassi took over… and he believed me. He put me into a witness protection program and I was placed with a foster family. Stupidly, I ran away. I couldn’t relate to my new family. I think I was just too damaged at the time. I kept running, all the way to the mountains. And you know the rest….”

“Did your uncle Devlin go to jail? Is he in jail now?” Aisha’s hand reached over her mouth.

Molly gave a taut, wry smile. “The police didn’t find the cash or guns when they went to his house. And without my testimony, they couldn’t arrest him. If he finds out I’m alive, he might kill me.”

My throat tightened. “No… we can’t get you back just to lose you again…”

A light flickered in the air before us. I stared up into the tall arched windows. Lights of all colors flooded through softly, but nothing like the light in front of my eyes. Molly cupped the light with her hands. It shone in the space between her fingers, then moved away towards the vaulted walls.

“I think it wants us to follow….” Molly hung back, uncertain. “What am I saying?”

The light disappeared next to a set of iron gates and was extinguished under the bright lamps there.

“I don’t like this.” Aisha looked at us with huge aqua eyes.

A man stepped up behind us. “Are you girls interested in seeing what’s beyond the gates?” He was dressed in a somber grey suit. “I’m from visitor information. Ask me anything you would like to know about the church.” His voice was cultured, refined.

Molly pointed to the black gates. “Where does that go?”

The man handed her a brochure. “To the crypt. It’s very worth seeing. Building began early last century, drawing on inspiration from the Cathedral of Sienna from the 1300s and the Book of Kells from around 800 AD. It’s five dollars per person to see.”

Molly drew a purse from her handbag and paid for three admissions. The man unlocked the gates.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” I shook my head.

“Don’t let the thought of a crypt put you off.” The man smiled. “It’s very beautiful and not to be missed.”

Molly hesitated. “Would you come with us?”

“I am sorry, I need to return the information booth. But I assure you it is quite safe.” He nodded a curt goodbye and walked off towards the front of the church.

Molly took a long breath. “I need to see what this is. I sense… something. Perhaps when you’ve been around a ghost as long as I have, you know when there is a presence.”

“Jessamine?” Aisha asked bitterly.

“I don’t think so. Not her.” Molly took faltering steps to the open gates.

Aisha and I exchanged anxious glances.

“Molly, let’s just go.” I gazed around at the empty church interior. I knew there were police somewhere outside keeping watch, but they wouldn’t be expecting us to head down into a crypt.

Molly stopped, her back straightening. “In the underground, I was sure I’d die not knowing why any of us been taken there, never understanding how the serpent could even exist. And all I know now is that the questions are like knives in my back—knives that twist every night. I know… I know it isn’t over. I can’t just pretend none of it happened. I understand you girls staying up here, but I’m going….” She disappeared down the curved stairs.

I shot Aisha a grim look. We either had to follow Molly or let her go down there alone. Together, Aisha and I stepped after Molly. The air cooled as I traced my hand down the heavy wooden bannister.

The gate swung shut behind us. Aisha sprang back up the stair to push at it. She rattled the gate but it didn’t budge. She turned around to me with terrified eyes.

“Let’s get Molly.” My throat was dry and my words barely audible.

We ran down the rest of the way to the wide, ornate crypt that spread out in all directions. A mosaic floor held intricate inlaid Celtic patterns.

Molly stood tracing her fingers along one of the myriad sandstone columns. “It’s beautiful down here. My mother would have loved to see this.”

“Anywhere we’re trapped is not beautiful,” said Aisha bluntly. “The gate locked behind us. We have to get out of here now.”

My heart began racing at the sight of all the dark spaces—spaces where we could disappear into and never see the light of day again.”

A sound echoed and bounced from the walls and columns. A sound I’d heard over and over. The sound of children singing a nursery song. And then I knew who had brought us down here.

“Prudence,” I whispered.

Molly clutched my hands. “Do you see her?”

“I sense her,” I said.

“This is freaking me.” Aisha’s breaths came fast and shallow.

Molly took the map from her pocket and unfolded it. “What does she want us to see down here? So, the graves of the archbishops are over there. And the graves of the first priests of the church are over here. I don’t know what we’re meant to do.”

I wandered over to the tombs. Between the tombs, seven medallions were inlaid—each displaying a Christian virtue. There was a medallion of Prudence depicting a woman holding an instrument of measure.

Molly looked over my shoulder. “I think… maybe… she wanted us just to think of her.”

We moved into a circle, closing our hands around each other’s. I could only imagine Prudence the ghost. I hadn’t known the real-life Prudence as Molly had. And Aisha had only seen her drawings and poetry.

In a dark recess between a column and the wall, the flickering light returned. The light expanded vertically, until a girl stood in its place—a girl in a yellow, blood-stained dress.

Aisha gasped.

Prudence raised her arm—her fingers tracing a line in the air. A thin smear of light remained. She was drawing something. She traced another straight line beside the first, then wavy lines radiating out from a center point. A tree. She drew in roots below the tree that were a mirror image of the tree above.

The mirrored tree hung before us while Prudence grew filmy, translucent.

“No!” I held out a hand toward her.

Prudence gently raised her hand and stretched it out towards me. But her expression saddened. The space that had been Prudence became empty air.

“She doesn’t have the strength to stay with us.” A single tear streaked down Molly’s face.

Detective Kalassi and his wife Nina poured mom and Aisha’s parents glasses of wine. Far below the hotel balcony, the lights of Sydney streaked red, blue and yellow across the dark harbor.

“No one was expecting that from Ethan—least of all me.” Martin Kalassi shook his head.

“That boy—he always seemed to have hidden depths,” said Mr. Dumaj. “And now he’s admitted to his crimes—he can be put away.”

“There will be another trial, Mr. Dumaj,” said the detective. “The court won’t automatically accept Ethan’s guilty plea. And Henry Fiveash is still at large. We need to find where he is and bring him in.”

“You’ve been working seven days a week on this.” Nina shot her husband a sympathetic gaze. “No wonder you look burnt out, my poor love.”

Molly brought her knees up to her chin and stared at the harbor, seemingly transfixed by the steady stream of ferries and boats. “You two can’t keep me forever. I know that. Martin, you need to find Henry. And Nina, you need to return to work.”

“Honey, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” Nina touched Molly’s knee. “You don’t know what it means to Martin and me to have you here, alive and well. He drove himself crazy— following every possible lead after you disappeared in the forest. He cursed himself every day that he couldn’t find you. We thought your uncle Devlin must have followed you and hurt you, or even killed you. Martin felt responsible—being the one who had placed you with the foster family.”

Molly squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I was pretty messed up.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “And now look at me. I’m a dollhouse abductee. From the frying pan into the fire, that’s where I went. I’m a walking disaster zone.”

Detective Kalassi set his glass down on the table. “No, you’re not that. You’re an amazing young lady with a good head on her shoulders and you’re going to have a great life ahead.” He dipped his head. “But you’re right, Nina and I can’t keep you.”

Nina shot her husband a questioning look.

He stretched his mouth thin. “There’s the worry that Devlin will connect the dots sooner or later. He knows I treated your disappearance personally. I was on his back for years. I never let him out of my sights. If he finds out I have a teenage girl living with me, he just might try to find out who she is. I can’t keep you a virtual prisoner in my home forever.” He sighed. “I wish we could move away and take you with us, but you’re right, I need to be here. I need to get Devlin into prison where he belongs and I need to track down Henry Fiveash.”

Mrs. Dumaj creased her forehead. “Can Devlin be convicted if the case goes to trial now?”

“No,” replied the detective. “He can’t even be arrested without enough evidence. Back when the holdup happened, we might have been able to make a case, together with Molly’s testimony. But the trail has gone cold now. He’s hidden the money and we don’t know who his accomplice was that night. But one day he’ll slip up or try to use the money, and I’m going to be right there when he does.” He turned to Molly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I have to put you back in the witness protection program, although it’s going to kill me to let you go.”

Molly stared down at her hands rigidly. “Martin, I can’t. No more strangers. I’ve lived most of my life with strangers. People who didn’t care about me. I can’t live like that anymore. You have to let me go live on my own.”

“No,” he said fervently. “You’re only seventeen, and you’ve been away from the world a long time. There’s no way I’m going to send you out there on your own.”

Mom tucked her hair behind her ears repeatedly, in that way she did when she was trying to gather her thoughts. “I have a thought. I’ve been considering moving back to Miami.” She sighed deeply. “I think it’s the best decision for Cassie. And if Cassie and I do return to Miami, we’d like for Molly to come with us.”

She turned to gaze at Molly and me.

I didn’t need to think about it. “Oh God, mom that’s perfect…”

Shock registered on Molly’s face. She looked from mom to the Kalassis. “I don’t know what to say….”

“You don’t have to say anything now,” mom hastened to add. “It’s an idea.”

Molly smiled with sadness in her eyes. “I can’t. You’re a family—a unit. I’m a stranger. Some castaway from the underground. And I’m not a kid anymore—I came out of the dollhouse practically an adult. I'm seventeen. I’m going to have to make my own way pretty soon.”

“You’re my sister,” I said fervently. “Even if you don’t choose to live with us—you’ll always be my sister.”

“Mine too,” said Aisha. “I don’t want you guys to go, but if it will save Molly from her uncle….”

A flicker of a frown crossed Molly’s face.

Martin Kalassi leaned forward, resting his arm on his knee. “What Mrs. Claiborne is offering might just be the best thing possible. Kid, you may be seventeen, but there’s things people need their whole lives that have nothing to do with how old they are. And that’s family. Nina and I feel like you’re our own daughter. But we’re conscious every day of how close we live to Devlin. We don’t want anything bad to happen to you, ever again.”

“I would hate to see you go… but Martin’s right.” Nina clasped her hands together.

“I can’t.” Molly shook her head vehemently. “You don’t understand. I bring bad luck. I bring bad things. My mother went crazy after having me. She killed herself. My father died before I was even born. Uncle Devlin went from petty crime to murder. And in the underground… I made Prudence kill herself….I told her too much… too much….”

“You’re not to blame… for any of that,” I breathed.

“Yes I am. And I have to stay here. I have to figure everything out. I can’t let another child die. And more will die… I feel it. I know it.” She clenched her fists together, rising from her chair. “My life is worth nothing. But I give my life, for what it’s worth, to stopping any other kids from going through what I did.”

She gazed at Aisha and me with stormy green eyes. “You two know. You know. You’ve seen what we’re up against. And you, Cassie, you stared into the eyes of evil itself. We can’t pretend any of it didn’t happen.”

Aisha turned her head away.

“Molly, please,” I cried. We were a hair’s breadth away from exposing ourselves, from laying the whole insane world of ghosts and monsters on the table.

Martin stared at Molly. “Well, we can see where Molly got the fight from to survive the dollhouse. She’s a fighter, more than anyone I know. But Molly, it’s time to stop fighting and let us handle it. And you have to stop beating yourself up.”

“Molly….” My mother moved close to Molly, sitting in the chair beside her. I knew the tone she was using well. I’d heard her use it with her teenage clients. “Detective Kalassi has spoken of the very real risk of your Uncle Delvin finding you. If he finds you… you may not have a chance to figure out all the things that you want to.”

Mom’s tone was the one she used when she didn’t understand what the client wanted to do, but because it was important to the client, she treated their words as important and tried to help the client find steps to reach their goal—especially steps that kept them out of harm’s way. I’d always thought mom sounded kind of sucky and condescending when she spoke that way, but right now it made total sense. My hands formed tight balls as I watched Molly’s face.

Detective Kalassi nodded. “Devlin can’t leave the country. He can’t get to you in the U.S, Molly. It would kill and Nina to have you leave us, but we’d do anything to keep you away from that man.”

Molly bowed her head, her entire body tensing and her breaths deep and sharp. Warm breeze from the harbor lifted her hair and made it fly about her as moments ticked away.

24. MIAMI

The plane touched down on a mild Miami morning. I used to think 58 Fahrenheit was freezing, but it didn't seem that way to me now. The majority of people rushing to and fro at the airport wore jumpers and wintry expressions.

Molly looked lost as she stood in the midst of the milling crowds—her legs long and lanky beneath denim shorts and a windcheater.I could still scarcely believe she’d agreed to come with us.

“Almost there,” said mom. She put her arm around Molly.

On the taxi ride to my grandmother’s old house, Molly craned her neck incessantly, peering at sights that were new to her.

The taxi pulled up in front of our house—the house that used to belong to my grandmother. The gardens had been neatened up and the front door painted.

I was surprised to see new furniture in the house. Mom must have organized ahead to have the house redecorated. The walls had been painted in a Tuscan blue and dark orange, with a beach house theme to the furniture and wall paintings. The house had just been sitting there empty ever since grandma had passed away three years ago.

One of the bedrooms had been turned into a study. Molly and I were to have our lessons at home until the dollhouse media frenzy had died away, maybe longer if Molly’s life was still in danger. Besides, Molly wasn’t ready to have herself thrust out into the world of teenagers—she’d barely been thirteen when she’d been taken to the underground.

“Girls, this is your room,” said mom, showing us into my grandmother’s old room. The carpet had been replaced by glossy floorboards and a shaggy rug. Grandma’s bed and free-standing cupboard had been replaced with separate beds and a wall-to-wall built-in wardrobe.

Two golden-colored shapes raced past the window.

“We have dogs?” I raised my eyebrows at mom. We’d never had animals. She was allergic to animal hair.

She pulled an off-hand face. “Martin Kalassi thought we should have dogs, so we have dogs. They’re trained guard dogs, apparently. Girls, meet Akina and Kishka.”

I knelt to wave a greeting to the animals outside the window. I noticed then, the tiny blinking light on some kind of unit on the ceiling. A burglar alarm. We’d never had one of those before either. I guessed that was at Kalassi’s insistence too.

Molly lugged in her bag and sat on a bed. She only had one bag—filled with clothing that the Kalassis had bought for her. She picked up a fluffy cushion off the bed and hugged it to her. “I’m really here.” She sounded a little dazed.

A knock sounded at the door and mom answered it. She brought in a bunch of yellow flowers, setting them down on a side table. She briefly glanced at the accompanying note but said nothing.

Mom yawned. “I’m off for a sleep, girls. Please, Molly, make yourself at home.” She reached for her hand and squeezed it. “This is your home.” She gestured towards the kitchen. “There’s a fridge full of drinks and snacks and let me know if you need anything ok?”

Mom’s face was drawn and her olive skin pale. I didn’t know what had been involved in organizing the move and redoing the house, but I guessed it had all taken its toll.

I stepped over and read the note on the flowers. They were from Zach—the card reading, Welcome home. Can’t wait to see you, Zach.

"Who is Zach?" Molly stood behind me, twisting a length of her red hair around a finger.

"Aisha and I went on a brief vacation back in January—to an island in north Queensland. We met Zach and his older brother there. God, I wish you'd been there too. But back then, I didn't even know that was possible...."

"So... you have a boyfriend?"

"Well no… we’re just friends." I didn’t know if that was exactly true—in Zach’s eyes anyway. But things had moved so fast, I wasn’t sure where I stood. All I knew was, I really wanted to see him again.

Molly gave me a quick smile. "I think I need to go lie down too—long flight.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, it was long. I’d forgotten just how many hours it takes to get from Sydney to the States.”

Molly slipped from the living room into the bedroom. I wanted to sleep too, but I guessed she wanted some privacy. The flowers from Zach had probably been bad timing. Guilt threaded its way down my insides. I’d had a life both before and after the dollhouse. Molly had had none. I fetched a vase from the kitchen—grandma’s treasured glass vase that she’d had since she first was married—and arranged the flowers in the vase. I went to place the flowers on the kitchen table but had second thoughts and placed them in an out-of-the-way corner in the sun room.

I settled on the sofa. My head and body felt heavy and useless.

I woke later with an imprint of the serpent’s eye in my mind. I’d been dreaming of Zach and Prudence and the ocean.

Zach and I were sailing in a yacht close to shore. I could see through the glittering ocean to the shallow bottom. Sea grasses swayed in the undercurrents. The sea grasses grew and twisted, choking the water with their masses, forming into trees below the surface. A pale shape floated in the green depths—a girl—her dress drifting around her. Her eyes were open but unseeing. Prudence. She became tangled in the sea grasses. Zach and the yacht were gone, and I was plunged into the water. The water was cold, deathly cold. And darkness moved into the world above. Walls—walls of rock crowded in. I was in the cave of the serpent. The tree of sea grasses fell away beneath me, into incalculable depths, taking Prudence with it. She held out a hand to me. I tried to reach her, but my lungs were bursting. In the inky waters, a mass darker then the water swam towards me. A silver gaze fixed on me. The eyes of the serpent.

25. VIZCAYA

The first lessons our teacher gave Molly and I were just a series of short skills tests, to see where we were at academically.

Molly scored high in English and geography and low in math skills. The teacher was particularly impressed with Molly’s knowledge of pre-1920s literature. Miss Bowen of course didn’t know who Molly was and would be horrified if she knew how her student had such knowledge. My scores were the same middling scores as usual—the only subject I did well in was biology.

Molly plunged into her schoolwork with dedication. She seemed determined to fill in the blank spots. She enjoyed our strolls on the beach the most, but shopping centers and stores seemed too much—they both exhausted and scared her. Molly and I ended up choosing most of our clothing from online stores.

The police had requested a blanket ban on reporting that Cassandra Claiborne had moved back to Miami. No one but my former friends and a few locals even knew I was here. And no one but a select few knew Molly Parkes was alive. Molly had been put back into the witness protection program, and the police had changed her identity. Her name was now Moledah Campbell, with her back story being that she had grown up in an isolated religious community. She was now officially a distant cousin of mine whom had wanted to break away from her cult. Her story fit with her accent, which didn’t sound Australian—after five years spent underground with Jessamine, Molly’s speech was a quaint mix that sounded somewhat English/American. The story also fit with her ignorance of recent world events and normal teenage experiences. Her fiery hair had been dyed a muted color, although the red highlights burst through in the sunshine. Her freckles had been lasered away. Her lovely green eyes were now a golden brown thanks to contact lenses. Her age had been changed to a date eight months younger.

She said she liked her new name, Moledah. It was from the bible and meant giver of life. And at least she could still be Molly for short.

Molly took to the internet like a moth to a flame. Her aunt and uncle hadn’t let her use the internet when she’d lived with them. She spent a lot of time looking up music videos and listening to music. Her music choices were eclectic—from classical to loud, angry death metal. She watched one particular video over and over—a news clip in which Frances was reunited with her family. She would touch the face of Frances on the screen and cry as Frances caught the first sight of her family rushing to see her in the hospital. I would sit and watch too, captured by the real-life news footage of the people Molly had drawn for Frances in the underground. Molly had wanted to keep their memory alive for Frances, ever-hopeful that the tiny girl would see them again.

Molly was also obsessed with finding answers to what had happened to all of us in the underground.

My mind resisted thinking about the underground. The serpent was fast becoming a nightmare vision, a being I hadn't really seen. I understood now how people could block out a monstrous thing that had happened to them. Some things were too much to bear. Some things were too difficult to even process. Mostly I felt I was standing on the edge of the crazyland abyss and it wouldn’t take much to push me over.

Back in the dollhouse, I’d been the one trying to push Molly when she’d stood at that edge—never realizing what I was doing. I owed it to her to be strong now and find out all we could. And I owed it to Prudence—Prudence who had helped me when I needed help most. But I wasn't strong. And I couldn’t admit to Molly that I didn’t want to find out any more about that world. Night after night, I pretended to help her in her research, hoping she wouldn’t see the truth in my eyes.

Every night, Molly and I poured over things that would have given mom a heart attack if she’d known. We read about shadowy ancient texts and demonic rituals and mythical beings. We tried to find the mirrored tree amongst centuries-old symbols. We studied genealogy sites, trying to glean information about Jessamine’s past. Molly desperately wanted me to find out what I could from Lacey, but when I called the hospital where she was, they wouldn't allow me to talk with her.Aisha joined us on Skype every night—adding whatever knowledge she’d been able to find. It felt as though the clock was forever ticking time away—only we didn’t know it was that what we were racing against.

We tried to bring the ghost of Prudence back. But she didn’t appear.

“I know she wants to,” said Molly sadly, “but I can feel that she’s not able to pass through.”

Some part of my mind felt the insanity of the things I believed in now, but it had also become normal life. And Prudence wasn’t a ghost. She was a real person. I sensed the veil between this life and the next as being whisper-thin. We spent hours looking up records of missing girls, from countries around the world, trying to discover who she was. She eluded us.

The more time I spent with Molly, the more I realized I hadn’t known her at all. I’d seen her as passive in the underground—strong but always so afraid to act. At the end I’d known she’d had no choice but to try to survive and to keep the others alive. I’d never seen Molly as she was now—driven and relentless. She barely slept, staying up until the early hours, researching and learning everything she could. She’d spent five years mostly sleeping, she said, and now she was going to make up for lost time.

I couldn’t wait to see Zach again, and I felt weak and stupid for feeling that way. After all, I’d been with Zach less than two days in total. Maybe it was just the fact that he was so unconnected to the underground that made me want him so much—he was the future I thought I’d never have.

I slipped out while Molly was taking a math class. Zach insisted on sending a cab over to pick me up. The only modes of transport I had open to me were the bus and my bicycle—and so I didn’t argue. He’d wanted to meet somewhere special and had chosen the Vizcaya museum and gardens. I’d been there once when I was around six.

I felt a stab of jealousy as a group of girls dressed in teeny shorts and oversize jumpers strolled by outside the museum. In the Whitsunday Islands back in Australia, Zach had been all mine. Here in Miami, he had endless choices.

I stepped into the ornate marble lobby of the Vizcaya and found my way through to the gardens. Zach stood by the garden maze. His mouth turned up into a grin as he saw me. He bounded over to me before I could say hello, his arms wrapping around me.

“Hello Miss Cassandra,” he murmured close to my ear.

“Zach.” Pulling back, I smiled at him.

His eyes were especially blue today. The cut-off denim shorts had been replaced by a pair of True Religion jeans. The worn t-shirt was replaced with a navy wind cheater. He looked amazing. Up close, he looked different than he had on that vacation to the Whitsundays. Back there, his tanned good looks had kind of blended in with the sunkissed tropical backdrop. But here, his looks were striking.

“Can I hug you again?” he asked. “That felt sooo good.”

Without waiting for an answer, he lifted me off the ground and crushed me to him. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”

We began walking into the round maze, our fingers touching and catching as we threaded our way through. He stopped to kiss me in the center of the maze and my breath caught in my chest.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get away before now,” I told him.

“I was starting to think you were blowing me off.”

“I would never do that.

“How’s your cousin doing?”

I shrugged awkwardly. “She’s okay. It was hard for her to leave her whole family behind in that cult, but she’s coping pretty well.” I hated lying to Zach. But I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone the truth about Molly.

His eyes grew serious. “And more importantly, how are you doing? You know, I watched the clock the whole day you were at court, waiting for you to get home and call me. It must have been hell.”

I nodded. “It was. But incredibly good to hear your voice at the end of that day.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not too much. Mom cooked a big breakfast.”

“Okay then, I know what we’ll have.” He smiled, taking my hand and leading me to the café. He ordered fresh scones, cream and jam. I almost felt weird with him watching me eat, now that he knew what I’d been through in the dollhouse. It was almost like a badge of shame. I hated having people know that I’d been forced to dress like a doll and eat old scraps of food. I suddenly wanted to flee, go home, hide. I understood a small fraction of how Molly felt while out amongst crowds of people.

The pool below glittered in the noon sun, streaming through open arches into the interior of the historic mansion. I finished my scones quickly, trying to smile as Zach talked on about a funny event that had happened at school earlier that week.

“I’d better go,” I told him. “I have lessons this afternoon.”

Zach gazed at me with his beautiful eyes. “But it’s Sunday?”

“I know. I’ve missed too much school. It’s been seven months since I was last at school. I really need to do some heavy catching up.”

He sighed. “Come sailing with Emerson and I next weekend.”

“Sounds fun. But I don’t want to leave Molandah on her own.”

“You’d come? Bring your cousin too. Does she like sailing?”

“I’m not sure. But I’ll ask her.”

Zach called a taxi for my trip home and then ducked his head to kiss me. “I’ll miss you for the next five days.”

I woke dreaming about Prudence and the underwater tree again.

Molly sat cross-legged on her bed, staring out the window into the garden. Tears tracked down the silvery planes of her cheeks.

“Molly…?”

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me. I had… dreams.”

“Yeah. I have them too. They haunt me every night.”

“Is that why you’re crying? A dream?”

Her hair hung over her face like a curtain. "Cassie… I've missed out on so much. I've been locked away... almost my whole life. Even when I lived with my uncle—that was just a different kind of being locked up. I don't even feel like a whole person. I'm just… half of someone's idea of what I am."

I sat, drawing my knees up to my chin. "You have to stop thinking that crap. You’re more real than anyone I know. And in that place, you were the person who kept me sane. You're the person who kept all of us sane. Maybe you gave too much of yourself for too long.”

“That was the thing. In the dollhouse, I had people to care for. Before that, no one needed me. No one even saw me or noticed I was around. Little Philly and Sophronia, they needed me. At least, I had a reason for being, a reason to be alive. I could be there for them.”

I didn’t know what to say to her. A thought burned at the back of my mind, a thought so terrifying, I immediately banished it from my mind.

Maybe everyone in the world needed Molly Parkes right now—they just didn’t know it.

26. BRICKNELL KEY PARK

Molly and I were scrubbing Mom’s car in the driveway when Zach and Emerson pulled up in a convertible.

“Mmm, what is it about girls and suds?” said Emerson.

Molly blushed a deep pink.

They had someone else in the back seat—Zach introduced him as Parker. He had that clean-cut college-boy look, with intelligent gray eyes beneath short black hair. Parker jumped from the car, extending a hand to me and then to Molly.

“I don't think I've ever seen hair quite the shade of red that yours is. Stunning,” he said to Molly.

Molly mumbled a thanks. I couldn’t help but think that if he’d seen her hair the color it was before, he’d have been even more impressed.

Zach grabbed me around the middle from behind and kissed my temple. “Maybe the girls can come wash our boat. What do you think Emerson? We can sit back with some cold drinks and watch these two do their thing.”

“Cut it out,” I said. I introduced him and Emerson to Molly.

Molly looked like she was ready to run. This was probably the closest she’d been to boys in the past five years—with the exception of Ethan.

“Sorry—I’ll consider myself chastised,” said Zach. “Sadly, the yacht’s already clean—dad made me and Emerson clean it last weekend. It’s all ready for another sail out on the water. We thought we’d see if you two would like to come out with us.”

I eyed Molly apologetically. I’d already told her about Zach’s invitation to go out yachting, and she’d politely declined. I hadn’t expected him to just turn up like this. And she hadn’t even met him before.

As if Zach suddenly tuned into my words, his eyes softened. “Please? Molandah, I’ve heard so much about you from Cassie. She thinks a lot of you. I know you don’t know Miami well—I was hoping for a chance to show it to you from the water.” He hung his head like a sorrowful choirboy. “And Cassie’s so attached to you she won’t come unless you do.”

Molly nodded hesitantly. “Okay… I’ll come.”

"Cool!” Parker grinned at Molly.

The sky was a burnished blue—almost a coppery blue as we stepped onto the yacht.

Miami became a long strip of golden beach with slightly misted highrises behind.

“Wow, we’re a long way out already,” I said to Zach.

His eyes smiled. “This is a cruiser-racer. Sacrifices a few comforts for greater speed. Doesn’t go quite as fast as dad’s racing yacht but she’s a great little boat.”

Molly tied her long hair up into a loose knot.

Parker folded his arms. “Here I was hoping to see that lovely hair blowing in the wind.”

Molly’s full mouth turned up slightly at the corners. She wasn’t used to the way boys their age spoke and teased. I nudged her arm, and we moved up to the bow and sat on the bench. The boys steered the yacht along the shoreline for the next hour, past the Biscayne National Park.

“Beautiful,” said Molly. She’d relaxed in the last half hour, wanting to know everything about where we were and what we were looking at. Parker was more than happy to oblige, acting as her personal tour guide.

“This whole area is an aquatic park,” said Parker. He bent close to her, pointing over her shoulder to the shore. “That way is Key Largo—you know, like in the Beach Boys song—and if you keep going, you’ll hit Cuba. And that way are the Bahamas. I’ll take you there one day if you’ll let me.” He pointed left over the broad ocean.

Molly frowned and smiled, seeming to not know what to make of Parker.

The boys went to adjust the rigging, turning the sail slightly. The yacht picked up speed. Wind blustered past with a growing chill, despite the warmth of the day. Molly zipped her jacket. I went down to the cabin to fetch my windcheater. The boys had warned us about the wind out on the water but I hadn’t realized it would be quite so cold.

Zach dropped down to the cabin, swinging straight from a ceiling rail to the floor. “Too cold up there?”

“Just getting my jumper.”

He took the opportunity to cuddle me. “I’ll warm you up.”

I smiled at him. “It’s amazing out there today.”

“It’s amazing out there every day.” His eyes lit up. “Even in foul weather. I love it.” A grave look entered his eyes. “If I could live my life out here on the water, I would.”

“Maybe you can run your own Miami yacht tour company when you’re older.”

He gave a sad laugh. “My father expects me and Emerson to follow after him into the family business. I already feel the noose around my neck.”

“Surely he’d understand if you wanted to do something else. He wouldn’t want you unhappy.”

“You don’t understand. Just being born into my family means already being in too deep. I’m in over my head. Drowning.”

I dropped my arms down to hold his hands.

“What would happen if you cut just loose, did your own thing?”

“My father would never let that happen. Whatever I do, whatever steps I take—it’s all orchestrated. Not a note out of place.”

“What about me? He doesn’t seem to mind you being around me. Surely I can’t be what your father had in mind for you. I’m from the wrong end of town, so to speak.”

His hands tightened on mine. “Cassie, just know this. My father is going to continue to make decisions for me. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

I turned away, biting into my lip. He’d been clear enough. I didn’t need to ask more. Zach’s father was allowing him a bit of fun before he found a real girlfriend, and Zach was warning me. I was fifteen. I shouldn’t expect that the first boy I fell in love with would be the one I’d be with forever. I didn’t even know how I really felt about Zach. But still, his words stung.

A deeper voice inside told me that there had been a boy I’d known for sure I’d fallen in love with. Ethan—the boy who didn’t deserve anyone’s love.

Zach’s phone buzzed and he took the call. He held the phone away for a moment. “Mom wants to invite you and your cousin out to dinner tonight.”

“I’m not sure about Molly. Today might be enough for her.”

We returned above-deck. Parker was sitting beside Molly, pointing out various things about the yacht. She seemed interested.

“The parents are asking us all to dinner tonight,” Zach called to everyone.

Neither Molly nor I said anything.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” said Emerson. “All for going out to dinner, raise your hand.”

Zach, Emerson and Parker raised their hands.

“Okay, three against two.” Emerson said. “That’s as good as a yes.” He called his mother and made arrangements to meet them outside the restaurant.

Molly stepped tentatively from the cab. She wore a simple khaki-colored dress that looked like it was made for her. Not that Molly knew how great she looked. She eyed the upmarket restaurant with apprehension on her face.

I took her hand. “It’s just dinner. We’ll eat and then we’ll go.”

Taking a long breath, she nodded.

A cool breeze drifted in from Biscayne Bay. The restaurant stood at the apex of Brickell Key, a small, man-made island dotted with highrise condos.

Zach, Emerson and Parker strolled from the glass doors of the restaurant. Zach wore casual clothing, but you could tell it was expensive. It immediately made me feel less. Growing up in Miami, there was always that mix of the rich and the poor. Mom and I weren't exactly poor but we were so far away from being rich that the people in that world seemed from another planet. Mom had always taken lower-paying jobs to be able to help the families that needed help most.

"Hey beautiful,” said Zach as he noticed me.

“Wow,” said Parker appreciatively as he stepped over to take Molly by the arm. “You girls should really try to give other girls a break and not look this good.”

Molly gave an embarrassed laugh.

Mr. and Mrs. Batiste were already seated inside the restaurant. There was another couple around the same age sitting beside them—Mrs. Batiste introduced them as the Baldcotts—Parker’s parents. Viola sat next to her mother.

Mrs. Batiste patted Molly’s hand as she was introduced by Parker. “Oh how divine you are.”

Viola waved a hand at Molly. “The boys seem to be making a habit of picking up pretty girls wherever they go.”

We seated ourselves at the round table. Everyone broke their bread rolls and buttered them. For appetizers we had the choice of a Cobia Crudo with truffles or River Beluga. I’d never had caviar and thought now was not the time to try it. I had the sudden mental picture of myself throwing up at the dinner table.

“Can’t never remember which is the dessert fork and which is the appetizer fork,” said Parker, staring down at his utensils.

“That’s because you always eat and run, son,” scoffed his mother.

Neither Molly nor I needed to worry about knowing the order in which we were to use our cutlery—Jessamine had insisted upon proper use of cutlery, even when there were barely crumbs to eat. I chose the fork on the outside and speared a roasted olive.

Molly stared at her plate as though the food were a mirage and would disappear at any moment.

"Is anything wrong, dear?" asked Mrs. Batiste.

Molly shook her head. “No, it looks lovely.”

I knew she was going to find the expense and opulence of the food here at the restaurant difficult to deal with.

“How did you girls like your day out on the water? Did the boys behave?” Mr. Batiste ate a mouthful of caviar on a piece of thin, dry bread.

“It was fun. And yes the boys behaved—mostly.” I grinned.

The Batistes and the Baldcotts chortled.

Mrs. Batiste held a hand to her head as though she’d just remembered something. “The charity event on the Saturday after next. You and Molandah simply must come. It will be on at our home—it’s a masked ball. The boys would be lost without you girls there.”

I glanced at Molly. We were saved from saying anything by the procession of waiters who arrived with the main course—each plate a work of art. The food was amazingly good. Being out on the yacht today had given me a huge appetite.

My phone buzzed. I’d set it to vibrate rather than ring, though I needn’t have bothered. It seemed every second person at the tables was taking a call on their cell phones. Zach’s father alone had taken two calls during dinner.

I discreetly looked to see who had called. The caller ID was Aisha. She’d left a cryptic message: I have news–call me!

For a moment I thought I’d call her back later, in private. The next I was wondering if she’d discovered something important about Henry or the mirrored tree.

“Would everyone excuse me? I need to answer a call.” I rose from the table.

Molly nodded at me to let me know it was okay, though it was obvious she was still uncomfortable sitting there with strangers.

A rush of cool, briny air met my face as the doors slid open. I side-stepped the noise of patrons talking loudly outside and found a quieter spot near some manicured shrubbery. Lights from the highrise buildings streaked across the rippling water. Beyond the shrubbery was Bricknell Key Park, spindly palm trees swaying darkly against the night sky.

Aisha squealed thinly as she answered my call. "I have the best news. I’m coming to the US as a present for my sixteenth!"

I thought back to when Aisha last had a birthday. It had been not long after school started. February twenty-sixth.

“Oh God!” I cried, “You’re coming in a few days!”

“Yep. Everything’s booked!”

“I can't wait for you to get here! We’ll have so much fun. Guess where I am right now?”

“Where?”

"Having dinner with Molly at a classy restaurant—with Zach and Emerson."

“Oh wow….”

Her words were tinged with something I couldn’t name. Was she jealous Molly and I had been out together with Emerson? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

“Aish? Is everything okay?”

She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You sounded a little… different.”

“I’m just missing you guys. I’ll see you on the twenty-fifth.”

She ended the call before I had a chance to respond.

I dropped the phone back into my clutch and turned on my heel to return to the restaurant. A shadow moved in the recesses of the park. A man. He stepped so that the light above draped over him. He put the palms of his hands together as though he was about to pray, then slowly rotated his hands into a weird shape—like he was trying to make a fluttering butterfly.

My gaze blurred, fixed on his hands. My mind seemed to shift gears, move into a different place.

He gestured to me, waving me over to him.

I went to him, walked over to the park while my mind screamed at me. Run. Turn around and run. Scream. Get out of here.

"Calliope,” he said.

"That's not my name."

I knew the voice behind the dark face. Henry Fiveash.

Why am I here talking with him? Run!

"I hope you enjoyed the dress I had sent to you."

“You’ve been following me? Why did you send that dress?” My teeth gritted together.

He straightened his collar. “I sent it to you as a reminder. So you don’t start to forget… because there’s so much we need to know. Your mental state was too delicate to start probing earlier, but you’re ready now.”

“I don’t understand. I will never forget the dollhouse. You don’t need to send reminders.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a reminder of that. It was a reminder of the dream state you entered when you wore the dress, specifically.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“Are you? I don’t think so. You’ll do exactly as I say. Dear Doctor Verena made sure of that.”

“Doctor Verena Symes?” My throat went dry.

He gave a cold imitation of a smile. “I hope she didn’t neglect to tell you she’s one of us. You submitted willingly to her hypnotism session—and now you’re mine for the picking.”

“Whatever it is you want from me, you won’t get.”

I can see you need some more persuasion.” Henry pulled a long blade from his pocket and twirled it so that it caught the light. “Come with me now or you won’t live to the end of this night. People will see you all bloody on the ground and just consider you the unfortunate victim of a mugger.”

“You think your knife scares me? After what you put me through in the underground?”

His face became ugly. “Walk with me.”

Powerless, I followed him deeper into the dark grounds of the park. He stopped and clutched my shoulder. “You weren’t meant to escape from the underground. None of you were.”

I stared at him defiantly. “I know you’re not the Henry from the Feast of Fools. That Henry is a ghost.”

He snorted derisively. "I'm the bastard great-grandson of a sixteen-year-old showgirl that the original Henry Fiveash knocked up. Now I need you to shut the hell up and tell me what I need to know.”

Wind crept up around us, blowing leaves into the air.

“Why did you keep all of us in the underground?” I demanded.

He laughed. "That's not for you to know."

He then spoke a deep flurry of words. The words seemed to come from a distance, seemed to be in another language.

Horror unique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent.

I remembered then that Dr. Verena had spoken those same words.

Henry moved close to my face. “It’s from Virgil. The horror and the silences terrified their souls. When you hear it, you will go wherever you are told….” He held up the palm of his hand to me. “Go back into the day of the train. Go into the memories. You witnessed the train falling. See it.”

I was being sent backwards, dragged through great distances—even though my body didn’t move. All was black. No, not exactly black. I could see rays of sunlight glinting darkly. How could I see sun? The familiar nauseating sensation of being out of my body closed over me.

A statue rose before me, late afternoon sun sparking off its edges. The statue was set into a bare, stony hillside.

Beside me, a girl stared at the same statue. Blood gushed from her neck and shoulder. She was dying. A short distance from her, an old man groaned—crumpled like a discarded rag doll.

The girl and the man were Jessamine and Tobias. And I knew the statue. The statue was the same as the one from The Dark Way.

I looked backwards into the shadow of a high cliff. The twisted train wreckage snaked along the ground. Suitcases and belongings were strewn everywhere. Mangled bodies dotted the hill—some clinging to life but most still and unmoving. A woman lay tangled in a metal and wicker wheelchair—the wheels bent at impossible angles.

"What do you see?" Henry’s voice was insistent, urgent. I could hear him but not see him.

“I see terrible things.”

“Tell me who. Tell me what.”

With all that was within me, I wanted to resist telling Henry anything at all. But I was compelled to tell him what he asked.

"I see sunlight, deep afternoon sun. That time when a summer day is about to change into night. I see the far mountains. I see a train wreck. Suitcases everywhere. A lion limping into the hills. Death."

"Good. Good. Look closely at the people. Who do you see?"

"I see Jessamine… and Tobias."

“Now look on the ground—all around the old man. What do you see?”

“I see hoops…clown costumes…torn pieces of striped tent.”

“Do you see a book—a book near Tobias?”

“I don’t see a book.”

"Tobias took a delivery of a book that afternoon. I need you to find it. Look between the people, between the suitcases and the wreckage. You see, a bomb went off that day on the tracks—a bomb that was meant to stop the train and force the driver to return to the last station. There were people waiting to board the train there who would take the book from the old man—and the people guarding the book wouldn’t have been expecting that. But it went horribly, horribly wrong and the train ended up derailing….”

Henry’s breath was hot on my face. I scanned the ground up and down the mountainside. I saw a thin woman in a dark dress with her head half-cracked open. My dinner heaved in my stomach, bile reaching into my mouth. Near the woman were open suitcases with books spilling from them. I described the scene to Henry.

“No, that is Miss Kitty—Jessamine’s governess. I’m not interested in her books. The book I want is very old. Centuries-old. The cover would be leather, worn, cracked. The book may be inside a case.”

"I don't see anything like that."

"Go back to Tobias. What is happening?”

People… villagers… are there. They are tending to the cuts on Tobias and Jessamine, stopping the bleeding.”

"Who?" He grabbed my wrist. "Tell me who?"

"Two men… two women… a child. The child is crying and afraid."

“Do any of them take anything from Tobias?”

“No. They take nothing.”

He released his hold. “What’s happening now?”

“The men carry Tobias. The women carry Jessamine. They are taking them to a line of animals. Mules. Tobias and Jessamine are being carried on the backs of the mules.”

“So that’s how they were taken out of the valley. Keep watching. Where do they take them?”

The long line of mules picked their way through the rock-strewn floor of the valley. The mules traveled along the edge of some kind of man-made river system, perhaps an aquaduct. I saw the name of the town they entered—Batopilas. Bougainvilleas covered brightly-painted buildings. Barefoot children ran alongside the mules, but didn’t notice the blanket-covered figures lying on the two mules at the back of the line.

The last strains of sunset glinted from the stucco of an old church. The mules were led away to feed and water, save for two, which taken deeper into the mountains. A modest house made of stone stood at the side of a dirt road. Night fell as they entered the cottage.

"Where do they take them?" Henry said impatiently.

"To their home."

"Where is their home. Describe the location, what the house looks like.”

“It is night. I can’t see any of that,” I answered him truthfully.

Henry cursed under his breath. “Then tell me about the inside of the house.”

"They must be deeply religious. There are pictures of saints on the walls."

"What are they saying? Tell me what you hear."

I don't understand what they say, I answered, for they spoke a language I didn’t understand.

Jessamine and Tobias were laid on white-sheeted beds. The women tended to their cuts and bruises while the men took the mules back to the town. The child was timid at first, standing back and observing in that serious way that children do, but gradually she crept closer and closer. She inspected Tobias first, wincing at the sight of the deep gash on his forehead. She continued across to Jessamine, touching the ends of Jessamine’s pale lemon-colored hair. Jessamine's eyes drifted half-open. The child shrank back again.

"What is your name?" Jessamine's voice was slurred, raspy.

The girl answered ‘Philomena’ but Jessamine frowned vaguely at the girl’s thick native accent. The girl pointed at a small statue that stood amongst a group of other statues on a basic wooden shelf.

A woman came to stand behind the girl, hands on her shoulders. "Her name is Philomena, like the statue.” She picked up the statue of a delicate girl from the shelf. “Philomena was the daughter of a Greek King. The emperor of Rome fell in love with her when she was thirteen, but she refuse him. He take her away and try to drown her with an anchor around her neck. The angels come, and they save her. But the emperor, he no stop. He have her decapitated. She die a martyr."

The little girl straightened, apparently feeling proud that her name had such a history behind it.

"Phil-oh-meen-ahhh…" Jessamine blinked slowly. "That is a name to live up to."

The little girl started to name all the statues on the shelf.

Jessamine slipped back in sleep or unconsciousness—I wasn't sure which.

Henry gripped my shoulder impatiently, his breath close to my neck. "Tell me exactly what you see."

"I see Tobias and Jessamine sleeping."

"Now give me names. I don’t care what bloody language they’re talking in. Just listen to their names when they talk to each other.”

"Nicholas… Jerome.…"

"Good. Which one is which?"

"They are all statues on a shelf…. "

Henry pressed the knife’s blade against my neck. "I don't want the names of bloody statues. I want the names of the people."

I don’t want to tell Henry anything. But I was unable to direct my will. No—I’d been able to stop myself from telling Henry the name of the town the family had travelled to or what their house looked like. I just needed to concentrate harder, push Henry out. And push away the feeling of the blade on my throat. Find a way to get free from the trance Henry had put me under.

A roar came from behind me. Henry was torn from me, thrown to the ground. I whirled around.

Emerson pulled Henry up from behind in a single jerking motion, restraining him while Zach held his fist high. Zach punched Henry over and over, grunting in rage. Henry’s hand slipped inside his pocket, the blade of a second knife glinting dully.

“Watch out!” I raced forward.

Henry whipped his arm across in an arc, slashing Zach’s shoulder. He kicked his legs out, sending Zach toppling. Blood soaked through Zach’s white shirt. Emerson shoved Henry away and then stormed towards him. Henry fled into the park.

My knees dropped to the ground beside Zach. I held a hand to his bleeding shoulder. “Oh God!”

Zach grasped my arms. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine. We need to get you to the hospital,” I breathed.

Emerson held his cell to his ear. “Dad, hurry! Zach’s been stabbed by some guy out here….”

Mrs. Batiste patted my hand. “We can count ourselves lucky that things didn’t go worse than they did. Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

I shut my eyes for a moment, closing out the sight of the hospital waiting room—people with drained expressions occupying the chairs. “I feel terrible that Zach got hurt because of me.”

“Nonsense. The cut will repair. We’re just relieved that all three of you are okay.” She smiled warmly.

Zach’s dad walked up to us, two men in suits beside him. “Cassie, this is Detective Drager and Detective Sanderson. They’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight.”

I nodded at Mr. Batiste. “Of course. Can it be somewhere in private? It’s rather busy in here.”

I walked with them to an empty section of the waiting room.

At first, Detective Drager reminded me of Martin Kalassi. He was a big man, slightly soft around the middle and broad-shouldered. But when he spoke, He was nothing the same. His voice was sharp and to the point.

“What happened, exactly?”

I exhaled. “I went outside to answer a phone call. A man was there. Henry Fiveash. If you call Detective Martin Kalassi of the—“

“Who’s Henry Fiveash?”

“He’s… he’s an abductor of children….” I briefly told him who Henry was and who I was.

He listened attentively but showed no change of facial expression. I could have been reciting a grocery list.

He nodded. “All right, we’ll try to find out how this guy got into this country and track him down. And we’ll have a chat with your Detective Kalassi. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere alone, okay?”

I shook my head numbly. “No, I won’t do that.”

They strode away.

Molly rushed over and handed me her phone. “I called Martin Kalassi. He wants to talk to you.”

I spoke with the detective about what had happened tonight. He told me he’d liaise with Detective Dragar and work with him to find Henry Fiveash.

Zach stuck his head in, a bandage visible on his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing a shirt—it would have been covered in blood anyway.

I flung myself at him. “I was so scared when he cut you.”

“Ouch!” Zach grinned down at me.

“Sorry….” I winced.

“Kidding. It’s not too bad—just a few stitches.” He grasped my chin with his thumb and forefinger. His gaze grew somber. “I’m just sorry I had my chance to get that guy in jail and I blew it. He got away. If I’d known that was Henry when I was hitting him, I don’t even know that he would have lived to get put in jail.”

“I’m so, so sorry you and Emerson got involved in this.”

Something intensely sad visited his eyes. “Don’t you ever be sorry. I don’t want you to get hurt. I just don’t ever want you to get hurt.”

His hand trembled as he reached around the back of my head and drew me close to his chest.

Molly paced our bedroom in her pajamas. The temperature had dropped another couple of degrees. It wasn’t freezing, but too cold to be out of bed. Exhaustion bled through me, congealing in every muscle of my body. Vestiges of the trance Henry had put me under remained in my mind, making my thoughts hazy, but I could still see everything about the train wreckage so clearly. The dogs sat outside our window whimpering, as though they knew Molly and I were in turmoil.

“They’ll be coming back. If not Henry, someone else. We both know that.”

“Yeah….”

She stopped beside my bed, her green eyes wide. “How are you able to go into the past?”

“I don’t know. It happened for the first time… when I wore the dress.”

“Audette’s dress?” She frowned sharply.

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it. When Jessamine made me wear it, it took me back to the past, but my own past. I didn’t go into anyone else’s memories.”

“For me, it started with my own memories… but then I just somehow slipped into someone else’s—Audette’s. And then… I can’t explain it, but it’s like I stepped outside her memories, and I was just there, in another place, in another time—in a speeding train. Henry was there in the train… and he saw me.”

Molly raised troubled green eyes to me. “You haven’t told me what it was that Henry was looking for in the memory.”

“A book… he was looking for a book.”

“What book?”

“I’m not sure. He said it was old—centuries old. Tobias was meant to have it.”

“Did you see it?”

I nodded.

“Whatever this book is, they’re going to a lot of trouble to find it.”

I drew my knees up close to my chest.

“Cassie, we need you to go back there.”

“Where?”

“Into the dream.”

“I’m scared to go back into the dreams. It’s like I could be trapped there and never come back….”

She chewed her lip. “But if I’m here with you, ready to bring you out of it…?”

“Molly, I have to admit something. I’ve been right alongside you as you’ve been trying to find out answers, but in body not in spirit, you know? My first doctor, Doctor Alexia, told me it’s okay to block things out for a time, and I’ve been hanging onto that like a drowning person. What I saw in the underground… I’ve had to deny to myself that I actually saw….” My voice fell to a whisper. “Or I’d go crazy.”

She swept her hair back over her shoulder, kneeling beside me. “I wish it were me that could see what you can see. If I could take that burden from you… I would.”

Akina and Kishka put anxious noses to the window, making small patches of steam.

“I wish I could have kept seeing Dr. Alexia. I needed her. Instead, I got the psychiatrist who was one of them.”

“Why did you swap to seeing a different psych anyway—that Dr. Verena?”

“Dr. Alexia was rushed to the hospital with pains and bleeding—she was pregnant—and Dr. Verena took over all her cases….”

My stomach clenched as I realized what happened to Dr. Alexia was deliberate. I’d been too caught up in my own stuff to see it. I wanted to run and vomit. I wanted to punch Dr. Verena in her smug face. I wanted Jessamine’s tea—and never have to know any of this.

Molly dropped her head. “I shouldn’t be surprised they’d hurt a mother and baby.”

“God. I don’t know even know where we go from here.”

“I’m going to go get the book before they do.”

“To Copper Canyon?”

“Yes.”

“Molly—you can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

She shook her head softly. “I watched Prudence die…before my eyes. I watched the rest of you being starved to death. I watched little Frances clutching her stomach…with eyes like those of an adult. I can’t stand by and watch these people hurt anyone else.”

“We can’t stop them.”

“Then I’ll die trying. I died a thousand times over in the underground. I swore to myself, if I ever got a chance, I would find out the horror behind it all—and stop it. You and I both know there is more to this than Henry. You and I have both had the shadow of the serpent on us, have felt the power that is not of this world.”

“Molly…the last thing you ever said to me in the underground was about the serpent. You were afraid of telling me something. You didn’t want me to know it… Can you tell me now?”

She closed her eyes. Her lower lip shook. “I didn’t want to tell you then, because I saw you, I saw you at breaking point.”

“Tell me now. I need to know.”

She drew in a long breath. “If you die by the serpent… you will never be at rest. The serpent keeps you, twists you to her purpose… for eternity.”

I remembered. Remembered the barbs of the serpent’s shadow, piercing me, tearing me with a terrible want, a clawing need. It wanted something of me—and if I gave it, the shadow promised me rest, peace. But even then I knew the serpent lied.

“Oh God. Oh God….”

“I saw Prudence twice after she died. I saw her torment. The first time I saw her… she spoke the only words I ever heard her speak. She said, I will never be free. And she drew something….”

Molly took a notepad from the dresser, and sketched the symbol for infinity. She drew an eye within each loop of the symbol. She raised her eyes to me.

I felt the cold terror of the underground close over me. That day when Molly told me the shadow, the serpent, was real. Prudence existed within that terror every moment. I saw myself, in the cave, the serpent’s jaws coming to crush me.

It was real, it was real, it was real, it was real….

And if the serpent was real, then the world of the serpent was real—wherever and whatever the serpent had come from was real. The thought was too big, too vast, too much….

The next moment I was on the floor, vomiting, rapid breathing into the floor. I couldn’t deal with this, any of it. The room spun around me.

Molly’s arm came around me. “Breathe, Cassie. Just… breathe.”

I exhaled the air I didn’t even know I’d been holding, and breathed in deeply, an intense burst flooding my aching lungs.

“I’ve been there, where you are now,” she said. “I thought I was going to die, just knowing what I knew. It hurts me to see you like this.”

She handed me tissues to clean my face and brushed my damp hair back.

I sat shaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spin out like that.”

“Maybe you needed to. You’ve been holding so much in. None of us have been able to talk this stuff out with anyone. No wonder we start to think it must be us that’s crazy.”

“Molly… I’m coming with you.”

She shook her head. “I can’t let you do that.”

I pulled myself to my feet. “I’m packing now.”

“Your mother would never forgive me. She’s given me this house, this family, to keep me safe. I can’t repay her by leading you away into yet more danger.”

“Molly, she doesn’t know what’s out there. She doesn’t know. No one does. No one but us.” A wintry chill vined around my backbone. “I saw the shadow… after the helicopter took off from Devils Hole. I saw it outside the underground. It’s not going away. None of it is going to go away. I’m coming with you, okay?”

She pressed her lips together hard. We stared at each other, the terror in her eyes reflecting the terror in my mind.

JESSAMINE

1920

27. THE STRANGE NURSE

Light sticks into my eyes when I open them. I feel cross and fuzzy and strange. I’m not in the red mountains anymore. I’m not with Philomena the Indian girl. I’m not in the hospital in the city. I don’t know where I am. Wild grasses blow in the breeze, leading down to a river.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and see a house. A big house. But this is not my house. This is not the house grandfather promised me.

“Daddy?” I call. No one answers.

I’m in a wicker chair with a big fluffy blanket. My feet trip over each other when I stand. My leg hurts. I hobble along the river and see grandfather and a lady in a pale pink uniform talking. Grandfather looks different. His gray hair has changed to white. He and the lady don’t even notice me as I step closer. I squirm into the hollow of a tree that stands just behind them. The hollow squashes me horribly, which makes me even crosser, as it seems that I should have fit easily in here.

“….things must necessarily change," the woman tells grandfather. She sounds odd and wears a funny pink cap. She could be a nurse but pink is a silly color for a nurse to wear. Perhaps she’s a pretend-nurse. At one time, I begged mother to buy me a nurse outfit, so I could look after daddy when he was sick. But she didn’t buy it.

“Yes, of course,” says grandfather. He brings his thick eyebrows together, making a v-shape in between his eyes.

The woman fidgets with her hands. “She suffered an enormous shock after the crash. It’s not clear whether there’s permanent brain injury or not. There’s no way of telling whether she will ever be normal again. She appears to believe she’s no more than around five years old. There’s some scattered memories from her older years, but for the main part, her mind has regressed to the past."

"I'll take good care of her." His voice is weary. He doesn’t like this woman and neither do I.

"Mr. Fiveash, with all due respect, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. She needs specialized care in a proper institution."

Grandfather holds up his huge hands. “No granddaughter of mine shall be placed in an institution."

Granddaughter? But I am his granddaughter. Are they talking about me?

"Her mental state is delicate to say the least and could well worsen,” asserts the woman.

"I'll not have her taken away. Circus folk look after their own."

Grandfather’s words make me feel safe. I don’t like this woman and want her to leave. Her voice is like needles.

Someone stands at a window, high above. Audette stares out with nastiness on her face, like an extra-sour lemon. I don’t like her either. She crushed my dolls.

The woman and grandfather step past the tree. Grandfather’s eyes dart down to the tree hollow. He struggles to get down on his knees in front of me. His blue eyes crinkle at the edges. He has a strange scar on his forehead. He looks older. So much older, like he is sick and about to die. Hot tears well in my eyes.

“Jess-of-mine,” he croons. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was but the sun woke me,” I say grumpily.

“I should have moved you into the shade, but you looked so peaceful. What do you think of the house?”

“Whose house is this?”

“This is your house, Jess. It was built while we were both in the hospital. You fell asleep on the car trip here this morning.”

“This is not my house. Where’s the swimming pool?”

“It gets too cold here to put in a pool, Jess.”

“And where’s the lake gone? This is all wrong.”

“We couldn’t stay there, in the house by the lake. We had to come somewhere where you could be safe.”

“Well I don’t like it. And where’s daddy?”

His forehead creased like he was going to get angry but his eyes just looked sad. “Your father… can’t be here. Please come out of there now.”

The woman crosses her arms and gives a warning glance to grandfather, which she thinks I don’t see.

Grandfather points up to the window that Audette stuck her ugly face out of a minute ago. “That’s your room. You get the best view in the whole house."

“My own bedroom?”

“Your very own bedroom.”

The woman in the pretend-nurse outfit tells me her name is Sister Daniels, and helps me inside. She holds my elbow as we walk up a polished staircase. She doesn’t really help much, but does a lot of fussing. Grandfather follows. He proudly points the way to the room. The room has a four-poster bed and a dollhouse with miniature people in it.

Below the window, trucks drive in on the dirt road and across a wooden bridge.

I sit on the stool by the dresser and brush my hair. There is no mirror here. There’s no mirror anywhere in the bedroom. My hair is longer than it was yesterday. It’s never grown so fast before. Mother usually braids my hair when I’m practicing for the circus, so that it doesn’t get caught anywhere. But we are not with the circus today. And mother isn’t here.

“I need a mirror,” I tell grandfather.

“There’s no mirrors in the house, Jess. Except for the other bedrooms, and you are not to go in those. None of us need mirrors—they are the source of much unhappiness when our souls don’t match the image we see. A piece of glass can tell us nothing, and I want you to remember that.”

I know grandfather is wise and I don’t question his words.

“Where’s my mother?” I ask.

“I’ll explain everything later,” says grandfather.

I don’t like it when he says that. A picture draws itself in my head. I don’t want to see it, because I know it’s bad. Like when I peeked at the pictures Henry keeps in a trunk and I saw ugly things. But this is different, even worse.

I see my mother. She’s at the bottom of a mountain. She’s tangled in something, something like a chair with wheels. All squashed like a bug and smashed and covered in blood.

It’s not nice to think bad things like that about people. I want to lie down. I step over to the bed and curl up there. I rock and sing to myself. I have to shut out the pictures in my head.

The next minute I hear screaming, and I want it to stop. But the more I want it to stop, the louder it gets.

Grandfather puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Jessamine. I’m here. I’m here with you. Everything will be alright.”

I realize the terrible screaming is coming from me. I need to stop it. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? I clasp my arms around my knees. A terrible pain wells up inside. I think I am going to die. My breaths quicken. Nurse Daniel hastens to give me a small white tablet and a glass of water.

After a few moments, I’m floating. But the hurt is still there.

I step into sleep, dreaming of blood.

For days, I stay in the bed, moving in and out of sleep. I have a fever and dreams. And neither daddy nor mother come. Only grandfather and the pretend-nurse come. Trucks drive in and out and everything sounds noisier when you are trying to sleep.

Every day, the nurse forbids me to come downstairs, but tonight, grandfather insists I am well enough to have dinner with everyone.

Audette and Henry are already seated at the table. Audette has her people-face on—the face she uses when people are around. She always scowls at me when we are alone together. She wears a frilly pink dress with spots on it that look like measles.

Sister Daniels charges at me with a thermometer and takes my temperature. “Still more than a touch too high.” She twists her mouth and shakes her head.

“Now, now,” says grandfather. “It’s a warm night and I can’t see the harm in her moving about a bit.”

“But her lungs are delicate. They sustained quite a bit of damage in the accident and you must be careful with her.”

“What accident?” I tilt my chin at grandfather.

He frowns at the nurse. “That’s enough. And she’s fine.”

“Yes, I know.” The nurse made a tut-tut sound. “You are circus folk and circus folk are tough.”

Grandfather winks at me. “I’m glad we finally understand each other, Sister Daniels.” He doesn’t answer my question about the accident.

Sister Daniels sits down with us to dinner. The maids bring out a roast, with large helpings of corn and potatoes. Sister Daniels eats more than I’ve ever seen anyone eat, while Audette picks at her food like it isn’t nearly good enough. Henry eats in the way he always does—as though he’s sitting in the grandest restaurant eating the grandest food. He keeps complimenting the maids, which makes Audette’s eyes narrow into slits.

After dinner, the nurse says she has a headache and must retire to her room. Before she leaves, she says I must return to my room too. Grandfather sighs and nods in my direction.

I skip away to the stairs, but I don’t go any further. I’m tired of being in my room. Grandfather, Henry and Audette go out to the front porch while the maids pile up dirty dishes at the table. I wander through the kitchen and out through the side door, then steal around to the porch.

Creatures shriek and roar in the dark. As though the animals from a thousand circuses have escaped. I huddle behind a potted plant. Henry and grandfather smoke cigars together. Audette sits at the table, painting her nails with long strokes.

“In any case,” grandfather tells Henry, “I won’t be longer than a month.”

Henry blows a long stream of smoke into the night. “We’ll manage.”

“I want to be certain you’re taking this seriously. They may come through her to get to me. Or they may even suspect she knows more than she does. If they come, she must remain hidden. Henry and Audette, you are the only family besides Jessamine that I have left. You must take good care of her."

I hate it when grandfather talks about things I don’t understand.

"Uncle, you know I will." Henry leans his head back as though examining the stars.

“These are dangerous people. Whoever set the bomb off on the train is willing to do anything, at any cost to human life.” Grandfather taps his cigar on the small table.

Audette blows on her long fingernails. Red paint glistens on them. "Well of course. Scary stuff. The kid will be in safe hands with us. I hate to mention this now… but we will need some sort of means for her upkeep, and that of the house…."

"I will leave plenty of funds to cover all expenses.” Grandfather’s voice is short and sharp.

They keep talking but I can’t hear more, because my head is swimming. I can hear a ripping of metal, can feel myself being thrown and tossed as a train falls from its tracks. Screams, yells, shouts. And my mother twisted inside the strange chair. And blood, so much blood…

I slip away. I don’t want to know any more of their words.

28. GRANDFATHER

I wake to find an old, grayed man sitting on the end of my bed. Grandfather. Early light peeks through the gaps in the curtains.

“Jessamine, I have to go away.”

I can only make one sound. “No…”

“I’m afraid there’s no way around it. There is something I must do. It will only be for a short while.”

“Take me with you.”

“You’ve been ill. You’re in no condition to travel.” He closes his eyes and his shoulders slump a little. “There’s some things I need to tell you.”

I sit up on the pillows. I am very sure I don’t want to hear what grandfather has to say.

“First of all, I want to you to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone. Henry and Audette are here. Also Nurse Daniels. They are all here to take care of you. You don’t need to worry. I know that things seem very confusing right now, but they won’t always be that way.”

“I won’t stay with them. I want to be with you.”

“I know… I know. But I need you to be safe. And I can’t keep you safe where I am going. But I am going to keep you extra safe while I am gone. I want you to come and see.”

He takes me by the hand. I swing my legs from the bed. They feel better. My leg is not nearly so sore. My hand feels strangely big in his, and I am as tall as his shoulders. I feel wrong. Perhaps the nasty nurse is giving me medicine that makes me big sometimes.

I push my feet into my slippers and go with him. It doesn’t matter I am still in my nightdress, he tells me, because there is no one here to see. Everyone else is asleep.

We walk through the grounds to the big shed. There is nothing inside the shed but what looks like a big lid sitting on the ground. Grandfather bends down and twists the lid backwards and forwards, then takes my hand again and we stand on it. The lid goes straight down—like an elevator—to a dark cave.

“Why are we going in here?” I hold tightly to grandfather’s arm.

“Just trust me.” He smiles down at me.

We have to climb down a ladder just to get to the floor of the cave. Lots of grandfather’s things are stored here. Circus things. Like someone picked up the entire circus and broke it in pieces and put it in here. Even grandfather’s car is down here.

He turns on a series of big lights and I can see a tunnel ahead.

“Why are there tunnels down here? They weren’t made by a big spider, were they?”

“No.” He chuckled. “The tunnels here were made by an old volcano. But don’t worry, the volcano’s lava went through here a very long time ago. We don’t need to worry about it coming back.”

I still don’t like it here. The tunnel smells old, hundreds of thousands of years old. We walk for a long time, until we come to something large and round. It is one of the carousels from the circus. We step through it into a brightly-lit area.

“Go! Look!” he says.

We walk down a corridor made of rock. Carpenters hammer together cupboards in what looks like a kitchen. A big table and huge chairs have already been built.

“For you to have tea parties, Jess,” he says.

He takes my hand and we walk further down the corridor. I peek inside a large crack in the wall—so large even grandfather could fit through it. The cave inside is dark and awful and smells like dead plants.

“Come on.” He pulls me by the hand. We walk to the end of the corridor. “There’s something I need to show you first, and after that I have some surprises to show you.”

At the end of the corridor, the path goes left and right. To the right is a horrible tunnel with no lights. I don’t want to go that way, but that’s the way he goes.

He shines his torch around the slimy walls. “See? Nothing scary here.”

After a short distance, I am happy to see a rock wall blocking our path. But grandfather presses on a jutting rock and a secret door scrapes open. My heart bangs as we walk what seems to me a very long way.

A statue stands next to a far rock wall—a man with a beard and long robes. I step over and touch the face of the statue. It seems that I’ve seen it before, but the memory hurts and my mind shuts the memory out before I can see it.

“That is Saint Jerome,” says grandfather. “This is a replica of a statue that is very important to me. You won’t remember, but recently we had a bit of an accident and landed at his feet. And we ended up okay. He’s like a lucky charm. Don’t let him scare you.” He gives a short chuckle.

He places his hands around the statue and heaves it out of the way. It takes all his strength and he grunts and sweats. Behind the statue is a small cave in the wall, about as high as my chest and packed with brownish sacks.

“The contents of the bags are worth a great deal of money, Jessamine. I brought quite a bit of the gold and diamonds that I own with me from America. You’re to tell no one that it’s here, but if something should happen that you need money, it’s yours.”

“What do you mean, grandfather? Why should I ever need money?”

“You won’t, of course, because I’ll be coming back for you soon. But just in case, it’s here. It’s enough to buy many houses and live a comfortable life.”

He pushes Saint Jerome back into place and we head back through the secret door and out of the dark tunnel. I don’t ever want to go back in there again. To the left is an enormous, brightly lit room. My heart leaps at the sight of my favorite carousel from the circus. I run and hug my horse—the horse that has been always been mine. It is blue and shiny with jewels on it.

“I had it brought over from America too.”

From the corner of my eye I see people sitting on a daybed. No, not people. Big dolls. Dolls that are bigger than grandfather. Stepping down from the carousel, my feet walk cautiously over to them. I know these dolls.

“Do you like them? You lost all your dolls in the… I mean, you lost all your dolls at the last place we were at. But I had them all made again, just for you."

The dolls confuse me. I know them but I don’t know them. There’s a bear and two dolls with pretty dresses and a set of rag dolls. The rag dolls sit together on a rocking chair—grandfather’s old rocking chair. And standing proudly near a wall is the wooden clown daddy gave me—only stretched and huge.

“Thank you.” My voice sounds as stiff as new shoes.

“I had them made large, so that if you spent much time down here, they could be friends for you. And look over here…” Grandfather gestures towards huge shelves of books. “A library. With more books than you could ever read. I know how much my little Jess loves her books.”

I wander over to the colorful spines of the books, running my fingers along them. “Some of these are Miss Kitty’s books. Is she here?”

Grandfather sighs heavily. “No.”

“Where is she? Will she still give me lessons?”

“Miss Kitty… has gone away.”

“Has everyone gone away?” My head feels floaty again.

“Not everyone. Henry and Audette—“

“I don’t care about stupid Henry and Audette. Where’s Miss Kitty gone? And mother and daddy? Where are they? Where is the circus?” Fat tears squeeze from my eyes.

Grandfather takes the rag dolls from his rocking chair and places them by a fireplace, then returns to sit in the chair. “Come here, Jess-of-mine.”

I sit in his lap and feel small again.

“Everything will be okay, you’ll see.”

“I don’t feel okay. I feel very, very bad.” I stare around at the dolls and books and wallpaper and carpets until it all whirls inside my head. “What is all this for?”

“It’s all for you.”

“But why down here?”

“It’s just a safe place to come and play, when you need to.”

“But when will I need to?”

“Henry will know. Now don’t you worry.”

I lay my head on his shoulder. “Am I going to see my parents again?”

He holds my arm. “You will.”

“Is that where you’re going? To find daddy and mother? Are they lost?”

“Yes,” he says in a loud breath. “But I’ll get them back for you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

My forehead tightens. “But where are they? Are they far away? Like on an island in the middle of the ocean?”

“Something like that. But don’t worry. You’ll be with them again.”

He rocks the chair and my head grows heavy. I wish I could sleep until daddy is back again. I think I can see stars, but that’s silly, because there aren’t any stars here under the ground.

“Grandfather, you’re not going to the other worlds, are you?”

I don’t even know why I say that. It’s a mindless, little-girl thing to say.

I hear nothing for a few moments but his long, sighing breaths.

“Jess, what do you remember?”

“I don’t know.” My throat feels half-strangled. “I keep remembering things that aren’t true….”

“Ah, my poor Jess, how you have suffered. Whatever happens, wherever I end up, just know this… I’ll be back for you. We’ll start again, we’ll start new. And everything will be wonderful this time. I won’t make the mistakes I made… before. Money is not nearly as important as I thought it was. I’ll take you somewhere where you can have everything—everything that’s important.”

“Will you be taking Henry and Audette too? And the circus?”

He shakes his head. “You and only you,” he whispers. He brings his face down close to mine, his blue eyes red-rimmed and wet. He presses a small, round object into my hand. It’s his locket. I know what’s inside it—it’s a picture of me and grandfather. “Now you need to promise me something, Jess-of-mine. You need to promise me you won’t open this until I return. Inside this locket is my promise to you – my promise that I’ll be back for you. Just be patient. Can you do that?”

I pull the chain over my neck, placing the locket close to where daddy told me my heart was.

29. THOMAS THE GARDENER

I wake to the sound of the gardener hoeing the hard ground. Thwack thwack thwack. The curtains flutter in the morning breeze, drawing my attention to a new trinket box on the dresser. Inside it is a note—the words are in grandfather’s writing. It says, you and only you.

I know he’s gone, but I run downstairs and out to the grounds, and I look for him anyway.

Thomas the gardener tips his hat at me. His skin is tanned and smooth.

“Are you going to put in flowers?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Just a hedge. But I’ll put in flowers in for you if you want them.”

“My grandmother liked Red Buckeye. They could make a good hedge.”

“Sorry darlin’, we don’t have those flowers out here. How’s about I put in some Bottle Brush for you? The flowers are red and look like the brushes you clean bottles out with.”

Grinning, he stoops and collects some yellow wildflowers from the ground. He twists them into a halo and puts it on my head. “Pretty.”

My cheeks grow warm. The gardener is a lot older than me, but quite young for a gardener—perhaps no older than nineteen. I step away shyly.

“Jessamine…”

I didn’t know he knew my name. I eye him expectantly.

“I saw you go into those tunnels under the ground the other day. Now that your grandfather’s gone away, don’t go back there. I don’t think that’s a good place for you to go.”

There isn’t anything I can think of to say to that. I don’t want to go to the tunnels anyway. I spin on my heel and march away to the river, a long way from Thomas the gardener.

The air stifles me, even though it’s early morning. So strange to think its December and it’s so hot here. I unlace my boots and pull off my stockings. My halo of wild flowers tips into the river and floats downstream. I try to catch it but the water takes it away too quickly. The face of Thomas is still in my head and it makes me want to run, and so I do. I run through the tall, dry grasses beyond the lawn.

Audette watches from my bedroom. She’s always in there, watching.

When I return, Audette looks like she’s sitting in a cloud of poisonous gas, painting furiously at her easel. She’s been painting strange pictures of me outside, running into tunnels of fiery trees. She’s even painted a picture of herself to give to Henry as a birthday present. I have to say that she’s good at painting, because the painting looks sour, just like her.

Dinner that night is what Audette calls fine French cuisine. Snails and fish eggs and everything goopy.

“You’re not eating, cousin.” Henry raises his eyebrows.

“I’m not hungry. Where’s Sister Daniels tonight? Is it her day off?”

Audette admires a new bracelet Henry has bought her. “Oh her. She was a nuisance. We let her go.”

“Let her go where?”

She laughs, throwing her head back. “We fired her. Told her services weren’t wanted here anymore.”

“But grandfather said she has to stay here with me.”

“Well, too bad.” Her eyes are cold, as cold as in the painting she made of herself. “She’s been sponging on this family for long enough.”

I excuse myself from the table and run upstairs. I don’t care that she is gone, but I’m tired of people leaving me.

The tiny dolls in my room sit in the dollhouse lonely and still. Kneeling beside the house, I peer inside. This house has a daddy and a mother and six beautifully-dressed children. The dolls go where I put them and do what I want them to do. None of them yell at me or do strange things.

And none of them will ever leave me.

Six days pass. Six days without grandfather. My dreams are filled with bad things. Trains in pieces on the ground, dead animals, spinning wheels, knives… and death. Always death. Thomas the gardener walks through my dreams too, but everything he plants withers and dies. I have no Sister Daniels to come into my room at night and give me water and a white pill to help the dreams go away.

Audette says she can’t stand my screaming during the night anymore. She begins bringing me cups of tea just before bed. She picks up strange dark cubes with her long red fingernails and drops them into the steaming cups of water. The tea helps me sleep better than anything the pretend-nurse ever gave me. So much so that I don’t know which day it is anymore. But I don’t care, because the only thing I care about is grandfather coming back with my parents, and then I can leave Henry and Audette and this terrible place.

Thomas the gardener plants three small rose bushes near the tree where I like to sit and watch the river. The roses are pink, white and red. “Not sure if they’ll survive this soil, but I hope you like them.” A grin spreads across his face like sun first thing in the morning.

At this moment I think the roses are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Thank you!” I tell him in a breathy voice. Without realizing what I am about to do, I lift myself onto the tip of my toes and kiss him. I’m sure I mean to kiss him on the cheek, but somehow I kiss his lips. A strangeness enters my body—a fuzzy warmth. I feel big and tall and my lips feel swollen from the kiss.

Thomas blunders backwards a few steps. “Jessamine… you don’t need to thank me… I’d best get back to work.”

He goes back to planting his hedge at the front of the house. I stay out of his way, watching from where he cannot see me. He wears overalls with no shirt underneath, and the muscles in his strong back move over each other when he hoes the ground. He stops for lunch, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. He eats quickly, like daddy eats. As soon as he’s finished, he glances about him everywhere, like a fox looking for hunters. Some small hope fires inside of me, a hope that he’s looking for me. But he steps towards the garden shed and disappears inside. I kick stones into the river, waiting for him to return.

The curtain in my room moves aside. I’m not the only one watching. I can barely see Audette but I know she’s there.

I wake in a haze of Audette’s tea. Loud curse words cut the air below my window. Henry pushes the pipe organ across the grounds, huffing and puffing and growing angry. Audette wears baby doll pajamas and a new pink and white striped dressing gown. Her arms are crossed and the smoke of a cigar streams from her hand.

“Do you think you could actually help?” Henry roars at her.

She studies the fingers that hold the cigar. “Not with these nails.”

He throws up his hands and tilts his face to the sky. “Bloody hopeless.” He notices me at the window. “Kid, get down here. I need you.”

I shake my head. How can I help move such a heavy object?

“Just come.” His voice has a harsh edge.

I run downstairs, still wearing my night slip. My legs show through the transparent material. “I’d best go get dressed. I don’t want the gardener to see me like this.”

“Don’t sweat it,” says Henry. “He won’t be coming back anyway.”

My heart squeezes. “He’s not coming back?”

“No. We don’t really need a blasted hedge or gardens. He’s been told he’s not needed here anymore.”

I turn my head so that Henry doesn’t see tears filling my eyes. “Where are you taking that thing?” I ask him.

“Underground.” He heaves his shoulder against it. “And I can’t get anyone else to help, because people…” He pushes again. “…are bloody busybodies…” He frowns deeply. “…who can’t mind their own damned business.”

I take the ropes and try to pull the organ as Henry pushes. It is slow, hard work. But we manage to get it all the way to the shed.

“Get in front and help steady it as I slide it.”

My legs are weak and rubbery. “I don’t want to go down there.”

“For Christ’s sake, is everyone around here useless? Just do it.”

He slides the organ onto the lid and I try to keep it from falling over. I am stronger than I thought I could be. We descend into the cave and move the organ down a ramp. Bits and pieces of brass tubing lie scattered on the floor.

“What is all that?”

“A warning system.” His mouth stretches into a cold smile. “Can’t have people just wandering around where they shouldn’t be.”

With the organ in place against the back wall of the cave, Henry begins hammering and welding. My job is to hand him pieces of tubing when he asks for them.

I notice a massive circle of wood has been placed across the tunnel opening. It fits almost perfectly. I wander over and trace my hand along the edges of the blue star at its center.

Henry places his knuckles on his hips. “I’m going to fix it so that someone has to play a certain piece of music before the door will open. I’m putting in a spring-loaded device. I’d like to see someone get past that without a truckload of trouble.”

Audette saunters down the ramp, still smoking her cigar—or smoking a new one. “Bloody stupid if you ask me. How are you going to manage to make that work? You’re a magician, with silly magician tricks, not an inventor.”

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of.”

A smile melts into her face, like butter on toast. She hobbles over to him on her silly high heels and gives him a long kiss that sounds wet.

I turn away in disgust, playing with the metal spokes of the round door. The door spins slightly.

“Don’t you know where that came from, Jessamine?” Audette has that deep tone in her voice that makes me feel strange. She steps closer, blowing smoke onto the back of my neck.

I shrug a shoulder.

“It’s from the circus, of course,” she says. “It was your dear daddy’s. Don’t you remember the Wheel of Death?”

I remember daddy, dressed in trousers and suspenders, strapped to a flat circle of wood—the wheel spinning round and round. I remember crowds cheering as Mister Magnifico threw his knives. I remember the sweat on daddy’s face and bare chest as the performances end, and him smiling at me upside-down.

“That’s enough, Audette. Leave the kid alone.” Henry’s voice is quieter than Audette’s, but I know she’ll listen and do what he says.

Henry works on the door and the pipe organ for the next week. I hate it down there in the cave but I don’t want to be at the house with Audette either. And I can’t spend time with Thomas anymore—and the grounds are empty and ugly without him.

The last thing Henry does is to put a metal wall across the middle of the carousel. The carousel now completely blocks the way to the rest of the tunnel. He curses as he burns himself with the welding gun, but he keeps going—grunting as lifts the heavy pieces of metal and melts them into place. He works hard while lazy Audette lounges on the sofas inside the house, listening to the gramophone.

I’m grubby after being underground all day and I head for the bathrooms. My parents used to bathe me in a tub, but now I have to do it myself. I use a shower because there are no tubs here. The water runs down my face and body and I wash quickly. I don’t like washing—my body feels wrong. I feel knobby lines on my neck and shoulder and I don’t know what they are. I have hair where I shouldn’t and I’ve grown fat in the chest. I’ve become a circus freak. Maybe that’s why grandfather doesn’t allow mirrors in the house. He doesn’t want me to see what I’ve become.

The door opens and Henry stands there with sweat shining on his face. His gaze runs over my body. “Oh boy, Jessamine, if you weren’t my cousin….” He looks at the patch of hair on my privates. “And if you didn’t think you were five….”

In the circus, people dress in front of each other all the time. They have to, to get ready for shows. But I don’t like Henry looking at me now.

Audette walks behind Henry and her face pulls down when she sees me. “Why are you letting men stare at you, you little hussy!” She reaches past Henry and slams the door shut.

I wrench the shower off and quickly dress. Audette is angry with me again. I tramp noisily to my room, making sure every step is extra-loud. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! Everything I do makes her angry, even when I’m not doing anything, so what does it matter?

I lie with dripping-wet hair on my bed, letting cool air from the open window blow across my face. I hate this place. I hate Audette. I hate my freaky body. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Perhaps I am crazy and I’m going to spend the rest of my life here getting crazier and crazier. I sleep until the afternoon. My heads hurts.

I don’t hear Audette when she walks into my room. She holds out a hot cup of tea. “Here you are,” she says in a sugary voice.

“I don’t want tea.” I’ve been in bed for hours and I feel sick and I don’t want to be put back to sleep.

“Well you’re to have it. It’s to help your bad lungs.”

‘Why do I have bad lungs?”

“Because you broke your ribs and they stuck into your lungs, silly. You got all kinds of infections in there and almost died.”

“When did that happen to me? I don’t remember.”

“Don’t you remember being in the hospital?”

“Kind of. And grandfather was there too.”

“Well there you go then.”

Swinging my legs off the bed, I pick up a paddle-bat from the shelf. “I still don’t want the tea.” I begin hitting the ball.

“Stop that noise,” says Audette almost immediately.

I keep hitting the ball against the bat and I don’t want to stop. I just want her to leave the room.

Audette brings her hands down hard on my shoulders. “Stop playing with toys! It’s about time you realized just how old you are.”

I tremble, even though I don’t care what she says. “Don’t yell at me.”

“Tomorrow night, we’re having visitors. I was going to have you sleep through it, but I’ve changed my mind. You have to stop living in your little-kid dreamland. There’s someone who very much wants to see you again, and he’s bought you a special dress. A very special dress, and you will wear it.”

She points at the cup of tea. “Make sure you drink it.”

I take four sips of the tea. She whirls away in a stink of perfume and smoke.

When I wake again the house is dark. Audette must have made the tea extra-strong to make me sleep like this. I’m on the floorboards, next to the dollhouse.

No one has bothered turning on the lights. Else, they’ve all gone away and left me alone. The only light is the one inside my dollhouse, where a tiny chandelier burns on the ceiling of a tiny ballroom. I sit for a while with my arms wrapped around my legs, too frightened to move. But no one has even given me dinner and the clock says it’s nine ‘o’clock. Henry and Audette never go to bed early. If they are here, they must be downstairs.

I don’t count the stairs as I normally do on my way down. The ballroom is empty and so are the kitchen and living room.

Beyond the thick, velvet curtains is a pale moon shining down on a line of parked cars. But I don’t see visitors anywhere. I thought Audette said the visitors were coming tomorrow and not tonight. I’m afraid to go out in the dark.

Why doesn’t grandfather come back? He’s been gone too long.

Perhaps a bad thing has happened. Grandfather said I must go to the underground if a bad thing happens. A dim light shines in the big shed. I slip out the front door and race across to it. I hate the sounds coming from the forest. I imagine enormous black birds with claws out there looking for prey to swoop down on. With my arms over my head I run inside the shed.

The elevator is at the bottom of the cave floor and there is a rope ladder down. My legs shake climb down into grandfather’s storeroom. It’s filled with toys Audette won’t let me have. She says I’m too big for them. There are lamps along the way through the tunnel. I don’t want to go in there. But I don’t want to be in the house all alone either.

I hasten through the tunnel to the carousel. The wall of metal across the carousel blocks my way. The lights begin to shine red and green and the music starts. I hear voices on the other side of the wall. “I’ll go do the watch this time, okay?” a deep voice says.

The carousel groans as it turns slowly about.

I hide behind a chariot as a woman in a long red dress walks away down the corridor, her heels clattering on the smooth rock floor. The man with the deep voice must now be on the other side of the tunnel.

Voices echo through the air. I feel horribly exposed as I edge along the corridor and peek into the ballroom. The space is just as empty as when grandfather showed it to me.

I turn slowly, dread in my spine, now knowing where the people are. I step into the low, dark tunnel opposite. Water runs down the slimy walls here. Voices vibrate through my bones. They sound like the Aboriginals I saw once in the forest—chanting and dancing. But this chanting is different. It’s slow and makes my stomach squirm.

Staying close to the wall, I find my way in deeper.

Something bumps my arm, something that is not the wall. I open my mouth to scream as I stare into the shadowy eyes of a man. But I see who it is and stop myself. Thomas the gardener’s mouth is clamped shut with a bandage. His arms and legs are tied with thick rope. The whites of his eye grow huge as he stares from me to the fuzzy shapes of people ahead. The people stand in a circle, each extending an arm out to a fire in their midst—the fire a blue unlike any blue I have ever seen. Their faces sweat and their eyes… their eyes, their eyes… stare like they cannot see.

My body shakes. I don’t know what’s happening but I want to leave. Now. And I want Thomas to come with me. My fingers fumble with the knots at the back of Thomas’s body. His hands bleed where he has rubbed them against the rock wall and the rope is frayed.

Henry throws back his magician’s cape and steps forward. He reads strange, ugly words from a book and the people answer him in chants. Audette’s eyes roll back and she sways. She wears an odd, black dress—I’ve never seen her wear black.

Something twists in the flames. Like snakes. A black shadow like oil rises from the fire. A few of the people step back in shock but the others don’t move. Terror floods me. I am sure my rapid breaths can be heard. My feet step backwards. Away. Away.

Audette’s head snaps as though she has just woken. She and Henry step forward, hand in hand.

“You, the entity we have brought to this world, may not touch we, your summoners. Nor may you touch any wearers of our garments. This will hold true even though thousands of years may pass.”

The shadow forms a shape… twisting, writhing, growing… a snake shape tall as a room.

Audette’s lip trembles but she doesn’t move.

Her shoes echo as she marches towards Thomas. She slips her hand into her jacket and pulls out a gun. “Come with me.” She points the gun at his temple.

Audette and Thomas stand next to the fire, next to the shadow.

Thomas’s muscles strain against the ropes. He breathes wildly. “I don’t know anything.”

Henry rubs his temples. “Well that’s unfortunate, Thomas, seeing as you spent all that time trying to find out about us. And now, tonight, you know more than you ever wanted to.”

“Please, allow me to go. I’ll forget I ever worked here. I’ll move far away. For the love of God, I have a wife and baby. They need me.”

Audette twists the gun at his temple. “Quiet, or we’ll bring your little family down here too.”

Thomas’s jaw quivers. Shock speeds along my spine. Shock at Audette's cruelty. Shock that Thomas has a wife and child.

He stiffens as the shadow moves towards him. It wraps itself around him like ivy on a tree. His screams slice through the dark, suffocating air. The people stare intently, expectantly.

My feet stumble over each other. My heart pounds as I retrace my steps along the cave wall, and then flee through the dark corridors. The ugly heads of the carousel stand before me, and there is no way out. Whimpering, I squeeze myself under the seat of a chariot.

I should have taken Audette’s tea. Then I wouldn’t have known any of this. I wouldn’t have seen those things that I just saw. Minutes pass. My knees and arms ache. My head is hot and my lungs pain.

Voices drift towards me from the other end of the corridor. They’re coming.

A grinding sounds underneath me and the carousel music fills my ears. The carousel turns. The man who said he would keep watch must be on the other side. Perhaps the carousel can only be operated from the other side and he has come to let the people out. I must run quickly.

I untangle my limbs and slide out, then race to the round door. It is held open with a wedge. If I close it behind me, I will shut in all those horrible people. They killed Thomas. They killed Thomas. They killed Thomas.

I kick the wedge out and let the door click shut. I am in grandfather’s storage room again, with all grandfather’s things. More of them are coming. With a whirr, the elevator shudders to a stop on the platform above me. I slip through the dummies and clown tricycles to grandfather’s car. The smell of polished leather fills my nostrils. I’ve been in this car a hundred times or more but never without grandfather.

Someone plays Chopin on the pipe organ. The round door clicks open and the people make their way out. Audette’s voice is louder and shriller than anyone’s, reminding the others of their next meeting.

I know now that this has happened before, these meetings. While I slept in the house, these people were down here, conjuring shadows….

30. CHILD EPHEMERAL

Audette shakes me awake and doesn’t care that her fingernails dig into me. She has so much makeup on, she looks like a witch. Her eyes are a cold, glittery blue in the late afternoon light.

“I feel bad,” I tell her.

After spending the night in the car, I’d taken the elevator up in the early morning and stolen into my bed. Exhausted and sick, I’d slept all day. As soon as Audette and Henry went out in their car for the day, I planned to find my way out of the forest. I didn’t know where I would go, but somewhere where they couldn’t find me.

Her hand clamps against my forehead. “You’re burning up. Well we’re not changing plans. We’ve got company and you’re to come downstairs and meet them.” A smile curls her dark red lips as she holds up a box. “Someone just brought this to the house for you.”

“Grandfather? Is he here?” My breath catches in my chest.

“No, stupid. Grandfather’s forgotten all about you. This is from someone who hasn’t forgotten you.”

The box is easy to open—no strings or ties. A big white dress sits inside. “Tell them thank you,” I say stiffly.

“You can thank them properly by wearing it.”

Her voice is slimier than usual.

“It’s too big for me.”

“Just put it on.”

I saw the gun you pressed against Thomas’s temple. And what you made happen to him. I hate you. I hate you.

“I don’t want to.”

“If you don’t, I’ll get Henry up here, and we’ll strip you and put it on you ourselves.”

I stare at the floor for a moment, wishing myself anywhere but here. I pull off my slip and let it fall on the floor. Audette drops the dress over my head. She’s not gentle when she does the strings up at the back. Next, she fiddles with my hair, combing and pulling and sticking pins in it. She holds my face between her thumb and fingers, then dusts it with powder that makes me cough. She puts greasy red lipstick on my lips and tells me to rub my lips together.

“You’re a young lady now and you should look like one.” she says. “Have a look.” She points to an oval full-length mirror in my room. “I’ve brought you this in from my room.”

I shake my head firmly. “Grandfather doesn’t want me to have a mirror. He says mirrors can’t show your soul.”

Her nose pinches as she frowns. I can see up her nostrils. “Your grandfather is a few clowns short of a circus. Of course people need mirrors. Now take a good look. You haven’t seen yourself in a while and it’s time you did.”

I count my steps as I walk to the other side of the room, trying to stretch out time. One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, knock at the door. Five, six, pickup sticks.

Audette hisses impatiently.

Someone else looks back at me in the mirror. It is me but not me. I am stretched, grown, strange—like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. My face is longer, my cheeks not so round. The dress is a big girl’s dress but it fits me. My eyes stare wildly like the eyes of the bobcat that once got trapped in Miss Kitty’s trailer.

“What a big girl you are. Fifteen tomorrow.”

I shake my head. “I am not.”

“Oh yes you are.”

She moves so that she stands behind me in the mirror. “Shame about the scars.”

Scars form on my neck and shoulder, bubbling up and spreading in angry dark red slashes. I gasp, holding a hand to cover them. I remember the scars, remember seeing them before—in the hospital.

“You’re ruined, Jessamine. You were a pretty girl, but you’re ruined now.” She pats some powder over the scars, but they don’t disappear completely.

“Can I take this dress off now?” My voice is small.

“No. Someone is waiting to see you in this. It’s your wedding dress.” Her cigar breath sighs in the air. “Don’t you remember Mr. Baldcott? You’re getting married soon. Another month maybe. ” Her face hardens.

I turn my back to the mirror, swallowing hard. My head hurts and feels wrong. I try to tear the dress off but I can’t reach the corset ties at the back. What is Audette talking about? I’m not getting married. And this is not my wedding dress.

“I want daddy.”

“Oh sweetie, that’s never going to happen. Don’t you know why?”

“He’s trapped on an island with mother. No one can get to them and they can’t get off. But grandfather has gone to find them.”

She laughs without opening her mouth, making a deep sound in her throat. “They’re not on an island. They’re dead. Both of them.”

Panic rises inside me. “No, they’re not. You’re a liar.”

“Daddy died a long time before mommy. Don’t you remember the knife that got stuck in his chest?” She makes a fist and pretends to stab herself.

I see a wheel spinning in the air, not attached to anything. There’s a blue star in the center of the wheel, and a bright streak of blood.

A moaning sound comes from deep within me and doesn’t stop.

Audette frowns in disgust. “Compose yourself. You are a young lady. I’ll be waiting.” She whirls from the room.

I open the trinket box grandfather brought me and take out his note. I hold it against my chest, rocking backwards and forth. It’s all I have left. A promise. Closing my eyes I step back to the mirror and slide the note into the mirror’s frame. If she makes me look in the mirror again, I’ll look at grandfather’s note instead and I’ll hear his words, you and only you. Because that’s the only thing I understand. Grandfather is coming back for me.

“Closing your eyes won’t help.” Audette’s sharp voice slices the air around me. “Get out there now.” She taps her foot in the doorway.

I push at Audette as I run past. The dress makes me trip on the stairs. I stop like a deer in headlights at the bottom of the stairs. There are people here. Lots of people. People from last night.

Audette stands with her gloved arms folded at the tops of the stairs.

With my head down, I make my way through the loud, sniggering crowd. Wine glasses clink above the sound of New Orleans jazz playing on the gramophone. Thick smoke fills the ballroom and chokes my lungs. Through the haze, eyes stare at me.

A man presses up against me. “Jessamine, where are you going in such a hurry?”

His face is bloated, reddened. I remember him. I remember a night in grandfather’s tent. I remember a dance, a dance where the feel of his body against mine made my skin crawl.

“You’re going to make a sexy bride.” His breath is hot on my face. “Do you like the dress I bought for you?”

“No,” I shout at him.

The faces around me laugh at me with their mouths open wide and all their teeth showing.

His face drops. “Oh now that’s not polite. You’re going to have to do better than that on our wedding night, when you’re in my bed. You can’t tell your husband, no.” His gaze fixes to my chest. “Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t keep you waiting that long.”

Audette treads down the stairs, her eyes gleaming. “I must apologize for her behavior, Allan. She’s running a bit of a fever today.”

Something different enters his eyes. “I’ll take her for a walk to cool down.”

He takes my arm and I go with him. Not one person is here to stop him. Not one. I try to tug my hand away but he holds tight. He heads outside to the porch and then down to the tree where Thomas planted my rose bushes. The animals and birds of the forest hammer their screeches through my head.

His hands grasp my shoulders. “You do feel hot. Well, I have a suggestion. This dress looks incredible on you but it has far too much material.”

He plucks at the strings at the back of my dress. I think the ties must have come loose and he is doing them up. Then I realize he is undoing them. Why is he doing that?

My dress hangs loosely around my shoulders. He pulls it down in a single motion. My bare skin feels a cool rush of night air. A sound rumbles within his throat. His hands grab at my chest, squeezing and pinching. It hurts. It feels wrong, wrong, wrong. He stops to unbuckle his trousers.

My mind scatters.

I run. Across the dark grounds. I run to the only place I can. The place grandfather made for me. The elevator is already at the bottom. I climb down the rope stairs and send the elevator back up. I don’t want to go beyond the Wheel of Death. I climb back into grandfather’s car. I shake uncontrollably as I lower my knees and head to the floor.

Sharp memories jab me.

Mother dead and tangled in her wheelchair. Miss Kitty lying face-down on the rocks, her head smashed in. The train lying like a broken Christmas toy below the mountains. Grandfather and the stars. Mr Baldcott and his wedding ring. Blood on the Wheel of Death after they pulled daddy from it….

I’m fourteen, I’m fourteen, I’m fourteen.

The hum of the elevator vibrates through my bones.

“Jess! Jessamine! Are you down here?” Henry calls.

I hear Audette’s shoes on the rock floor. Only Audette walks with that scrape-clomp sound.

“Fuck you, Audette. You didn’t have to do this to the kid,” he says.

“Someone had to. She couldn’t act like a baby forever. And you didn’t have to punch Mr. Baldcott out.” Her voice is whiny and pleading.

“The bastard wasn’t supposed to lay his filthy hands on her before the wedding. And I was planning on getting rid of him before Jess would have even had to marry him.”

“He was tired of waiting.”

Someone else walks up to Henry and Audette, someone with squeaky shoes. “You’re lucky I don’t have you tied up and thrown in the river, Fiveash. I don’t appreciate your jab to the temple. I’m going to get a black eye out of this.”

The sound of Mr. Baldcott’s voice sends icy water through my intestines.

“I saw what you were doing to Jess, Baldcott. You weren’t supposed to do that shit.”

“She’s mine, right? That’s what we agreed on as part of all this. I mean, I am bankrolling this whole venture. I’m paying men around the clock to hunt the old guy down and get the book. We’re talking seven different countries at the moment. And it all could be a wild goose chase.”

“The agreement was marriage. When she’s of age,” Henry tells him.

“The way things are going, there’s no incentive for me to marry her. No circus, no fortune, no prospects. Unless the old man does have a secret fortune and properties stashed away and you’re not telling me. So Henry, are you playing me for a chump?”

“No, of course not. Let’s just go have a few drinks and forget all this.”

The squeak of Mr. Baldcott’s shoes draws nearer. “So the old guy put his 1910 Model T down here. In perfect nick, but why would you bother keeping one of these crankers when you can have a LaFayette?”

“Let’s go, Henry,” Audette whines. “Our guests are waiting.”

“I’ll just hang here for a bit,” says Mr. Baldcott. “I got a nasty headache from that punch in the head I copped. And I like looking at circus stuff.”

I scream silently as Henry says, “Suit yourself. I’ll go find Jess.”

For a moment I want to jump from the car and run to Henry. But I hear the elevator moving and I know Henry has already gone. I stay perfectly still, barely taking a breath. Until Mr. Baldcott has gone too, I need to stay here like this.

His legs move across in front of my vision. He stoops, his needling blue eyes staring into mine. “Hoo, there she is, my little runaway bride. Is this a game? Well, never let it be said I’m not up for games. How about you run and I’ll catch you?”

Blood leaves my head and I nod rigidly. “Up there in the forest.” I point to the elevator.

“Oh no, that gives you far too much advantage. You little circus monkey—you’ll be climbing a tree in no time, swinging from branch to branch. That’s hardly fair. No, we’ll have the game in the tunnels.”

“I don’t want to go in there.”

“Well, that’s the game. Unless you’d like to christen your grandfather’s car here and now.”

I don’t know what he means but I don’t want to find out.

A humorless smile stretches his round face. He pulls me from the car and takes me over to the pipe organ. Reaching around my middle, he plays the tune that unlatches the Wheel of Death.

I bolt to the carousel, so fast that I leave him huffing far behind me. My heart thuds against my ribs. I could hide in a kitchen cupboard. No—if he found me so easily in the car, he could find me in a cupboard. The store room, the ballroom, the bathroom—all had hiding places but nowhere that I can't be found. A lump forms in my throat. I grab the Andy doll and crush it to me, as though it can save me. A single thought enters my head. The statue of Saint Jerome—grandfather had said he was here to watch over me. But down in the dark tunnel, the horror that was the shadow might still lurk.

I hear Mr. Balcott’s chuckle echo in the still air. My mind and body numb, I blunder through to the secret passage and run to the statue of Saint Jerome. In the pitch darkness I desperately feel his face. One of my arms falls through the wall next to Saint Jerome. Someone has moved the statue away from the cave opening. Mr. Baldcott will not find me in there. I climb into it. My knees scrape over bags of hard things—the bags of grandfather’s treasure. I push Raggedy Andy ahead of me—a buffer from the darkness of a tunnel that leads straight down. I lay my feverish head on Andy’s chest and curl into a ball, my body spent.

I hear the secret door scrape across and know that Mr. Balcott saw me open it. He must have brought a lamp with him, for a dim light taints the air.

A darkness creeps across the ceiling of the cave. I cannot move as the shadow drips into the small space with me. It’s all around me like a magician’s cape, pulling tighter. A thousand, thousand, thousand little pincers piece my skin. I’m going to die. Like Thomas died.

The shadow whispers deep inside me. Come with me. I’ll take you to your grandfather. Come now….

No! Grandfather said he would come get me. I breathe wildly, willing the shadow to leave me. My screams echo through the cave. “I’ll never go with you. I’ll never go with you.”

Another shadow moves across my body, the shadow of a man. “Never go with me will you, Jessamine? Well that’s hardly fair, seeing as I won the game. Peekaboo, I found you!”

Mr. Baldcott pudgy fingers slide over the edge of the tiny cave and he peers inside at me. His grin drops like a stone from his face as his eyes fix on the black mass that envelopes me. He turns to run, a pained cry twisting from his lungs.

The shadow springs from my body and swoops down on Mr. Baldcott. It winds itself around him, grinding itself into him. Until all that is left is black dust swirling in the air. And the shadow is gone.

Pains shoot through my chest. I know the thick metallic liquid in my throat is blood. I want to crawl out and run, but weakness claims every part of me. My breaths are ragged as my blood drips onto the doll’s soft chest. Heat like a furnace sears my body. I drift into the darkness of sleep and close out every thought and conscious fear.

CASSIE

Present Day

31. BATOPILAS

My heart caught high in my chest at the sight of the valley charging away from us. The mountain road dipped into a series of sharp switchbacks—a ragged zigzag cutting through the bare mountains. Rocks skittered under the wheel of the car.

Zach’s arm came tight around my shoulder. “Close your eyes until we reach the bottom.”

“How far is that?”

“A six hour drive, according the GPS.” Emerson shot me a shrugging glance over his shoulder. He negotiated a corner where a beeping truck came at us from the other direction. There didn’t seem enough room for us and the truck, but we narrowly scraped past each other.

“Lethal,” Zach muttered under his breath, but he turned to smile at me.

As soon as I’d mentioned needing to go to Copper Canyon, Zach had insisted on himself, Parker and Emerson coming along too. The boys had dropped everything to organize the trip and I was grateful they were here with us. They had made the difference between mom allowing us to go or not go—almost. In her mind, the dangers of Molly and I travelling to a remote part of Mexico had swapped to the dangers of Molly and I being alone with three teenage boys. Help had come at the last hour from the most unexpected person—my father. Andy had volunteered to travel down to Copper Canyon on the day after our arrival and keep a close eye on me and Molly. He said he could do with a few days off, and told me he’d been to this part of Mexico before and could help show us around. Mom had begrudgingly agreed that Molly and I could go—although she didn’t understand why we hadn’t just chosen a Florida resort to go holiday in if we’d needed time away.

Molly sat in the seat next to Parker and Emerson, silent and focused, seeming barely bothered by the chaotic ride.

A family of Tarahumara Indians rounded the next corner on foot, appearing as though from nowhere. In leather sandals that looked homemade, they trod down the mountainous road with ease.

The air grew warmer the further we travelled towards the valley. Zach’s body heated against mine. Despite everything, I was looking forward to spending time with him. After what he’d said to me in the yacht, I knew we were on borrowed time.

Maybe everyone in the world was on borrowed time. And this time with Zach would be amongst my last hours. It didn’t seem possible, here in this bright, surreal landscape. I hadn’t told Zach everything. There was no way I could. With some things, you had to experience them for yourself or you wouldn’t believe them. It was enough of a stretch for him to understand that people were pursuing me and hypnotizing me in order to find the location of a book.

When I’d told him what Henry wanted from me, his blue eyes had stared into mine, troubled and dazed. He’d said, ‘I don't know exactly what's going on here. But I don't like it. And I like that Henry guy even less. And if he's prepared to go to those kind of lengths to get something, maybe that thing is something he shouldn't have’.

Massive cacti claimed the sides of the mountains, like soldiers guarding the towns below. As we reached the bottom, uneven houses held tightly to their places in the rocky ground, their paint peeling from years under a sun that must be harsh in the summer.

My stomach clenched at the sight of the first sight of the aqueduct—the one I’d seen during the trance Henry had put me under. We were here. We crossed a high stone bridge into the Batopilas. The reddish sun lit the buildings of a town that seemed carved out of the mountains themselves. The architecture had a simple beauty—faded accents of purple and yellow amongst the weathered whites. Children chased chickens along the wide main street while townspeople stopped and watched inquisitively. The people were dressed in everyday clothes, unlike the native dress of the Indians we’d seen travelling the road by foot.

We were sticky and hot as we reached the hotel. Emerson and Zach checked us in, and we pulled our bags into our rooms. The boys were to share one room, with Molly and me in the room next door.

Molly stepped out to buy some batteries for her camera while I stepped into the bathroom to splash my face. For a moment, I shrunk back. The bathroom was large, as large as the bathroom had been in the underground. Small things often triggered memories. Doctor Alexia had said to let memories flow through me and not to resist them. I held onto the towel rail and allowed the moment to pass.

A knock came at the door. "Cassie, it's Zach. Are you okay?"

"Yes," I called back, amused.

"Because if you need me to scrub your back or anything, I'm here."

I gave a short laugh. "Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zach chuckled as he walked away. I freshened up and changed clothes.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Zach and Emerson were sitting on the chairs in my room. Zach pointed to a platter of fresh fruit and cheeses were waiting on my bed. Mangoes, guavas, bananas and some others I didn't know the names for. I sliced some cheese and a piece of mango and popped them in my mouth together.

"Delicious," I told Zach.

"Better be. I had to race all over town for that."

"No he didn't.” Emerson stretched his lanky legs out. “He had the kitchen make it up."

I smiled at Zach’s joke. "Molandah back yet?”

Just then, Molly and Parker stepped through the doorway.

Molly held an armful of supplies. “Hard to find what I wanted—none of the shops had names on them. And I don’t speak Spanish anyway. Good thing Parker does!”

Parker grinned, pushing black hair back from his eyes. “I know a little, not a lot. At one store, I think they thought we were asking for condoms, because the packet they were trying to give us looked an awful lot like…” He raised his eyebrows.

Molly flushed a deep color but laughed along with everyone else.

We all finished off the plate of fruit and cheese while a chorus of frogs and toads echoed from the river. For the first time in days, a positive note lifted amongst the sinister music that constantly played through my mind.

As night fell, we took a stroll through the town and dined at an outdoor restaurant. I started to fall into the easy rhythm here of Batopilas life, and forgot, for a while, why I was here.

Morning dawned cool and hazy. With the car refusing to start, it was going to be a trek of three hours to our next destination. Molly and I loaded up our backpacks with enough water and food for the day.

I eyed the mountains, daunted by the thought of a hike all the way to the next town. But Molly gazed at the same mountains with an expression of awe on her face.

“I love it here,” she said wistfully. “Even before my time in the underground, I never thought I’d go places like this.”

The boys joined us outside the hotel and we started out without delay. It was going to take all day to get to Urique and back.

A green and red macaw flew low through the valley ahead. The road looked almost the same as it had in my dream, twisting and turning. We crossed a river filled with large stones. A swarm of bright things descended on us. Bright orange butterflies.

"Hey!" cried Zach helplessly, as hundreds of butterflies alighted on him.

Laughing, I snapped a photo of him.

"He must be the sweatiest of us,” said Emerson in a mock TV presenter voice. “The butterflies are mud-puddling, which means they’re looking for extra nutrients. If they can get it from human sweat, they will." He held out a guidebook, one eyebrow raised.

"Get off you little vampires." Zach brushed them from his arms.

We continued on for the next three hours, the valley growing greener. The village of Urique spread before us with its cobblestoned main street and buildings of purple, yellow, blue and red.

“Hey we’re in the lowest part of the canyon now,” said Parker. “Seven thousand feet to the bottom.”

The sight of the soaring mountains was almost overpowering, crushing. How could we find what we’d come for in the midst of all this?

A group of Tarahumara women sat weaving baskets from pine needles by a small stone house. They glanced at me intently for a moment, as though they guessed my thoughts were out of step with the valley, as though they saw the turmoil inside me.

“Cassie? We’ll just follow wherever you head from here.” Zach’s arms came around me.

I stared around at everyone, nodding.

We walked on through the town. Tumbledown houses dotted the landscape here and there, but none looked quite like the one in my vision. I retraced my steps twice. There was no sign of the house.

“I can’t see it anywhere,” I said finally.

Emerson sat on a rock, tearing his hat off and wiping his brow. "Are you sure?"

"Makes sense," Parker offered. "Back in the 1920s, silver mining would have been going full steam. They would have had a much bigger population of workers. Maybe lots of abandoned houses have just crumbled into nothing."

“Or someone tore houses apart looking for the book,” said Molly grimly.

I felt stupid. Like one of those TV psychic shows where the camera follows the psychic around waiting for him or her to show that they really aren't just fooling themselves that they can see more than the rest of us.

Zach tuned into my discomfort. "How about we sit for a while and let Cassie take a look around by herself? She probably can't think with us tagging along."

Emerson stared at me, his hand shading his eyes from the sun. "Yeah, if that's ok with Cassie, let's do that."

"I don't think she should go off alone." Molly stepped beside me. "I'll go with her.”

I turned back to look at Zach just before we left. There was something sad and distant in his expression, the way you’d look if you thought someone wasn’t coming back.

“Which way?” asked Molly.

“I wish I knew,” I told her.

I wandered along the river, trying to see the line of mules, trying to remember where they stopped. Even though it was winter, the air was slightly muggy, cloistered. I shrugged off my shirt and stuffed it into my backpack. Molly didn't seem bothered by the warmth of the day. Her pale skin always seemed cool. I was like mom—I sweated buckets.

I stepped up into the hills, avoiding the spiky arms of the cacti that grew here. An ancient tree clung precariously to the bare rock, its root system exposed to the elements. I closed my eyes. I’d seen the tree before. The house was close to the tree.

But no matter which way I went, I couldn’t find the house. Maybe there were a hundred trees hanging onto rocks around here, all looking the same.

“Maybe we should try to hypnotize me again,” I told Molly.

I was about to give up and head back when I noticed the crumbling foundations of a stone house—barely noticeable amongst the rocks. It was the house. I was sure of it. But the walls were gone, almost leveled to the ground. We’d come here for nothing.

A figure in a cowboy hat and checked shirt walked towards us, his shadow crossing the reddish dirt. He was tall—taller than most people you see. My father. I'd never seen him in anything but a suit before. He stepped in front of me, tipping his hat up. "Cassie. You were a trick to find."

"Andy? I thought you were going to meet us at Batopilas tomorrow."

He shrugged. "I came early.”

“Okay.” I tried not sound peeved. It was hard enough trying to find a needle in a haystack without my father being here. “This is Molandah, anyway.”

Andy shook her hand. “A distant cousin of Cassie’s—on Cassie’s mom’s side of course—right?”

“Right,” Molly said awkwardly.

“You two aren’t here on your own, are you?”

I pointed downstream. “The boys are down there somewhere.”

I glanced helplessly at Molly and walked with him back to Zach, Emerson and Parker. They jumped up and shook Andy’s hand as I introduced them.

My father folded his arms. "Have you lot had lunch? Shout you all at the local hotel."

We trekked back to Urique and lunched on tortillas at an outdoor eatery, shaded by the abundant trees on the main street.

Zach smacked his lips. “Those were good.” He politely thanked my father and then suggested everyone leave me alone with him for a catch up.”

Parker yawned. “Done deal. I feel like a siesta.”

They stood and left the table, Molly shooting me a sympathetic smile. I’d told her how uncomfortable I was whenever I had conversations with my father.

Andy asked the waiter for tea with lime, without asking if I even liked tea or lime. In truth, I hadn’t had a single hot drink since the escape from the dollhouse. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.

He stirred his tea. "So your mother tells me that you and Zach are an item?"

I blushed. "We're good friends."

"And his family are the Batistes?"

"Yeah. From Miami. Just not the part of Miami I grew up in."

"Yeah… yeah." Andy had a habit of answering that to things I said. It always felt as though he were asking questions to be polite, without being interested in the answers.

"I must apologize for not getting over to Miami to see you sooner."

"It's okay," I said clumsily. "You did make the trip out to Australia."

His eyes looked pained. "You were barely speaking back then. I think you barely knew I was there."

"I kind of closed up for a while there. Trying to process everything I guess."

He was silent for a time, studying me. I grew uncomfortable. He'd never paid me too much attention before. Barely seconds used to pass before he was staring off into the distance or taking a phone call. Even here, out in the middle of what seemed a wilderness to me, there was that strangeness.

I peeled the skin off the wedge of lime that sat next to my cup of tea, unsure of what to say next.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said finally. “You sound like her too, the way you put a sentence together.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Immediately, I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

“No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. Your mom is a lot cleverer than I’ll ever be.”

“You’re a hotshot lawyer. You must be full of smarts.” I managed a smile.

“You know what they say about lawyers. They’re full of it all right.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“So what are your plans for the next few days?” I asked him. “Are you actually going to be staying in Copper Canyon?”

“Yeah. I’ve scheduled a week off.”

“Well thanks. I appreciate you coming. Mom wouldn’t have let me travel here if you hadn’t been dropping in.”

“I guessed that much. What’s next on the agenda? You’ve seen Batopilas and Urique so far—where to from here?”

“Just a few odd treks here and there. Maybe we’ll go see the Hacienda ruins tomorrow.”

“Mind if I come along?”

“You’d want to come?”

“Sure. Why not?”

There was no way I was going to be able to explain to him why I was really here and what we were going to be doing. But I couldn’t see how I was going to be able to put him off.

He pressed his lips together. “Well, I have some work to finish up. I’ll head back to my room and get some done.”

I wandered back to the lodge. The boys sat in the lobby, sipping multi-colored drinks. Emerson held up his glass to me. “Thought we’d try some of the local spirits. Hey, when in Mexico….”

They looked like they’d been relaxing there for the past hour, save for the sweat soaking through their shirts.

Zach stood his head to give me a light kiss. “Sorry, I reek!”

“Where have you guys been?”

“We had a look on our own for the book,” Zach admitted. “Trying to save you from having to do it. We checked out a few of the caves up there.”

I smiled up at him in surprise. “Find anything?”

“Yeah,” he said. “About six scorpions, fifty bats and one buzzard.”

“He forgot to mention the bones,” added Parker. “Loads of bones.”

“Well, thanks for trying. Did Molandah go with you?”

“Nah, she went to have a sleep in her room,” said Zach. He nestled his head against mine. “How about you and me take off for a while by ourselves later?” he whispered.

I nodded. The sound and touch of Zach was fast blowing away that whole awkward scene with my father.

The local Indians strummed guitars in the streets and beat drums in the hills, serenading the setting sun. Zach and I stepped along the cobblestoned street, easing into the balmy air, feeling the velvety night drifting in. I’d changed my hiking books and shorts for a casual, strapless dress.

Zach put his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. “Long day?”

“Yeah. But everything’s good now.”

Zach pulled me behind a lush, flowering tree. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.” He bent to kiss me, his lips crushing into mine.

The kiss was long, growing more intense. I didn’t want it to stop—ever. I wanted to live inside his kiss. No thoughts, no words—just this.

But he moved away, pressing his head against my temple. “Want you so badly. But there’s so many things pulling you away from me… so many things.” He held my face between his hands, staring at me with soulful eyes. “I want to hold you like this forever, but you’re a paper doll, Cassie. A beautiful paper doll. You’ll blow away from me soon. I never really had you. I can never keep hold of you.”

I gazed at him numbly. “It’s me who won’t be able to keep hold of you. You already warned me.” I bit my lip. “I understand. And I’m here with you, knowing that.”

“I wish I could just shut my mouth. This was supposed to be a nice night together. And here I am wrecking it.”

“You’re not wrecking anything. But I agree, you should shut your…” I kissed him full on his mouth. He still smelled vaguely of the tequila he’d drunk earlier.

A group of men moved through the main street. The Indians stared openly at the newcomers in town. The travelers were dressed in those clothes the rich wear when they are trying to ‘dress down’.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” Zach took my hand and we wandered away in the opposite direction, towards the pounding drums that kept time with the heart that crashed in my chest.

32. SPECULUM NEMUS

I dreamt of the dollhouse—of the relentless cold and the stone angel who gazed down on us as we slept. I knew now that whoever placed the angel there had placed her not to give anyone hope of being saved, but to remind them of death.

I opened my eyes to the sight of high mountain peaks, capped with snow. Part of my mind was sweeping backwards, remembering another time. No, not remembering. Seeing. Seeing things from a different time.

Molly sat huddled with a blanket around her, staring at the same mountains. She turned, coming to sit by me on the bed. “Cassie, are you okay? You don’t look well.”

I shut my eyes tightly. “I want you to take me back. Back to the time of Tobias and Jessamine.”

She moved her concerned face in front of mine. “Now? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please just do it.”

Molly stepped over to move a chair to my bedside. She brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “If this works, remember you can stop it at any time. Say the words, get out now.”

I nodded.

She cleared her throat. “Horror unique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent.” She ran her hands through her thick hair nervously. “I hope I got that right. I’ve been practising.”

I felt myself begin to drift.

“Cassie,” she said, “you will go back to when Tobias and Jessamine Fiveash were here in Urique. You will see a child named… Philomena….”

I shifted, rolling onto my back in the bed. The next moment I could barely feel my limbs.

An aged man sat on the edge of his bed in a white singlet. Tobias. Jessamine slept soundly. A short distance away, a mother and child slept in one bed while the men slept on the floor. The child opened her huge dark eyes, staring at Tobias. She crept from her mother’s arms and over to the rug on the floor.

Tobias’ eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “You remind me of Jessamine when she was your age.”

Then he frowned deeply, as though he’d just had another thought. He leant to scoop up his coat which was neatly folded on the floor beside his bed. He pulled out a battered book—a book with a cover of indeterminate color. The mirrored image of a tree was barely discernible on the cover.

He handed it to the child. "You know a hidey-hole? A cave that no one knows?"

Philomena nodded.

"I'll give you this,” He took a handful of coins from the coat and held them out to her. “if you can take the book and hide it where no one can ever find it. The book is worth nothing. It's just some old writing. But it's special to me."

Her eyes grew large. She dropped the money into her pinafore pocket and dashed off with the book under her arm.

Tobias’ eyes closed and he fell into sleep, still sitting—tired from the small effort of speaking.

“Cassie? Are you okay?” Molly’s voice filtered through.

“I’m okay,” I told her.

Dark clouds blotted the sky as the child skipped and jumped from rock platform to rock platform on her way up to the caves. Men in suits walked near the caves, stooping here and there to peer in.

Philomena stood on a high rock outcrop, hugging the book under her shirt. She turned and ran. The men barely seemed to notice her. The little girl ran tirelessly, all the way to the outskirts of Batopilas, to the massive arched entrance to a tunnel. A line of mules stood near the entrance as men and women loaded their packs with a dark metal. Silver. The arched tunnel led to a silver mine.

The little girl slipped inside. Dimly-lit tracks disappeared into a network of narrow tunnels. The girl ran through a tunnel barely large enough for a man to pass through—with rough, rocky walls and a rubble-strewn floor. She stopped before a shrine that had been cut into the wall. Religious statues—small wooden carvings of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in a hut—were arranged inside, candles flickering around them. A man in ragged clothing walked through the tunnel, halting to kneel and cross his chests in front of the shrine. He spoke words in Indian to Philomena, and pointed to the way out emphatically. I could tell he wanted Philomena to leave quickly. The man continued on through the tunnel. Philomena checked behind her before sliding the book behind the shrine.

Her hand reached into her pinafore pocket, jingling Tobias’s coins as she retraced her steps out of the mine. A man with blond hair and sharp features strode bent his tall frame as he strode along the tunnel. A group of white men walked behind him. None of them were dressed like workers.

“You there,” shouted the blond man at Philomena. “You little beggar. What are you doing in here? Stealing silver? Come here and let me check your pockets!”

She backed away, her eyes large in the brunt of an angry language she didn’t understand. She fled further into the mine. Further and further, dodging wooden pylons and rattling mine carts.

My breaths squeezed short and painfully through my chest. I wanted her to run the other way. I wanted her to show the men she had none of their silver.

“Cassie, get out now,” warned Molly.

I couldn’t tear myself away from the sight of Philomena’s small limbs as she clambered over a set of still mining carts to reach a deep part of the mine, where the tunnel hadn’t even been dug out properly yet. She wriggled through a hole in the wall.

“Come back…” I breathed.

“Get out now!” Molly grasped my arm, shaking it.

A blast rocked the mine. Pylons toppled and fell. Mine workers scattered as the ceiling fell in and rubble exploded around them. The hole that Philomena had crawled through was now a large, gaping space. Dirt thickened in the air.

“No!” I screamed.

“Cassie, you get out—now—,” yelled Molly. “Now!”

I opened my eyes, staring at her, with the last image of the little Indian girl burned into my mind.

My father, true to his word, was waiting for us to begin the days hike. I’d been hoping he’d change his mind or have urgent work to attend to—anything to keep away today. But it seemed even a herd of wild elephants wasn’t going to keep him away.

The only positive was that, with his SUV, we could get back to Batopilas quickly. My father took us to The Lost Church of Satevo and the ruins of Hacienda first—the things any tourist to Batopilas would want to see. The silver mine was last on his list, and we just had to be patient.

Finally, we stood before the arched entrance I’d seen in my vision.

“Why do you kids want to see this so badly?” my father asked.

“I’m studying the Tarahumara Indians for school, Mr. Claiborne,” replied Zach. “I believe they worked in this mine.”

“Well, it’s going to be pretty dark and confined in there. Maybe not the best place for my daughter to go, considering.”

“Yes sir,” said Zach.

“It’s okay,” I told my father. “I want to see it.”

Zach secretly slid his hand over mine as we stepped inside. I glanced across at Molly. Her expression was tense. I reached for her hand and she turned to give me a thin-lipped smile. The air inside the mine smelled of dirt and age. It was already warmer inside here than it was outside. I hated to think what it was like in summer.

Emerson and Parker flashed their torchlights ahead in the tunnel and we followed after them. I looked over my shoulder, just to reassure myself the entrance was still open to the bright day outside, and caught Molly doing the same.

I gasped as Parker shone his torch on the shrine in the wall. It looked exactly as it had when I had seen it. I nodded at Zach to tell him that was it, and he looked uneasily towards the shrine.

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” I announced.

Part of me wanted to run through the cave and search for Philomena. My rational brain told me that the explosion had happened a hundred years ago.

Molly walked beside me as we made our way out into the sunshine.

A shout echoed from back inside. The torches were thrown up into the air, landing with a loud clatter. Zach and Emerson emerged, their arms around my father’s shoulders. He dragged his foot, his face screwed up in pain. Parker walked behind with the torches.

“What happened?” I cried.

“Someone else is in there.” Zach drew his eyebrows together. “They just ran at us as we looking at the shrine. We all got tripped up, and your dad fell to the ground and twisted his ankle.”

“We should get the police,” I said.

“No, probably just a local who’s angry there’s tourists poking around in there. Let’s just get out of here.” My father limped towards his car, still aided by Zach and Emerson.

“Did you three… find anything?” Molly said in a low voice to Parker.

He shook his head. “Nothing. If there was anything there, it’s long gone.”

33. LIES AND SECRETS

My father reclined on the bed in his hotel room, his swollen ankle resting on a set of pillows.

“You should have let them take you to the hospital,” I told him.

“I’ll be all right. Only thing is, now I can’t look out for you with this stupid foot.”

“I’m not used to you looking out for… I mean….”

“You’re not used to me being a dad,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t say that.”

He sighed under his breath. “It’s true. I haven’t been a father to you. I’ve been a stranger.” He adjusted his position on the pillows. “Where are you kids off to tomorrow, anyway?”

“Just a few more tourist kind of spots.”

“Don’t go anywhere isolated.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t like the look of that group that came into the town yesterday.”

I shrugged. “Probably a group of burned-out lawyers—like you.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I’ve spent a lot of years as a prosecutor. I know when people are keeping something close to their chests.” He raised his eyes to me, looking serious. “You know, I could say those people are a bit like you. You and everyone you came here with. What’s really going on?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

“I mean that a group of teenagers doesn’t decide to take time off school and come to one of the most remote parts of Mexico. You’re looking for something.”

“Wow, you’re almost worse than mom. Mom tries to psycho-analyze me and here you are with the courtroom cross-examination.”

“I’m sorry. I just feel stupidly helpless with my leg like this. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you… ever again.”

“Okay. Understood.” But I didn’t understand. He’d never spoken to me in this way before.

Hi jaw tightened. “When I found out… where you’d been all that time, I was crushed. Never in a million years did I imagine…”

“No one did,” I said quickly.

“When your mother called me and told me you’d been kept underground, in the dark… I was over the moon you were alive, but at the same time I couldn’t deal with it, knowing how terrified you’d been of the dark as a kid.”

I twisted my mouth wryly. “I was still afraid of the dark until recently. I think I’ve been cured of that. But how did you know I was scared of the dark back then?”

“I was there,” he said softly.

“You couldn’t have been. You left when I was a baby. And when you came back the second time, you were barely there long enough to find out what my favorite cereal was.”

I could hear the bitterness in my voice and I hated it. I’d spent my life pretending that I didn’t care about my father not caring about me. I’d carried that pretense around almost as a badge of honor. To me, being tough had meant not showing the pain.

“You weren’t exactly a baby when I left. You were three.”

“No, that’s not true. Mom told me I hadn’t even had my first birthday when you left. There’s no photos of you with me after I turned one.”

“Look, your mother might have her reasons. I’m sure they’re good ones. And I’m quite sure I shouldn’t be dragging this stuff up now. But the truth is I left when you were three, soon after your mom lost the baby.”

“What are you talking about? What baby?”

His face softened. “The baby she was pregnant with when you were three.”

My legs felt weak.

“Mom never told me about a baby.”

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “It’s probably not the time to get into this.”

I sat on the chair beside him, my back rigid. “I want to know.”

“Sure?”

“Very.”

“Well… this is what happened. I’m not proud of it. Back then, I was trying to get ahead in my career. I wanted to put in the hours. Your mom felt differently. She wanted me at home at night, to be a family. She was right, of course. I just didn’t see it that way. When she became pregnant that second time, I… accused her of doing it deliberately. I screamed and ranted and raved. Like a lunatic.”

He cursed at himself under his breath. “The last thing I wanted was another kid. Another kid meant your mother wasn’t going back to work for years, and we were already drowning in debt. I wanted the hotshot car and the hotshot house. I’m ashamed to admit to that now, but it’s the truth. One night, after the worst argument we’d ever had—she put you in the car and drove off. It was the middle of the night, and raining. I should have let her go, let her cool off. But no, I had to jump in my car and follow her.” He breathed a low sigh of regret. “She hit a tree. When I got to her, she was screaming in pain. I got you out of your car seat and checked that you were okay. You didn’t understand what was happening and thought that I was some big baddie who had hurt your mommy. You got away from me and ran and hid in the woods at the side of the road. Your mom was losing a lot of blood, and you were lost. In that moment, I felt like I was losing my mind.”

“I don’t remember… any of that,” I said slowly.

“No, I know you don’t. When we found you—the police and I, you were shaking and terrified. I had to take you to the hospital with me, but you didn’t speak a word the whole time. Not even when we had to tell you that your mom lost the baby.”

I tried to process what he’d just told me, but I couldn’t. In my head, I was running through old photographs like a slideshow. Photos of a mom who was plumper around the middle when I was three. “Why wouldn’t mom tell me she lost a baby? All this time, I lost a brother or sister and didn’t know it?”

“Sister. The baby was a girl.”

I leaned back in the chair.

“You totally withdrew after that night. Every day, when night fell, you began screaming. You couldn’t bear darkness. I felt like it was my fault. You woke screaming every night, telling us you wanted to go with the baby. You held on as though the baby could come back—be alive again. You held on and on and wouldn’t let go. And you blamed me—for the loss of the baby, for making your mommy upset that night.”

“That’s why you left?” A lump like cement formed in my throat.

“Yeah. That’s a big part of it.”

“How come… how come I don’t remember the baby?”

“Cassandra… you were almost getting to a place where you couldn’t be reached. We tried child psychiatrists and all of that, but nothing worked. Nothing brought you out of it. In the end… your mother made a difficult decision. She decided to make you believe the baby had just been a dream, make you believe the accident never really happened. I thought… when you were older she’d tell you the truth. But I guess she thought it was better to let it go.”

I chewed my lip. “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because… when you disappeared in that Australian forest, it brought me straight back to that time you disappeared when you were three. And I thought this time you were gone forever. I thought I’d never get a chance to tell you that I didn’t mean to be the hopeless father that I turned out to be. I guess I just wanted you to know that the reason I left was for your sake, to help you forget what happened.”

Emotions rushed through me. Nothing made sense.

“But you abandoned me… all those years.” It felt so strange to be saying those words to my father, words I’d pushed down deep inside for so long.

“I didn’t mean to. I guess I tried to pretend to myself you and your mom didn’t exist, to try to numb the pain. I tried again, when you were eight. I came back, as you know, and your mom and I tried to get it together. But there was so much unresolved stuff between us, we just couldn’t make it work. It was mostly my fault—I’ll admit that. I’d cut myself off for so long that I couldn’t… find a way back to my own family.”

“You still could have been a dad to me.”

“I know. I know… And I should have been. No excuses. But I’m taking this chance now to tell you that I did care. That I do care. And maybe one day, I’ll make it up to you enough that you’ll stop calling me Andy … and call me dad….” His voice cracked on his last words.

I stood and stepped awkwardly over to him. I didn’t know what to do next—I hadn’t so much as shaken his hand in the last seven years. I reached to hold his hand. He gripped it firmly, fear in his eyes—fear I was going to turn around and walk out. I dropped myself down to hug him. His arms came around me and he stroked my hair.

“I’m going to be there for you, Cassie. I’m not going to let any more years go by….”

The morning was still dark when I woke. I’d been dreaming, but not of Copper Canyon, not of the little Tarahumara girl.

I’d been in my neighborhood, walking down my street. Everything was so vivid, so real. I noticed small details everywhere—the variation in color of the roses in Mrs. Palmer’s garden, the smudged chalk on the sidewalk where some kid had abandoned their game of hopscotch. I rounded the corner and saw the speed sign I’d run into and dented when I was eight. It had never been fixed or replaced. But now the sign was standing straight and without a single dent. Our garden, which mom never had time for, was blooming.

The furniture inside the house was newer—the old sofa mom used to throw a cover over to hide the rip was gone and traded with a leather recliner. A man with his back to me hummed as he stirred a pot of something in the kitchen. I stepped through and into my bedroom—at least, what used to be my bedroom. Two girls lay together on their stomachs on one of the beds, listening to music. I couldn’t see their faces, but you could tell by the lanky shapes of their bodies and by the waves of their long dark hair that they were sisters. They were perhaps six and nine.

A puppy bounded into the room and the girls turned their heads in unison. I strained to see their faces, but their features smudged and were lost to me as I woke.

I sat, tossing the blanket from me.

The sunshine-filled dream was replaced by a gray morning. I stepped from my room and along the corridor to my father’s room. Mountains rose like ancient monsters from the valley, sheets of rain blurring their many heads and thick bodies.

I still had so many questions. I wanted to know so many things about when I was three. All the things he’d told me last night whirled inside my mind.

I knocked lightly on his door. He didn’t answer. The door creaked on its hinges as I pushed it open.

The room was empty. The bed was made and not a single item of his remained in the room. Maybe he’d decided he needed better medical care after all. Maybe he had an urgent court case to attend.

Or maybe he’d decided he’d had enough of being my father.

I walked back along the corridor in a void.

How could he leave like that? Without so much as a note?

Molly stepped out in a singlet and pajama shorts, staring out in wonder at the torrents of water falling from the sky.

“My father left town.” I ripped a leaf from a potted lime tree and crushed it in my hand.

“I thought he was staying until we left.”

“Me too.”

Molly gave me a consoling smile. “Well, he needed that leg seen to. And we’ll be out of here ourselves in a few hours.”

A deep breath of air escaped me. “Without the book.”

“It wasn’t here to be found.” Molly turned to face me, her green eyes intent. The color of her eyes was always startling without her contact lenses in. “But we can’t give up. We’ll find a way—we have to.”

JESSAMINE

1920

34. ANOTHER EXISTENCE

When I wake, I am completely in darkness. I no longer burn or hurt. I feel strange, different. Like I can’t feel anything at all. Numb.

The shadow. The shadow will be coming for me.

When I crawl over the hessian bags, the hardness of the gold and diamonds doesn’t hurt my knees as before. Something blocks the way out, something that covers the entire entrance to the cave. Panic courses through me. I try to push against the hard surface but nothing happens. I’m trapped in this terrible place.

There’s a tear in one of the bags and I can see something inside that isn’t gold and diamonds. It’s an arm. A human arm.

In terror, I squirm my body around and crawl the other way. I keep moving. The tunnel goes forever—up and down and on and on. But I don’t tire and the rock walls don’t scratch my limbs. It’s as though I am in a waking dream.

I hear wind and know I must be close to the end. My feet drop into a pool of water. Before I realize what is happening, I am over my head in water. Drowning. I cannot swim. Desperately I strike out. I’ve been under the water now for minutes, but my lungs don’t strain. I feel nothing. I crawl from the water onto rocks.

I sit and survey the enormous cave around me. There seems no way out at this end either. Then I spot a small patch of sky above, dotted with stars. Grasping a network of tree roots, I climb to the top. I look out into a world where everything is wrong. The trees are gone. Everything is blanketed with ice. Screams echo and bounce dully on hard surfaces that gleam under a purplish moon—a moon that is obscenely large. And something is coming, something that knows I am here. A silver eye flashes.

I flee back through the tunnel, crawl away, away, away. I must be deep within some kind of feverish dream. I am back with the diamonds and the dead body. My feet kick at the obstacle that blocks the way. I fall through. On my back I stare up at the statue of Saint Jerome. Someone has concreted him against the rock. How did I fall through him? The fever is making me delirious, so delirious I am seeing things, going crazy.

I stumble through the carousel of the dollhouse and out to the world. It is not night out there. It is day. A day so bright it blinds me.

A vehicle roars in from the dirt road and parks a distance away from the house. Men in suits jump out with rifles, leaving the doors open as they rush towards the house.

I don’t care about Audette and don’t know if I should care about Henry either. But I run after the men into the house. The men’s guns are raised to their chests. Henry and Audette sleep on the sofas, dressed in formal clothes—but not the clothes they wore last night. Whiskey bottles and glasses litter the table. The gramophone record is stuck in a groove, playing the same scratchy piece of Chopin over and over. Audette’s hair is different—cut in a new, short style.

Has more than one day passed since I hid in the tunnel? Was I in there for days and they just left me there?

The men see them from the foyer and nod at each other. One of them deliberately knocks the ballerina statue that grandfather bought for grandmother to the floor. It shatters with a loud crash.

In the ballroom, Henry and Audette stagger to their feet. I hide behind the velvet curtains, watching….

Audette’s eyes are open in a frightened but hazy stare. “Who the hell are you two?”

The man in the pin-stripe suit tips his chin up. “We’re Baldcott’s men. His brother’s no longer accepting your story that Allan left your little party that night and you don’t know what happened to him.”

“Listen here.” Henry advances towards the men. “We’ve sworn blue in the face that it’s true. My fourteen-year-old cousin disappeared the same night. We don’t know what happened to either of them.”

“Oh yeah? Well it’s been four days without answers,” says the man. “Don’t take this personally… but….” He shrugs. A lazy smile edges across one side of his face. He raises his gun and readies it to shoot.

Audette makes a strangled cry and holds her hands out as though to protect herself.

The men begin shooting. They shoot and shoot and shoot—the sounds richocheting in my head like stones. Audette and Henry remain standing for a few moments, then slump to the floor—Henry across Audette. A look of surprise is still stamped on Henry’s face. Bright blood streaks across Audette's pale green dress and drips onto the floorboards. Her knee is shattered from the bullets and her leg juts out at an odd angle.

Shaking, I back into the wall.

The men stomp away up the stairs.

Strange, transparent bodies pull free from Henry and Audette’s bodies. The faces of the transparent beings are frozen with fear. They investigate their chests and see the bullet wounds and blood.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" yells Henry over and over. He hits the floorboards with his fist. Audette stares at him with her mouth hanging open and her bottom lip quavering. I step out from the curtains and go to them.

“You… died…” My mind is numb, caught in some horrific nightmare from which I cannot wake.

Audette gasps at this. She crawls away with jerky motions and huddles on the floor in a corner of the room.

Henry laughs like a crazy man, his voice high-pitched and breaking. "So now we're all dead...."

"I'm not dead,” I say quickly.

"Wake up sweetheart. You're dead as a doornail.” He makes a dismissive gesture in the air with his hand. “I looked for you for two days before I found you in the wall behind that statue. Found the old man’s secret treasure stash too. Sorry for leaving you there, but well, you were dead. I cemented the hole up with the statue of Saint ‘Rome as a mark of respect.”

“Please stop talking…” My voice crushes into itself.

The body… the body I crawled over in the tunnel. That was me? My back slides down the wall. Henry stares over at his body then turns his head sharply away, his eyes squeezing shut. Audette stays in her corner, like a captured pawn on a chess board.

The two men return downstairs with sheets they have pulled from the beds. They wrap Henry and Audette’s bodies in the sheets and carry them out to their car, cursing and swearing at the weight of them. The wheels of the car squeal on the gravel as the car tears away.

Nausea rises in my stomach. I can’t stay here any longer with the ghosts of Henry and Audette. My feet make no sound as I walk up the stairs and to my room. Everything is as I left it. Grandfather’s note flutters on the mirror, but my image does not show in the mirror’s glass. The breeze coming through the window has more substance than me. I sink to the floor before the dollhouse, before the perfect family in their perfect house. The metronome of the grandfather clock ticks through my chest. Time has stopped for me. I feel no heartbeat.

The world hangs in grayish streaks of light, streaks that become lighter. Something calls me. Am I about to slip inside another existence? I want to go. Everything within me wants to go.

But I cannot go. I don’t know where it will take me. Grandfather made me promise patience. I must wait.

Anguish crawls along my spine, sharper than the shadow’s barbs. I kneel here, before the perfect existence of the dollhouse, looking out over the river, until night closes over me.

Days and nights flit past—I am barely aware of their passing.

On the day I return downstairs, Henry is sitting on the blood-spattered sofa and Audette is pacing the floor. Both of them appear to be drifting rather than sitting or walking and I know that I must appear to be drifting as well. I sense that it is the last vestiges of my human consciousness that keep me from falling through the floor into the miles of dirt and rock beneath me. I could fall and fall and fall—perhaps even fall from the earth itself and haunt the empty darkness of space.

Henry nods a greeting but Audette ignores me, just as much as she ever did. She walks unsteadily to the front door with her busted knee. She shrieks as her hand passes through the handle. She tries again and again to no effect.

Henry eyes her with interest. “You have to believe, Audette.”

“What?” she snaps.

“You have to make yourself believe you’re solid. I mean, how else did Jessamine manage to get out of the underground? She would have had to push a button for the elevator, right Jess?”

“Yes.” I stare coldly at Audette.

“That’s because she didn’t know she was dead.” Henry raises an eyebrow. “We can all do this.”

“How?” says Audette impatiently.

“The book,” he tells her. “The first book of the Speculum Nemus—the Mirrored Tree—talks about what to do if you were to get left… between worlds.”

Her mouth turns down. “So now we’re relying on that musty old book to help us. It didn’t show us the way to the other worlds before.”

“That’s because we needed the second book, dearest.”

Audette gives a noisy sigh and flounces off to another room.

“What are you talking about?” I ask Henry. “What book?”

Henry shrugs. “The book your grandfather went chasing halfway around the globe to collect.”

“Grandfather? That’s why he left me? A book?” My voice falters.

“Not just any book. Dear old gramps was involved in some pretty dark stuff.”

“You mean… the stuff about going to other worlds?”

“Exactly. So he did tell you some things.” His eyes sharpen. “What did he tell you?”

I struggle to remember. “Just that… he needed the final pieces of the puzzle. But he’s coming back for me soon. He promised.”

He snorts. “He was obsessed with going back to a particular time. And obsessions are not healthy. Don’t be surprised if little Jessamine got overlooked….”

“You can say what you like, Henry, but you’re not close to grandfather like I am.”

“Don’t you mean, like you were? You’re dead and he’s still alive. Unless someone knocked him off, which is entirely possible. Anyway, yeah we all know Miss Perfect was the apple of her grandfather’s eye. I, on the other hand, am barely blood. Just the son of an unmarried cousin.”

“Grandfather still treated you like his own grandson. Paid for your expensive boarding school and then took you onboard the circus.”

"Yes, yes, yes and I’m eternally grateful and all that blather. I’ve learned more from that old coyote than I ever expected to.” A grin spreads across Henry’s face. “I read his precious book. The first of the Mirrored Tree books. Well, more to the point, I paid for others to interpret the book for me. Very interesting stuff.”

“Whatever the book said, I don’t want to know. All I know is, grandfather would never do the despicable things you and Audette did….”

A gleam fades in Henry’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw what you did that night. I saw what really happened to Thomas.”

His mouth falls open. “How?”

“I went down there, to the dollhouse one night, to see where everyone was. And I found them. And I saw you and Audette… and Thomas.”

“Well you weren’t supposed to see any of that. You don’t understand what we were trying to do, kid. That Thomas character just wouldn’t stop snooping. He thought we were up to no good and he was determined to expose us.” He shrugs with his palms open to me.

“I saw what the shadow did to Thomas.” My tone is flat.

Henry drops his hands down, stops trying to explain himself away.

“What on earth was that thing?” I ask him.

He makes an exasperated sound, like the one Conrado used to make when he was trying to teach me how to get my timing right on my trapeze performance. “That thing was nothing on earth. Nothing from earth. We tried to open a crack, a door onto another level. But I inadvertently opened a world where great serpents are real. Almost drove me insane the first time I laid eyes on one of those things. But there’s more than her out there—much, much more. Anything you can think of, anything you can imagine—is real… somewhere. We dream of such things, here on earth, never realizing in our dream-state our minds are peering into other worlds.”

“No….”

“I’m afraid it’s true. We thought that the worlds just consisted of us, of humans, with infinite copies of us living on infinite earths in infinite universes. And there is. But there are other universes, other beings—infinite universes filled with them. The place where we encountered the serpent is just one speck of sand on an endless beach.”

He smirks at my horrified expression. “Look, you saw that your grandfather’s efforts were weak and ineffective. He drove himself looney trying to reach the other worlds. He spent every cent he had on obtaining the books that would teach him how to get to these worlds. But the second book proved so elusive, he bankrupted the circus. I was trying to find a shortcut. You can’t blame me for that.”

“Grandfather told me… about the other worlds. He said… he said I could see daddy again.”

Henry nods slowly. “Life exists on many levels, Jessamine. You’re dead of course on this plane of existence, but you’re living a billion different lives… out there.”

I turn to stare at him.

“And yes, you have your precious daddy on other worlds.”

“That’s what grandfather was trying to do…,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Trying to go to a world where your father wasn’t dead yet and stop it from happening—never buy that cursed Wheel of Death for the circus. Live in that house he was building in Florida for part of the year and travel the rest of the year.”

“How do you know… all of this?”

“I was part of the group that were helping him… in his endeavors. The group was called the Nemus—Latin for tree. Most of the others were people who had lost loved ones, people who desperately wanted to go back in time. People who had the money to fund your grandfather as he tried to get the books and the knowledge.”

I remembered the people in grandfather’s tent that night, remembered Zeke—the man who had lost his children in a fire, remembered the woman with the heavy jewelry pleading for a guarantee.

“But the whole thing went on for years,” Henry continued. “I tried looking into other… avenues. Ways of making it happen quicker.”

“I know you, Henry. I don’t believe you would have ever have put all that effort in simply to go to… a place… where we could have daddy again. You and daddy didn’t get along very well.”

He scowls. “Simon never tried to get along with me, either.”

Audette sweeps into the room. “Who cares about that old stuff? I’m tired of being here, cooped up in this miserable house. Henry, you need to find a way to get us out of this mess. And don’t bring up that stupid book again. If we can’t open a bloody door, how are we supposed to turn the pages of a book?”

He slumps back in the sofa. “Where there’s a will….”

“We’re ghosts, sweetie.” Audette flung her arms up. “Wisps of air. Memories.”

“It’s a bloody wonder you even had the brain power to be a magician’s assistant, Audette.”

Her face crumples. “I hate you.” She sinks into the sofa opposite Henry, staring into space.

I cross my arms across my body, but there is no comfort to be found. I cannot feel. There is no touch or warmth.

“Henry…” I turn to gaze out of the window, into the bright day where people everywhere were living their lives, unaware they were living those lives over and over. “Why did you have to bring the serpent here? It doesn’t belong here. Grandfather wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

He sighs. “The serpent isn’t here. These creatures are able to separate themselves, so to speak—they’re able to cast their shadows out. What you saw is not the serpent itself. Just its shadow.”

“But the shadow… is able to kill. I saw it kill people within seconds.”

“Yeah, they’re lethal beings.” He tilted his head. “Hang on—did you say people? Who else did you see the shadow take?” Realization dawned across his face. “Ah, Mr. Allan Baldcott. It got him, didn’t it? Now I know what the hell happened to him. Anyway, no loss.”

“He chased me. That’s why I ended up in that cave in the wall. I was hiding in grandfather’s car when he found me.”

A brief look of regret steals into Henry’s eyes. “I didn’t know you were there. I wouldn’t have left you… with that bastard.”

If I’d jumped from the car that night, when Henry was still there, I would still be alive. And Henry and Audette would still be alive. The line between life and death was so thin that any small event—something you did or didn’t do—could snap that line.

Audette makes a fake yawn. “Well all that is over with now. Done and dusted.”

I glare pointedly at her. She’d sent me to the monster that had been Mr. Balcott. She evaded my gaze, looking anywhere but at me.

“What happens now…?” I speak my words to the air, to the rustling wind outside, to the reaches of space with the infinite worlds, to the infinite emptiness inside me.

Henry leant his head back. “The Speculum Nemus said that if you are caught between worlds, you must remain where you are and grow strong. The first thing is to rest, sleep. It claimed the terror of finding yourself what people call dead strips all your energies away. When you have built up enough energy, you can begin to train your mind.”

“How long does it take… to build up this energy?”

His eyes grow cold. “It didn’t say.”

“So that’s it?

“It’s all we’ve got. For now, we’re in limbo….”

“Grandfather will be back soon. He’ll know what to do.”

He makes a derisive sound. “He won’t be able to so much as see you. He’ll come back here and see everyone gone and the blood stains on the floor. He’ll leave and never come back, and you’ll have no way of stopping him.”

Henry is right. And I can’t let that happen. I must do what I can to become strong while I wait for grandfather’s return.

35. THE TWO HENRYS

I wake into an uncertain day. The sky outside my window is an inky patchwork of clouds. It is as though the day could not decide whether to dawn or remain chained to the night.

Reality crushes into me. I am a ghost.

I tread down the stairs. A man and two women walk through the house. The man looks like Henry but he isn’t Henry. The clothes of the people are odd, unlike clothes I’ve ever seen before.

One of the women is stout, with a face like a beaver. I imagine her swimming in a cold river, pushing sticks with that face to make a dam. The other woman is thin with hunched shoulders and a notepad.

“We cannot stress enough the historical importance of this property,” says the beaver woman.

“Yeah, gotcha.” The man sounds disinterested.

“Of course,” she adds, “I completely don’t understand how this house escaped our attention all this time. It’s as though it never existed. All records of it appear to have been either lost or erased. Anyhoo, this house lies on government land now. Protected forest. You may not clear or chop trees that lie outside the boundary lines.”

The man lets out a low whistle. “You mean to say I could have just walked into this house without anyone knowing and claimed it without all that rigmarole I had to go through?”

The woman glares at him as though he is a naughty child. “Well perhaps. How did you find out about this house anyway?”

He shrugs. “A box of old photos was given to my family a month ago. They belonged to a friend of the original Henry Fiveash. In the box, I found a photo of a party held at some mansion in Australia. Standing outside the house was a bloke that looked a lot like me. I did some digging and found out his uncle had owned the house. Which made me the sole heir.”

Henry strolls from the dining room and steps in front of the woman, mimicking her. I gasp. But beaver woman walks straight through him. Somehow, Henry is able to conceal his voice from the people. I realize that our voices are not the voices of live human beings—our voices are just some sort of projection, and we’re deluding ourselves that we actually need to move our mouths to speak.

He winks at me. “We’re going to have a visitor here from now on.”

“Who is he?” I ask Henry. “He could be your twin. Is he from one of the other worlds?”

“Nothing so exotic. He, apparently, is a relative of Tobias Fiveash.”

The woman turns her broad back around to the man. “You may have inherited the property, but that doesn’t give you any privileges in regard to the character of the house. You may not make unauthorized renovations. The property is nearing a hundred years old and must be treated with great care.”

I feel weak. “What did she just say?” I ask Henry.

“She said the house is old as the hills. Jessamine, you’ve been asleep for almost a century.”

I shake my head rigidly. “You’re lying.”

“Go to the window. See for yourself.”

I creep to the window. The gravel road is gone—overgrown with grasses. The bridge has collapsed into the river. Thomas’s carefully tended hedge is a wild tangle. Henry’s car has sunk into the earth, its body rusted and a door swinging on its hinges. And the forest has stolen closer towards the house.

I shriek, pulling at the thick velvet curtains and trying to close them. A tiny flurry of dust plumes out from the material. Only the man notices and he looks over in surprise.

“You’re stronger,” Henry whispers to me. “See what you just did?”

I crumple, falling to my knees. A hundred years have passed? Did grandfather return? Grandfather would be dead by now. Dead, dead, dead. But if he’s dead, why isn’t he here to help me, to guide me?

Audette floats over to the man. “Hmmm, he’s a dead ringer for you, Henry. Except shorter. And his eyes aren’t as beady.”

“Funny girl,” says Henry wryly.

I guess that Audette and Henry have been awake for quite some time. Audette seems to have accepted her fate.

The women turn to leave—Beaver woman marching towards the door first.

The man follows after them. “Hey, there’s something I forgot to ask.”

Beaver woman looks around sharply. The mousey one stands behind her blinking and adjusting her glasses.

“Now that this old place has been discovered, does that mean I’m going to have people tramping through it? You know, history-lovers, curious hikers, crooks looking to nab some antiques?”

“Well, the newspapers will of course be interested in the story,” she tells him.

Audette throws up her arms. “Oh just wonderful. Now we’re going to have to put up with idiots walking through here all the time.”

Henry smiles so widely I can see his gold tooth. “Not necessarily….” He grabs Audette’s hand and strides up to the people. Standing directly before them, he materializes into a more solid form. Audette appears shocked, but she follows suit.

The women eye the bullet-riddled bodies of Henry and Audette and scream shrilly. They practically trip over each other as they run for the door. The man scrambles away to the stairs. Henry waves his hand and the door slams shut. Next he makes a set of knives fly from the kitchen and spin in midair in front of the man.

When did Henry learn to do that?

The man backs away from the stairs, covering his head with his arms. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be bloody happening….”

Beaver-woman clutches mouse-woman, her eyes open so wide they are almost all-white. “I’ve heard of members of the historical society coming across hauntings in some of the old houses, but I’ve never come across it myself. Until now….” She whispers.

Henry turns his attention to her. “That’s right, sweetheart, the house is haunted.”

I can tell that she heard him. Henry must have also learnt how to make his voice audible to live people.

She places a hand across her chest to calm her heart. “You’re… you’re Henry Fiveash. And Audette Simpson. The two who were murdered here in 1920.”

“The very same,” says Henry. “And you can see that we’re not your garden-variety harmless ghosts. We usually kill anyone who dares enter here.”

Mouse-woman drops her head and makes a sign of the cross across her chest.

Audette puts her hands on her hips. “If you tell anyone about this house, we’ll cut you to pieces. And don’t think we can’t find you. There isn’t anywhere in this world you can hide.”

Beaver-woman trembles. “I… I’ve already had to put in a report. And once things are out there online....”

“Online? What are you talking about? Just wipe it,” says Henry. “Wipe it clean.”

She swallows and nods.

Henry walks up to the man. “And who the hell are you?”

“Henry. Henry Fiveash, your great-grandson,” the man utters darkly.

Henry throws back his head and laughs. “Oh dear God, you’re a direct descendant of mine?”

Audette peers at the man. “What? He can’t be. Henry and I had no children.” Realization steals across her face and she looks at Henry with knives in her eyes. “You had a child with one of your damned hussies, didn’t you?”

Henry shrugs sheepishly. “Not that I knew about.”

“What’s your family line?” Henry asks him.

“My father was Munroe Fiveash,” the man says shakily, “whose mother was Alicia Fiveash, whose mother was Masie Brown—a showgirl from the Fiveash circus. Masie’s baby was of course yours too. My mother moved out here from the US when I was a baby. Settled in Queensland. Was a bit shaky to prove my heritage and my claim to this estate, given the history. But one look at me was enough proof to convince a judge whose blood runs through my veins.”

Audette screams at her fiancée. Papers on a nearby desk rustle.

Henry ignores her.

“This is not your house,” Henry tells the man. “You can’t lay claim simply because we’re related.”

“I’m out the door. I’ll leave. I’ll leave now. Just let me out.”

“Nah, I think we’ll make you stay and we’ll toy with you a little first. It’s been years since we had any fun.” He turns to the women. “But you two can get out.”

The women nod and they scurry away before Henry can change his mind.

“But if a single person finds their way out here,” Henry calls after them. “I’ll know who to come looking for.”

The women flee past the window outside. Henry slams the door shut again.

The man’s posture is rigid. “What do you want?”

“We want you to stay,” Henry tells him. “Live here.”

“Live here?” Audette eyes Henry in confusion.

“What?” The man’s face drains.

“Yeah.” Henry shrugs his eyebrows. “We could make use of you.”

“Please, just let me go. I’ll forget I ever saw this house.”

“I know exactly why you’re here,” says Henry. “You thought the old guy must have hoarded treasure here somewhere. And you thought you’d try to find it.”

He shook his head. “No, I swear—“

“Cut the wide-eyed innocent routine. You didn’t want to come live in some crumbling old house. You’re here to find your fortune. And well, I’ll tell you that there’s fortune here to be found. If you play your cards right, eventually I might let you have it. Lord knows it’s no good to me anymore. But if I see a single piece of furniture or ornament from this house gone and sold, I’ll bury you alive. Some pieces here can be traced to Tobias Fiveash, and I don’t want that happening.”

A light steals into the man’s eyes when Henry mentions the possibility of a fortune. “But why would you want me here? What could I possibly do for you?”

“Errands and things. You’ll be our gopher, so to speak.”

“Looks like I don’t have a choice.” He sits on his battered suitcases, his expression still wild-eyed and dazed.

“Henry,” I whisper, “Ask him if he knows what happened to grandfather.”

Henry exhales noisily. “My young cousin here would like to know what happened to Tobias Fiveash.”

“There’s more of you?”

“Just one. Jessamine. You’ll have to excuse her for not being able to show herself. She’s just woken from a ninety-odd year sleep and she’s a bit out of sorts.”

The man looks around nervously. “No one’s sure what went on with Tobias,” he answers. “Apparently no body was found, but the reports say he died in 1920.”

Pain grinds through me. Grandfather was never coming back.

I don’t want to know more. I allow myself to drift, unhinged to the world.

I find myself in the broad daylight. But I don’t want daylight. I continue on, on to the only place where I can be alone. I sink deep into the underground, passing through rock and dirt and time itself.

Here in the darkness, I can believe that it is still 1920. I sit in the dollhouse in grandfather’s rocking chair. It makes a gentle, almost imperceptible rock underneath me. I did that. I will become solid and real here in the underground. I will make time reverse and stop. And grandfather will make his way back to me.

Somehow.

36. HEART OF METAL AND GEARS

I pace the corridors of the dollhouse for days and days. I grow stronger, make myself believe I can feel the floor beneath my feet, make myself believe I can touch the surfaces of the walls. I don’t want to watch the passing of time. I learn how to make the hands of the clock spin and point to any hour.

And I dance. I dance the waltzes Miss Kitty taught me. I dance for every day of my young life that has been ripped so cruelly from me. Miss Kitty never waltzed with a man but she knew how to dance perfectly.

The day arrives that I curtsey to the wooden clown and he bows back. It shocks me and the clown topples to the floor.

I spend every day learning how to hold each of the dolls upright. I try holding all of them upright at once. The effort exhausts me and I drop to the ground and sleep. It takes what could be days or weeks to be able to hold them all for any length of time. And then I learn to separate my mind and make the dolls walk—up and down the corridors at first, like sentinels. But then I learn how to make each one walk a different path.

The dolls are like perfect children in a perfect dollhouse. They go where I command them to go and they dance when I command them to dance. Controlling the dolls helps to fill in all the empty, desolate spaces in my mind. My mind is a network of corridors and rooms. I keep the dolls to a routine, because order is good.

But controlling them is taxing and I must sleep frequently to regain my energies.

When it seems that months have surely passed, I find the courage to collect grandfather’s locket. I tear a hole in the hessian bag that contains my body and rip the locket from the chain. The sight of dark bones wrenches a strangled cry from me, as though a sword has been plunged down my throat—my body has been eaten away by time, reduced to a skeleton.

Henry arrives in the underground with a crowd of people. I recognize them. They were there at the party he had at the house. Except now they are ghosts. I turn away. I have no interest in them. He takes the people deep into the tunnels.

He begins bringing them often, disturbing my peace and the world I have built with the dolls of the dollhouse.

Today he is alone. He drops himself down on the daybed, looking like he is flesh and blood. He has even learned how to clothe himself in clean attire—clothes that are not spattered in blood.

“Jessamine…” He brushes some lint from his shirt. “I’ve missed you. Audette is in a foul mood most days and the other Henry gets on my nerves. He thinks he’s some kind of lord of the manor now and he goes about quoting Shakespeare—badly I might add.”

“None of those things are my cares,” I tell him.

“But aren’t you bored as hell down here all alone?”

“I have my friends.” I gesture to the dolls standing to attention against a wall.

“Very clever. You must have practiced long and hard to be able to do that.” He leans his head back. “I have a suggestion for you.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Wouldn’t you like some real company?”

“That’s not a suggestion. That’s a question.”

“Touché. Look, Jess, what would you think of bringing a real friend down here for you? A girl.”

I startle. “What? A live girl?”

“Yes.” He studies my face.

“No, of course not. What girl would want to spend any time down here? The thought is insidious.”

“I think you mean ludicrous,” Henry corrects me. “Anyway, the idea isn’t ludicrous. There’s lots of young girls out there looking for a safe haven. It’s a nasty world for many kids.”

My world had indeed been nasty and without a safe haven. I gaze intently at him. “But any girl would run away at the sight of this place.”

“Not if they were… encouraged to stay. If it’s for their own good, to keep them safe from danger, it would be a blessing for them to be kept here. It would be tough for them at first. But they would learn to be grateful. People are drawn to their fate. No one would come here who didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t choose to be here.”

“Didn’t you?” His eyes are bright. “You had a choice that night, a century ago. You had the choice of alerting me that you were hidden there in your grandfather’s car. But you didn’t. You stayed there, put yourself in the grasp of old Baldcott and then went running headlong into the depths of the underground. Perhaps you wanted to die, Jessamine. Perhaps, deep down, you knew your grandfather was already dead and you wanted to save yourself the pain of finding that out.”

“No….”

Henry’s thoughts were surely twisted, wrong.

“The universes are interconnected. We can’t begin to understand why things happen the way they do or why people make the choices they do. Look, I can get the other Henry onto this. He can seek out a girl who is in trouble, who is danger and needs safety. Someone you can help and guide. There are lots of lost girls out there in the world, Jessamine. Girls who are unappreciated in their families, unloved, unwanted, homeless. I could bring you one of these.”

In the circus, everyone was older and they told me what to do. I did always want a younger sibling, someone I could instruct and guide. Someone that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to.

I point to the shadow that slithers over the ceiling. “How can you even talk about bringing someone here with that thing roaming about. Get rid of it.”

Henry rubs his temple. “I can’t do that. I have a bargain in place that I cannot undo.”

“With that thing? What is the bargain?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, we’ll start getting the dollhouse ready, just in case you change your mind. What do you say?”

I shake my head, and go to have a sleep on grandfather’s rocking chair.

The other Henry brings down supplies of food and stocks the kitchen. He even brings down boxes of that tea Audette used to give me, until there is far more tea than food. He brings down loads of heavy planks of wood and constructs beds in the cave—in the damp space beyond the crack in the wall. He builds ten of them. I ask why he would think of putting beds in there and why so many. He replies that there is nowhere else they can go and that if he is building two, he may as well build ten. I don’t grasp his logic but I don’t question it. The mattresses and bedding come next. At least now I have a place to rest each day.

Henry comes down to inspect other-Henry’s work. When the two of them stand together, they look they brothers, and if a bystander was told one was a ghost and one was living, they would be unable to tell which was which.

Henry tells me I must learn to control the carousel. I must keep it from turning—otherwise, any child he brings here will leave without receiving proper guidance. At first, it is difficult, although not nearly as difficult as making the dolls walk. I simply picture a spinning object and put a hold on it. After a time, I don’t even need to think about it.

The last thing other-Henry brings are my dresses. After a hundred years, the clothing is moth-eaten and fragile. I can barely stand to see my clothing in that state, but that’s all there is. I remove the wedding dress I have worn ever since that night that Mr. Baldcott chased me down here and place it on a stand. Audette’s awful black dress sits on a stand beside the wedding dress.

I tuck two of the toys in the beds—Raggedy Ann and Clown and I lay myself in a bed beside them. I wanted the Raggedy Andy, but he has deteriorated very badly in his place in the tunnel. I cross my arms across my chest and lightly tap my fingers—so I can pretend to myself I have a heartbeat. After weeks of sleeping like this, I begin to feel a heartbeat all the time.

But my heart feels wrong. I feel my heart harden, like a metal box with springs and gears and bolts. And my mind has become a mere machine—a machine that functions only to keep the toys on their correct paths and stall the carousel. Everything else is pushed out, until I can barely hold any memories or thoughts. My pain lessens each day. The girl I used to be subsides.

The next time Henry asks if we should bring a girl down to the underground, I say yes.

I have one request. I ask that she should look like one of my dolls. I don’t think I can bear to look upon a live human when I have no life left in me. I will find it easier to instruct a doll. Henry brings down the old theatrical paints from the circus.

Now everything is ready.

He brings a tiny, thin girl dressed in boys clothing, with disheveled hair. Who would dress a girl in this way? While she sleeps I apply the makeup to her face and brush her hair. Henry tells me she is the daughter of a local policeman—a cold and sometimes violent man that she longs to run away from. Other-Henry researched and found us a girl that needs safety.

When she wakes, she wets the floor and cries. I ask her what her name is, and she answers with Lacey, which seems to better suit the name of a piece of material than a girl.

She sits with her knees raised to her chest, back pressed against the wall, shaking uncontrollably. Moisture runs from her eyes and nose, which ruins her makeup. "Please… please… let me go. I want to go home,” she whispers.

The shadow of the serpent drops from the ceiling and wraps itself around her.

I manage to banish the serpent, but it takes every scrap of energy I have. My carefully-constructed shell fades. I now look more ghost than live human.

The girl stares blankly, her eyes huge. Then she begins screaming, screaming like she will never stop. She tells us she will bring more girls, if we only let her leave.

I don’t like this girl—with her wheedling voice and running nose. I rename her Lilith, after the Greek myth I read about in one of my books. Lilith reminded me of the serpent-shadow, and reminds me of this girl now, both so willing to sacrifice children for their own gain. She doesn’t understand that I am here to help and instruct her.

A voice deep,deep inside me tells me she is just a terrified child—a child nine years of age and away from all she knows. I lose my resolve. I tell Henry to let her go. Henry strides back and forth but eventually agrees.

He snaps a bracelet around her wrist. “You are bound to us,” he tells her. “If you tell, or if you don’t do what you have promised, I will feed your sisters to the serpent—not the shadow you see here, but the real serpent—which is more terrible than anything you can imagine.”

The girl swallows and makes a brittle nod.

“Remember,” Henry tells her. “You are responsible for what has happened to you. Those who most want escape end up imprisoning themselves."

The toys and Henry take the child back.

I lie in my bed with the angel watching over me, waiting….

CASSIE

Present Day

37. THE BATISTE BALL

Mom handed Molly and me a packet of crisps each. We’d had to leave first thing in the morning to get to the airport on time and hadn’t had time to grab anything to eat. Molly smiled gratefully—rubbing her arms against the cool air inside the terminal.

Despite the early hour, mom was looking brighter than she had for a long time. She was enjoying her new job and I think each day brought her a little more relief she had taken us away from a place in which Henry Fiveash roamed. I couldn’t tell her that Henry had found his way here. Molly and I needed to plan out our next move, without mom swooping in to wrap us up in cotton wool. And I couldn’t even ask her about all those things my father had told me about the past, even though I thought about those things every single day. Not yet anyway. I’d pick out a quiet time one day soon and find a way to ask her all the questions that haunted my mind like lost ghosts.

Aisha stepped through the crowds—looking pale and dazed. Her tan had faded, even though it was summer in Australia. I cried out her name and Molly and I made our way over to her. She threw herself at us, hugging us each in turn.

“Welcome to Miami sweetheart,” said mom.

“God, I can’t believe I’m really here! USA!” Aisha hugged us again. “It’s so good to see you all.”

“We’re going to have a blast,” I told her. “Beaches, bands and boating… and maybe even boys….” I whispered the last bit, casting a sideways glance at mom.

Mom made a pretend frown. “I heard that. How about a little more beaches and a little less boys?”

Aisha laughed, although her laugh sounded a little hollow. I guessed she was tired. The long-haul flight was harder for some people to cope with than others.

“Better grab lots of rest before the ball tomorrow night,” I told her. “Can’t wait to see your dress!”

“Can’t wait to see yours and Molly’s either.” She stared around her. “Wow, so many people!”

“It takes some getting used to.” Molly grinned widely. “Miami is a busy place. I don’t think I’m quite used to it yet. It’s a long way from a little country town on the other side of the world.”

Aisha’s parents and Raif waved excitedly, bringing their suitcases over on a baggage cart. We hugged all of them. They’d become like my own family. I’d forgiven Raif for the way he’d acted when Aisha went missing. Any teenage brother might have acted in the same way. I just didn’t see it back then.

“Are you coming to the ball, Raif?” I asked him. “I bet you’d look pretty damned good in a suit.”

Aisha held up a hand. “No, he’s not coming.”

Raif shrugged.

“Why not? I’m sure the Batistes won’t mind,” I said.

“I just don’t want him to come, okay?” Aisha brushed a dark lock back from her forehead. “Can’t I go anywhere without my brother tagging along?”

“Okay….” I didn’t have a sibling and I didn’t know what it was like to have one hanging around. I decided it was best to let it go.

We all left the airport together to have brunch at the resort the Dumajs were staying at.

Zach and Emerson’s estate was breathtaking under the soft, inky night air. The house was a restored grand mansion of a bygone era, with checked flooring and polished wooden finishes. Outside, lights twinkled in the trees, picking out every branch and reflecting in the black lake. Waiters brought platters around to people in designer dresses and suits. So many people—elegant in designer dresses and suits. My dress was hardly in that league.

Molly, Aisha and I hung back a little, unsure of where to put ourselves.

Zach strode towards me, dressed in a dark gray suit and white shirt. The effect was so incredible I almost wished he was wearing his old cut-off jeans and tee-shirt—because he looked way too good for me. I’d always hated it when girls said that a boy was too good for them, but I couldn’t help but feel that way right now.

His eyes lit up. He was next to me in a moment, kissing my cheek. “That dress is perfect on you. You’re perfect,” he said in a low voice.

Emerson and Parker stepped up behind Zach.

Parker took Molly’s hand. “My lady.” Molly’s eyelashes lowered as color rose in her temples. “That hair could only belong to one girl on this earth.”

Emerson gazed at Aisha with a questioning look in his eye. Aisha moved into his arms. Emerson kissed her fully on the mouth and then spun her around. “You look even more beautiful than last time I saw you,” he told her. She rested her head against his shoulder for a moment, a distant expression on her face.

An orchestra began to play a classical tune. Zach swiped two tall glasses of red wine from a passing drinks waiter and handed me one.

“To us and the night,” he said.

Smiling, I gulped down the wine. Mom would have a fit if she saw me drinking. It wasn’t the first time I’d had alcohol though—I’d hung out and drunk cheap bottles of spirits on the streets of Miami when I was fourteen. Those days seemed so distant now. If I could have had a vision then of myself at age fifteen holding a real wine glass at one of the most expensive estates in Miami, I would never have believed it. I could never have seen myself with a guy like Zach either—he was much more than anyone I could have imagined for myself.

I stole another glance at him as he finished his wine. His hair caught the light of the lamps above. He stared into the dark, lapping waters of Lake Biscayne—his expression subtly changing and a troubled look entering his eyes.

I touched his arm. “Everything okay?”

He looked through me for a moment before snapping back. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry, my thoughts ran away with me for a moment there.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been thinking about me, thinking if this was the night he should end our relationship. I eyed a few of the other girls at the ball—they were beautiful and probably rich. I wasn’t perfect for Zach—but they were. A gorgeous blue-eyed blonde walked past—in a sparkly green dress that looked painted-on. She glanced sideways at Zach, giving him a small secret smile.

I told myself not to think about Zach ending what was between us. I intended to enjoy this night.

A stunning redhead in a blue dress ran across the lawn, chasing a small dog. She scooped Lucy up in her arms and kissed her nose. “Naughty doggy. Always escaping.” The guests laughed as she chastised the little dog.

At first I didn’t recognize Viola. Her hair was done in an extravagant up-do and her dress was so figure-hugging it made her seem older.

She ran over to Zach and threw her arms around him. Lucy wriggled between them and began licking Zach’s face.

“Vee, take her inside,” Zach protested.

“Oh but she’s so cute,” giggled Viola. She turned to me. “Cassandra, don’t you look pretty!”

“Thanks. You look—“

‘Hot,” finished a young man who grabbed Viola from behind.

Viola introduced the man as Clarkson. He seemed way too old to be with a fifteen-year-old—he was maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. Perhaps he was why Aisha was against Raif being at the ball—if she already knew Viola had a boyfriend, she wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Raif’s feelings.

“Wish we could kick the orchestra out and get some decent music happening,” Viola complained. “I feel like partying!”

“Won’t hurt you to gain an appreciation for the classics.” Clarkson playfully flicked her ear.

“Stuff that. Life’s too short to waste on things that make you gag,” she said, making a gagging gesture with her finger inside her mouth.

For some reason, Clarkson found this riotously funny and he threw his head back and roared with laughter. “You’re a wicked child, Viola.”

“My sister is a hoot,” said Emerson.

Aisha finished one glass of wine and took another from a drinks waiter.Her eyes were already a little glazed.

“Better take it easy on the firewater, Aish. Pace it out a bit.” I gazed at her in concern.

“I’ll have as much as I need.” Aisha finished off her glass in one gulp.

“Well, she’s going to make a beautiful drunk,” Emerson quipped.

Zach took another glass of wine from a waiter and offered them to me and Molly.

I held up both hands. “Not for me.”

“Me either.” Molly shook her titian curls. “Wine tastes sour to me I’m afraid.”

“Well you two are freaking killjoys,” said Viola. She took both glasses of wine from Zach and swallowed them within seconds. “That’s how to have fun.”

A man threaded his way through the guests and stood on the dark perimeter of the grounds. Something about his walk and the angles of his thin body were familiar, though I couldn’t see him clearly.

“Come for a walk with me?” Zach’s blue eyes smiled into mine.

“Sure.” I looked around for Molly, just to check she was okay. She was busy chatting with Parker and an older woman, who might have been Parker’s mother. Molly seemed comfortable enough.

I followed Zach down to the lake.

“Careful,” he said. “There’s a bit of a sharp drop off.”

“I love the way the water comes right up to your back lawn. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah.” He seemed distracted. He took a long breath, threading a lock of my hair through his fingers. “Are you happy?” he said softly.

“Of course. Look around—everything’s incredible, and I’m with you.”

“I want you to be happy and I want you to know that.”

“Well whatever happens, I am.”

“I didn’t expect…” he shifted awkwardly, loosening his bowtie. “I didn’t expect to fall for you, back when I met you. But something about you is just so…pure.” He sighed. “That didn’t come out right. I meant that you say what you mean—there’s no guessing games. And you’ve never tried to impress me.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to impress you with,” I said, making a light joke.

“You’re wrong about that,” he said seriously. “You have everything to impress me with. Why don’t we get out of here…now? On the yacht. Just you and me. Be alone. We haven’t had any time alone—not once. Except for a few minutes snatched here and there.”

“I can’t leave the party—I can’t leave Molly and Aish.”

“Yeah, I understand. I just…wanted…I just wanted you. Just you and nothing else.”

Leaning forward, I kissed his warm mouth. “I love being with you too.”

He kissed me back—a long and searching kiss. “You and only you,” he murmured into my temple.

I flinched. “What did you say?”

“I said, I want you.” Confusion crossed his face.

“I thought you said something else. Sorry—the wine must have gone to my head already.” I gazed at the dark lake lapping at the edge. “What you just said… does that mean you want to take things further… tonight?”

“You think I was asking for sex?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Cassie, I want everything from you, and yeah, of course I’ve thought about it. But that’s not where I was heading. Not this night.”

“Okay.” I smiled at him. “But so you know. I want to, too.” I didn’t know if I was ready or not. I just knew that Zach was the most wonderful guy ever and the thought of being with him in that way blocked out every other thought right now.

He nuzzled my temple. Heat ran along my spine.

But for a moment, Zach was replaced in my mind with Ethan. The wild rawness of Ethan bled through me, taking me to a place I’d never been to with Zach. I tried to throw it off but the thought clung to me.

I craned my neck around to the house. “Looks like everyone’s heading inside.”

“Stay with me,” Zach pleaded. “We can have our own dance out here.”

I laughed. “That’s not very social. How about we have a few waltzes inside with the others first?”

We stepped towards the house, Zach holding my hand so firmly it almost hurt.

Couples spun around the dance floor. Aisha hung on Emerson’s shoulders, her eyes with a dreamy, faraway expression. She looked as though she could barely stand up unaided. Molly waltzed with Parker, dancing so gracefully that others had stopped to watch her.

Chatter hushed audibly as Zach and I entered the room.

“They’re looking at us,” I said in a low voice.

“Because you’re beautiful.” Zach’s voice had a wistful edge to it. He brought me close as he led me into the dance.

Due to all that crazy waltzing practice with Jessamine, I could waltz and waltz well. It wasn’t the first time I’d danced with Zach, but this time was different. This time he clung to me as though he was afraid I’d run away. I could feel heat rising from the skin beneath his shirt and suit.

New guests were entering the ballroom. Their faces seemed oddly familiar. Had I seen them in the newspapers perhaps—in the Miami social pages? Were they supporting actors in movies I’d seen? Lots of actor-types hung out at Miami.

The waltz ended and the orchestra stopped playing.

Zach’s father strode to the front of the ballroom. He put out his arms. “Dearest friends and family, Beverly and I are overjoyed that you could join us on this occasion.” He gestured towards his wife, Zach and Emerson to step up there with him. “We have travelled the long road to come to this point, this pinnacle as it were. Sometimes difficult decisions must be made to achieve great things. A small part of things has been our restoration of this house. Built and abandoned in 1920 by Tobias Fiveash, it took a good deal of time and effort to return it to its original glory—reimagining the vision of the original owner.” He gestured towards a thick curtain that covered something on the wall. “Without further ado….”

He pulled a cord that stripped the curtain away.

The saliva in my mouth turned ashen.

A massive wooden carving was inlaid on the wall. A mirrored tree—with bare branches stretching up and roots stretching below. And the house… the house had belonged to Tobias.

I tried to steady myself. Tobias Fiveash apparently had real estate everywhere. It was just chance that Zach’s parents had bought this house. And to them, the tree carving was a tree and nothing more.

I glanced at Molly. Her face was white.

Applause broke out around the room. I clapped along with everyone else.

Mr. Batiste waited for the applause to subside. “We found this wonderful carving hidden behind a false wall during renovations. It was a pleasure having craftsmen restore it over the past year. Things of value are worth waiting a great deal of time for."

I felt a tug at my side. Molly smiled widely at me, but I could tell her smile was forced. “Have you tried one of those awesome feta rolls? Come try one. The waiter went this way.”

I walked with her, not quite understanding.

“Cassie, you trusted me when we were in the underground, right?”

“Of course….”

“Please look like we’re just having a normal conversation, whatever I say next. Keep smiling and don’t stare at anyone.”

Faint nausea rose in my stomach. I nodded.

“These people,” she said. “The ones who came in recently. Those faces. I can never forget them. They’re the faces from the Feast of Fools. Ghosts….”

The last word dropped from her lips like lead.

“Molly, that’s not possible. How could—“

“I know. But you need to trust me. And we need to get out of here… now.”

I stole furtive glances around the room. Fear coiled deep within me. I saw what she could see. These were not people at a ball. These were actors playing their parts. “Why are they here? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell Zach we need to leave.”

“Cassie… wait.” She swallowed. “I think we should just get Aisha and leave quietly. Tell no one.”

“But Zach and Emerson and Parker could help us. Are we supposed to walk out of here alone?”

“That might be the best we’ve got.”

Disjointed thoughts spun through my mind. I didn’t know which way to turn or run. I desperately wanted Zach, wanted his arms around me. But Molly’s eyes urged me on.

I walked beside her, trying with everything in me to look like my world hadn’t just fallen into a burning pit.

Aisha stood dancing a small swaying dance all on her own, while Parker had a conversation with a man off in a corner.

“Aish, having a good time?” My voice was brittle.

She nodded. “Uh huh.” She closed her eyes and kept swaying.

“Aish,” I repeated. “We have something to tell you.”

“So tell me.”’

“You need to listen carefully. And you look pretty drunk.”

“Do I? Maybe I wanted to be.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight. But please, you need to listen. What I have to say will shock you, but you mustn’t give us away.”

“Just spill it.”

“Aish, without looking around… do any of these people look familiar to you?”

She shook her head. “No, why should they?”

“Take a quick look at the man in the waistcoat talking to Parker. Don’t let him see you looking. Doesn’t he look like that man who ran off with you over his shoulder—at the Feast of Fools?”

Blood drained from Aisha’s face. “That’s not him. How could it be? Anyway, all that stuff was just our imaginations.”

“You know we didn’t imagine any of that. You know.”

“I don’t know anything. Down there, each of us had a chance to escape if we wanted. Henry offered it to us. And we could have figured out that Jessamine was just a lonely little girl playing house. But we refused. We stayed to the bitter end. Well now, I want this life. I want to stay with Emerson.”

“What do you mean? You want to stay with Emerson?”

“He’s already asked me to be his fiancée and I accepted.”

“Okay. Whatever. But just leave with us now. And tomorrow, you can tell Emerson you were sick and had to go.”

“I’m not going. You don’t understand what you’re asking of me. I was never strong, Cassie. I’m sorry.”

“Aisha, we’re walking out of here now,” said Molly. “You need to come with us.”

Aisha’s jaw tensed as she looked away. “I’m not coming. I never want to be on the side of things where I am the victim… ever again.”

A pained breath of air escaped me. Aisha’s words were odd and kind of calculated.

I nodded at Molly and we began walking away. Molly was heading towards the back garden. It would be easier to walk away from there, rather than try for the front door.

Mrs. Batiste stopped at us the folding doors. “My dears, you’re looking quite peaked. Would you like to lie down upstairs?”

“Thank you,” said Molly. “But I think Cassie just needs a little walk outside. She’s feeling a little faint.”

“Are you all right?” She peered at my face with concern.

“Yes, I just… haven’t been well lately.”

“Well, after that awful business with that man in the park, it stands to reason. If you need anything, let me know.”

I smiled thinly and nodded. Out in the gardens, a scattering of guests chatted loudly. Molly and I stepped into the darkness of the trees.

38. FIRE AND ICE

“Where to now?” I stared into the inky night. “This place is a maze of streets. And it’s a long, long road back to the mainland.”

“We’ll just keep moving. And if we can find a car with the keys in it, we’ll take it.” Molly's face was a mask of grim determination.

Neither of us could drive, but I knew as much as she did I was prepared to do whatever it took. Cool night wind brushed past us as we crouched and fled along the lines of parked cars out the front of the house.

Molly stood, looking about her. Her shoulders sagged and she cried out in anguish, her hand reaching over her mouth.

I straightened slowly, not wanting to see what she was seeing.

A bare landscape met my eyes. Everything was gone—stripped, desolate. No other houses, no streets, no lights.

“That’s not possible.” Her voice was barely audible.

“No matter what. We keep going. Remember?” My voice cracked and was half-lost in the wind, but I meant it. We had no choice but to keep moving.

We ran into the night, with no markings to tell which way we were going. Trees thickened around us. I could barely see two feet in front of me. Rustling branches jumped out at me. My heart jumped against my chest wall.

“We could be heading into the state forest.” My voice shook.

“Is there any way off it? A road?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

She took my hand and headed back the way we had come.

Voices carried on the wind. High, tinkling laughs.

“They’re here,” I whispered. “They’re all around us. God, they’re all around us.”

Parker and Emerson strode out from the darkness.

“Molly.” Parker took her arm. “There you are.”

Emerson reached for me. “Cassie, what are you doing out here?”

“Let us go.” Molly attempted her pull her arm free.

“We can’t let you get lost out there,” said Parker. “It’s a big, big forest. Better go back inside.”

People moved towards us, ghostly bodies flitting in and out of the trees. They didn’t even try to hide what they were now.

The guests fell into pin-drop silence as Parker and Emerson brought us in to the ballroom. All pretenses were gone from the faces of the guests now.

Mr. and Mrs. Batiste held hands, beaming at us. “We’re so glad you didn’t get lost out there in that forest,” said Mrs. Batiste. “The boys have brought you back safe and sound.”

“Are we really safe?” I gazed directly at her.

Mr. Batiste cleared his throat. “Please remain cordial.”

Detective Dragar knows where we are tonight,” said Molly. “If we don’t return from here, you will all be held accountable.”

Mr. and Mrs. Batiste stepped back as a man walked out in front of them.

“I do indeed know where you are tonight,” said Detective Dragar. He sipped his glass of wine and shrugged his forehead.

Molly gasped.

“That reminds me,” said Mrs. Batiste, “I must speak with your mothers.”

Detective Dragar pointed a gun at Molly and me as Mrs. Batiste took out a cell phone from her handbag. She called each of our mothers and told them that she had invited us to stay overnight so we could watch some yacht races first thing in the morning. She was breezy but brisk, and gave our moms no time to ask questions before she ended the conversation.

I stared desperately around the room, seeking out Zach’s face, dreading what I would see but still needing to see him. I found him standing in the midst of the crowd that surrounded us. He stared resolutely at the floor, his face expressionless.

The blonde girl in the green dress that I’d seen earlier wrapped herself around Zach and gazed coldly back at me. “It’s about time I had my boyfriend back.”

Zach made no move to push her away or deny what she’d just said.

“You poor thing, Sienna,” said Mrs. Batiste. “You have been beautifully patient. And you know we do love you like a daughter.”

A bouquet of dead, thorned roses dropped through my heart.

Viola stood next to Emerson, excitement in her eyes—her boyfriend behind her with his chin resting on her shoulder.

Tears tracked down Aisha’s face. She refused to meet my gaze. Reluctantly, she let go of Emerson’s hand as she moved to stand beside Molly and me.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Mr. Batiste clasped his hands together.

“Indeed,” agreed his wife. “I’m sure our guests are anxious to get this thing moving.”

“What do you want from us?” Molly demanded.

“We have a little errand for the three of you,” answered Mr. Batiste.

“We’ll do nothing for you.” My voice shook.

“Oh I think you will. You won’t want to stay where we’ll be sending you, and we will be the only ones who can bring you back. You can’t doubt our collective abilities. You just saw for yourself what we can do. We took the surrounds of this house back to 1920, back to when there was little here other than a few Indians and coconut plantations.”

Henry and Audette walked together arm in arm to stand beside the Batistes.

“We meet again.” Henry smirked.

The Henry who had me hypnotized me in the park stepped beside the ghost-Henry. I recalled the man I had seen earlier, outside. It had been this Henry.

“Is Jessamine here too?” I asked bitterly.

Henry’s ghost gave an exasperated laugh. “Jessamine haunts those dreary forests near Tobias’s old house. Still waiting for her grandfather.”

“Probably for eternity.” Audette tittered.

Mr. Batiste’s eyes glittered coldly. “Girls, prepare yourselves and listen to this instruction carefully. We will be sending you to another world. What we seek is a book—and we all know you know which book we seek. Find it for us.”

“How can we be expected to find a book if you were not able to yourselves?” Molly gazed around the room.

He hesitated. “Something is blocking us from entering certain planes. Something that won’t block you.”

“And if we decide not to return?” Molly asked.

“Aisha will be there keeping watch on you both. But if you do slip away, things won’t go well for those you leave behind. Cassandra, how is your mother, anyway?”

My stomach clenched. “Don’t touch her.”

“I have no family,” Molly told him. “None that I care about, so don't try that on me.”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Batiste. “But how would you feel if little Frances Allanzi—the poor little mite who escaped the underground—were to meet her end?”

Molly shook her head numbly. “She’s just a child. How could you…?” She stopped herself. “Of course you could. You kept her in that terrible place. You were prepared to have her starve to death....”

Henry’s ghost clucked his tongue. “I was quite fond of her. I did try to set her free once, but she refused to leave you... Missouri. And remember, Frances doesn’t have to die. It’s your choice.”

Molly’s hands balled into fists.

“I’ll take your silence to mean that you concur,” said Henry’s ghost. He gazed around at the guests, a smile creeping across his face.

“I don’t care about your trick with making everything disappear outside,” I told him. “I don’t know how you did that. Perhaps you drugged us. But how are we to travel to other times and places? You're insane.”

He sighed. “I’m a ghost. Insanity is the least of my problems. But you can travel. Cassandra, and you can take others with you. You are the key.”

“What do you mean—the key?”

“You can step into the memories of others at will. And you can step through those memories and out to the other side, to other worlds. You’ve been able to do this since you were very small, but you have forgotten. At first, we thought it was us pulling you in—that happens at times. But then you arrived in my train carriage over and over again. That cannot happen by coincidence. You are the key that can unlock these worlds.”

My breaths strained through my lungs. The scenes in Copper Canyon were me travelling to other worlds? Not this world, but other worlds? My mind felt as though it were bending inwards.

"I am not any kind of key," I breathed. "How can I be? I stumbled on the dollhouse by accident... and...."

"Ah, yes. But you see, nothing is accidental, not really. Everything is connected. When we made a bargain with the serpent, it was to exchange her use of the children for her power. Her shadow has the power to move between worlds. It is of course, a quite dangerous mode of travel. But then you came along, you with the same power. Only you didn't know you had it and you didn't know how to use it."

I gazed directly into his eyes. "What was the bargain you made with the serpent?" I asked stiffly. "What did she want with the children?"

His expression grew distant. "That is for us to know and not you." He brandished his cape, gazing about the room. “Friends, people of the Nemus, allow me to read you a passage from the first book….”

The people bowed their heads. The lights dimmed, almost plunging the room into complete darkness. Molly’s hand crept across and held mine tightly.

“We, the Order of the Mirrored Tree,” said Henry's ghost, “seek to slip between— to walk again and again and again upon the earths. None will be lost to us—no requiem or mourning. No fortunes shall fall through our grasps. The stars shall not blind us. We shall not feel the scorch of the burning orbs though we fly higher than Icarus. We are the masters of destiny.”

The people began chanting, their faces looking tranced. Before us, blue flames leapt into the air, with seemingly no fuel or source. No heat emanated from the blaze.

Zach raised his eyes to me, eyes in which the blue flames danced. I stared back at him in revulsion, into eyes that had lied to me, into eyes that had made me believe he was good and wonderful and in love with me. I’d trusted him with so many secrets.

He stepped away from the girl named Sienna. “Cassie,” he said in a low voice, “This is killing me….”

I stared back at him, not speaking.

I’m not responsible…for any of this. It’s out of my hands.”

I gave a slow shake of my head. “From the day you turned up on that island, all of this has been planned. All of it. Every last detail.”

“Yes.” Pain entered his eyes. “But please believe me. The things I said to you were true. Somehow, after all of this, we’ll find a way.”

“You think I would have anything to do with you now?”

He dropped to his knees, elbows over his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.”

Mrs. Batiste glared at me. “Don’t you dare make my son feel that way. He did what he had to do. Sienna, please take him from the room.”

Sienna reached down for his arm. He tossed her hand away from him. She stormed away.

Something dark uncoiled from the flames. Molly stared at me. The shadow of the serpent rose before us. I knew it knew me, knew Molly. It advanced towards us, hungrily.

“Step into the shadow,” commanded Henry’s ghost.

“You’re going to kill us….” My legs barely held me upright.

“You won’t die. You’ll travel through a door. You will go where you are sent. And you will return when you are commanded to.”

I refused to move.

Henry’s ghost raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a short car trip from here to go and pick your mother up. Or, we have someone even closer who might be of interest. Guess who we have down in the basement here? Dear daddy.”

“You have my father?”

“Yes. It was a bit of a nuisance, to get him all the way from Copper Canyon to here, but we managed. He’s been gracing us with his presence ever since.”

Something kicked deep inside of me. It hurt to know he was here, but a small seed of strength planted inside me. He hadn’t left me.

I clenched my teeth and stepped towards the shadow with Molly and Aisha. I waited for the sting of a million barbs, but none came. The swirling mass of black dragged us into a shaft of air. I felt the cold silence of space bear down on me, a suffocating stillness, and yet the force of being spirited away at terrifying speed.

Flurries of white blew down and around us. We stood at the edge of a frozen lake, gasping as an intense chill bit into our flesh. Punctured by gaping round holes, the iced-over lake revealed the dark water beneath. I whipped around, unable to accept that Henry had been telling the truth—we could be sent to another world at will. But the white landscape didn’t disappear like some trick of the eye. Everywhere, as far as I could see was buried in snow. Strange mountains, sharp and tall, were greyish ghosts in the dim, wintery sky.

“Where are we?” Aisha’s pale eyes watered in the wind.

For numbed moments we stood side by side, gazing at the alien world.

Long paper-thin tunnels ran everywhere on the surface of the ice and snow, climbing and twisting over each other, like a macabre children's playground. I bundled my arms in close to my chest and stepped through the wind. Reaching out, I ran a hand along the inside a tunnel—it was smooth and almost transparent, a tessellating diamond pattern on its round walls.

A rumble cut in above the whistling wind. Something was coming.

Three large black vehicles appeared in the distance. The vehicles moved in fast, their metal bodies tank-like with guns extended in front.

“Go!” Molly shouted behind me.

We dashed into the tunnel, our shoes slipping and sliding on the icy surface. The tunnel turned and warped in all directions. I prayed whoever or whatever was inside the tanks hadn’t seen us, and couldn’t spot us inside the tunnel.

The tanks rolled past.

Molly blew into her hands. “We have to keep moving, or we’ll freeze. And find shelter. I don’t know what they expect we’re to do here, but we won’t survive long dressed like this.”

Aisha wrapped her arms around herself. “I know what they want.”

Molly and I turned to stare at her.

She shrank away from us. “They want to trigger memories, so that when they bring Cassie back, they can take her into those memories.”

I eyed her bitterly. “How can I remember a place that isn’t even in our world?”

“Emerson explained it as—“

“I don’t care what Emerson explained it as,” I cut in. “I don’t care. Why don’t you just get away from us? Just go!”

She stumbled backwards, falling on the ice. She raised frightened eyes to us. “We can’t beat them. You know we can’t. They hold the universes in their hands. We can all share in the new worlds. They said you and Molly would just take some… convincing. Maybe if we just do what they ask….”

Molly’s features hardened. “You told them everything. Everything we were finding out. Everything we were planning. You told them I lived, didn’t you? And you knew who the Batistes and Baldcotts were, didn’t you?”

Aisha’s eyelashes fluttered downwards. “Not from the start. But Emerson flew out to see me, not long after you moved to Miami. He showed me a glimpse of the worlds out there. I saw… things. Horrible things. We can’t stop this. We have to choose a side.”

Molly whirled around and kept walking, her red hair bright against the icy tunnel. I stepped after her, leaving Aisha behind. We hurried through the tunnel to the other end. Snow swirled past the opening, thick and blowing. The roof of the tunnel cracked and began to sag under the weight of the snow settling on top.

Ahead was an enormous round object, white and almost completely covered with snow.

“What is that?” Molly gazed hesitantly around her.

Five figures tramped through the snow in boots and huge jackets. Children.

A tank roared in between the globe and the children. Two men jumped from the tank and wrestled a screaming child inside. An older girl chased after the child, but the tank pulled away. She put her hands to her head in despair, her fur-fringed hood falling away from her face.

Her skin was a deep olive color, black hair falling around an oval face.

A cry caught in my chest. “Sophronia!”

Molly gripped my arm. “God... it's her....”

We rushed forward.

Sophronia glanced back at us, her body stiffening.

The white globe split completely down the middle in an even line, snow shedding from its enormous surface. The children ran towards it. Sophronia turned and followed close after them.

“Come on!” Molly stumbled in the thick snow as she desperately tried to reach Sophronia.

The children disappeared inside the opening. Molly and I raced ahead, plunging ourselves through just before the globe snapped shut.

We sat gasping for air. The children ran on through the interior of the globe. We were in some sort of amphitheater—a massive screen running around the round wall. The children disappeared through a concealed door. Molly struggled to her feet and pulled me up. “We have to find her!”

We made our way through the globe. On the other side was the interior of a sprawling building—all white surfaces soaring many levels high. I glimpsed a sight of black hair flying down a set of stairs. We raced for the same set of stairs. Above our heads sat an enormous tilted ceiling, with the circular viewing window of an aquarium set into it. A huge, single shark swam past our heads.

A dread sense enveloped me. Slowly I turned to look out a window on a far wall. Through the dim haze and snow I could just pick out the outlines of dark rectangles on what I’d thought were tall, spindly mountains. But the mountains were not mountains. They were crumbling highrise buildings with every window smashed in.

I grasped Molly’s arm, stopping her. “I know this place,” I breathed.

She shot me a questioning glance.

“I know it. I’ve seen it. Only it isn’t built yet… we’re… still on earth. In Miami. This is a science museum.”

Molly's eyes grew large. “We're in Miami...?" She gazed outside the same window. "Cassie, we have to catch up to her.”

Swallowing hard, I nodded. We dashed down the rest of the stairs. A door at the end of a hallway swung slightly on its hinges.

“This way!” I ran and pushed the door open. Another set of stairs led downwards. Far below, a dim area spread out, barely lit by a weak and flickering bulb. Sophronia stood before a door, wrestling with a set of keys and locks. She cried out as she turned her head and saw Molly and me at the top of the stairs. She backed away, stumbling on her twisted leg. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Sophronia… please….” Molly begged her. “It’s us.”

She shook her head. “I know who you are. Stay away. Get away from here.”

“I don’t understand,” I cried at her. “Why won’t you talk to us? For months it's been killing me wondering what happened to you….”

“Now you know.” Her hands closed over the keys, hiding them from our view.

“What’s behind the door?” Molly’s voice was leaden. “What don’t you want us to see?”

Her dark eyes gazed back in defiant fear. “If you try to get in there, I’ll kill you. I swear on all that’s holy I will.”

Footsteps charged behind us. A strong body ploughed into us, grabbing Molly and I around our midsections. We toppled over the stair railing. I screamed midair, shielding my face with my arm, protecting myself from the sight of the floor racing up to meet me.

Blackness closed over me. I was back in the churning shadow of the serpent. Whoever had hold of me let go, spun away….

39. STROKE OF MIDNIGHT

Mr. Batiste held a gun as he led Molly and me along the wood-paneled corridors. Our hands were tied behind our backs—the rope stinging and burning my wrists. My entire body felt sore and frozen. A narrow door ahead opened onto cement steps leading down to a basement.

“This way, if you please,” he told us.

The basement was airless and dimly lit. A man sat with hunched shoulders against a support beam.

“Dad….”

The door was closed and locked behind us.

My father raised wide, confused eyes to me. “God… Cassie. They got you too? I don’t know what the hell’s going on here.”

I knelt before him. “It’s me they wanted all along. I’m so sorry you got caught up in it too.”

“Why? Why do they want you? Who are these people? I knew something was up with them the first time I laid eyes on them in Copper Canyon.”

“It’s… something to do with the dollhouse. I don’t understand it either.” I couldn’t explain everything that had happened to my father, not tonight.

“And they have your friend too.” Dad nodded a grim greeting at Molly. “Whatever it is they want, they’ll stop at nothing it seems.”

I struggled to turn and sit beside him.

“God… you’re freezing.” He stared down at where my arm touched his. “What have they been doing to you?”

I was starting to drift, my mind and body exhausted. “I’m okay….”

The light slowly extinguished, plunging us into pitch darkness.

I collapsed into a heavy sleep on the bare cement floor.

My dreams were a maelstrom of shadows and nightmares. Images rushed at me, sped past me. I travelled at enormous speed, through sunlight and darkness, through time itself. Sophronia stood at the center of it all, her dark eyes filled with fear.

My body shuddered awake. I struggled to a sitting position. The light was on—that same dim light from the night before. Molly slept beside me.

I turned to check my father. My back stiffened. A figure was crouched behind him, a sharp blade to my father’s shoulder. The figure’s hand slammed over my mouth. I screamed against the flesh, my scream muffled.

“I swore I’d never do that to you again,” came a regretful voice.

That voice. I knew that voice so well.

I turned stared into the dark eyes of Ethan McAllister. His hair hung about his face, long and dirty. His clothing—like a tramp’s—was ill-fitting, worn, and far too warm for Miami. An odor of dampness rose from his skin and clothing.

I remembered. I remembered his hand clamping over my mouth when he climbed through my bedroom window, so many months ago. He’d promised then he’d never do that again.

“I wasn’t about to hurt your father.” His hand dropped away. “I was cutting the ropes.”

“How is it that you’re here?” I gasped.

His gaze searched my face. “I’m here because of you.”

“You’re a monster—just like the rest of them. How did they get you here?”

He placed two fingers lightly on my lips. “You don’t know the whole story. Don’t judge me on what you know.”

“I know enough.” I shrank away from him.

“You know me, Cassie. Don’t say you don’t. You know me. You’re the only girl who ever did.”

“I’m not the stupid girl I was when I camped with you in the forest. I don’t… I don’t feel for you the way I used to. I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

He sighed from deep in his chest. “I shouldn’t expect more. And I won’t say more, except that you were never stupid. You were the one who kept me together, kept me from throttling Henry’s neck. If I’d done that, we never would have found the underground. The secret of the underground might have died with Henry.”

“But you knew about the—“

“Inheritance? Yeah, I did. But that’s all I knew. I didn’t know where it was stashed. I had no clue about the underground. But we don’t have time now for explanations.”

He turned away, his knife sawing at the thick cord around my father’s torso. My father blinked groggily from his sleep.

“It’s all right, Mr. Claiborne,” Ethan told him. “I’m cutting you free.”

My father straightened, muscles tensing in his neck and shoulders. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend of Cassie’s.” Ethan cut through the first of the ropes.

I shook my head, struggling against the cord. “He’s not a friend. He’s one of them. Him and his grandfather. Dad, this is Ethan McAllister.”

Ethan knelt back. “Sir,” he said to my father, “my great-grandfather was killed by these people. And very possibly my parents. I am not one of them. We’re running out of time. At half past six, the people will be back.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard them talking. We need to hurry.”

Molly roused, moaning from the pain of sleeping on the hard floor with her hands tied. She stared in shock at Ethan.

“I don’t know what to think,” said my father. “But son, as soon as you’ve cut my ropes, you’re to hand me that knife.”

Ethan nodded and sawed through the last rope binding my father.

My father sprang free and cut the ropes from me and Molly.

A chill wind blew in our faces as we stood on the pier at the back of Zach’s house. Molly and my father boarded the yacht—my father hastening to raise the sail.

Ethan stood back, a dark figure in a thick coat and boots on the pier.

“Ethan, get on the boat,” I called against the wind.

He shook his head. “I can’t come with you.”

“You have to.”

“Cassie… no....”

I ran back to him, clasping his arms. “I still don't know why you're here or how you got here. I don't know if you're telling the truth about those people murdering your family. I still don't know whether to trust you, but you did get us out of there. You have to come now or they'll kill you.”

"I'll die if I go with you."

"You're not making sense...."

His hair flew around the moonlit angles of his face. “I’m not from here. My universe… is not this one.”

Shock ripped through me. “When I came back through the shadow… someone else came with me—someone who just tried to kill me. Tell me that wasn’t you….”

He exhaled a long breath. “It was me. But I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to save you.”

“I don’t understand… any of this….”

“You will. But right now, you need to go.”

I refused to release my grip on him. “If you’re not the Ethan I know, who are you?”

His jaw tensed. “I’m the one you know.”

“How could you be? The Ethan I know is in jail in Australia, waiting trial.”

“He is not the Ethan you knew. Not the Ethan you… kissed.”

“That’s not true… that’s not true....”

“I’m sorry… Please don’t ask me more. You need to get out of here.”

“You tell me. Now.”

His face fell into shadow as clouds crossed the moon. “Cassie… in the underground, when you crawled into the cave of the serpent, you traveled into a place... that didn’t exist in your world. The serpent didn’t exist in your world. When you escaped into the forest, it was into another universe, another earth.”

My body froze. “No… You expect me to believe this world is not the one I lived in… before?”

“Whether you believe or not, it isn't.”

“There’s another earth, in which I am living the same life right now—the life I had before the escape?”

He bowed his head. “The Cassandra Claiborne of the world you’re standing in now died in the serpent’s cave. You killed her when you entered the serpent's cave....”

I felt my mind begin to shatter. I backed away from him, shaking my head.

His eyes met mine. "Two exact same people can't occupy the same space. She was in the cave at the time you entered. She disintegrated, and you lived."

“This is crazy," I cried at him. "Crazy, stupid lies."

"Cassie, that world of snow and ice that you were just in… is your world. And mine. It’s what it became the year after you were in the underground. Each and every day is a battle for survival.”

Pain wound through my core. My entire world had just vanished—a ball of string unraveling until there was nothing left.

Lights snapped on in the house. Shouts carried on the wind, torch beams crisscrossed each other. Ethan reached into his pocket and pressed something into my hand.

“Cassie!” Molly screamed.

Ethan was gone—just black air occupying the space where he had been. I turned and gazed at the yacht. Disconnected scenes punctured my mind. Molly urgently waving me towards the yacht, her hair and dress buffeted by the strong wind. My father struggling with the rigging, trying to position the sail. And behind me, Zach racing ahead of the others, desperately calling my name.

I uncurled my fist. A piece of torn paper lay in my hand. I could only make out a few of the words. But I knew all the words, knew them by heart. I'd seen those words scrawled in Ethan's notebook back in the tent he'd put up in the forest, words I'd thought were meant for Aisha or some other girl.

There are echoes in your voice, everything you said

Everything you'll ever say, written on the mirror

A thousand, thousand times I'll stake out your altar

When rain falls through the darkening light

I'll find you, find you on the other side.

The wind snatched the paper away, blowing it far over the bay.

I could just blow away into that stormy night sky too…like the paper doll Zach once told me I was….

My world was a pastiche, a patchwork of scenes cut out by a clumsy child. And this was not even my world.

This was not my world….

***End of Book II of the Dollhouse Trilogy***

Book III coming in 2013.

Updates on the Dollhouse books at:

http://dollhousetrilogy.com

I greatly value your reviews and feedback,

Anya

info@dollhousetrilogy.com

Dedication

I dedicate this book to all the readers who immersed themselves in the first book and are here reading book two - thank you! It still blows me away that so many liked what is a very unusual tale.

I also dedicate this book to the people who supported me:

Tim, who has more patience than anyone I know.

My family, who put up with me while wrangling words.

David Adams, who has been wielding the whip for me to write this second book ever since he read the first one.

Morgan Shamy, whose encouraging words have been there all along.

The moderators of the Never Too Old for Y.A Books group at Goodreads, who read the first book of a clueless newbie who barely knew her way around Goodreads, and who are enthusiastic supporters of Young Adult literature.

Table of Contents

1. SLUMBER

2. RAG DOLL

3. DRIPPING ROSE

4. THE TERROR

5. BREATHE

6. A LIGHT SO GRAY

7. FROM DARKNESS TO NIGHT

8. THE SACRIFICE

9. SPARROW

10. THE FORTUNE TELLER

11. INFINITE DREAMS

12. MR. BALDCOTT

13. OF PARADISE

14. COPPER CANYON

15. CRIMSON RIBBONS

16. THE DETECTIVES

17. DR. VERENA SYMES

18. DAYDREAM

19. WHITEHAVEN

20. THE BLACK DRESS

21. THE PHONE CALL

22. CONFESSION

23. INTO THE CRYPT

24.MIAMI

25.VIZCAYA

26. BRICKNELL KEY PARK

27. THE STRANGE NURSE

28. GRANDFATHER

29. THOMAS THE GARDENER

30. CHILD EPHEMERAL

31. BATOPILAS

32. SPECULUM NEMUS

33.LIES AND SECRETS

34. ANOTHER EXISTENCE

35. THE TWO HENRYS

36. HEART OF METAL AND GEARS

37. THE BATISTE BALL

38. FIRE AND ICE

39. STROKE OF MIDNIGHT

Table of Contents

1. SLUMBER

2. RAG DOLL

3. DRIPPING ROSE

4. THE TERROR

5. BREATHE

6. A LIGHT SO GRAY

7. FROM DARKNESS TO NIGHT

8. THE SACRIFICE

9. SPARROW

10. THE FORTUNE TELLER

11. INFINITE DREAMS

12. MR. BALDCOTT

13. OF PARADISE

14. COPPER CANYON

15. CRIMSON RIBBONS

16. THE DETECTIVES

17. DR. VERENA SYMES

18. DAYDREAM

19. WHITEHAVEN

20. THE BLACK DRESS

21. THE PHONE CALL

22. CONFESSION

23. INTO THE CRYPT

24.MIAMI

25.VIZCAYA

26. BRICKNELL KEY PARK

27. THE STRANGE NURSE

28. GRANDFATHER

29. THOMAS THE GARDENER

30. CHILD EPHEMERAL

31. BATOPILAS

32. SPECULUM NEMUS

33.LIES AND SECRETS

34. ANOTHER EXISTENCE

35. THE TWO HENRYS

36. HEART OF METAL AND GEARS

37. THE BATISTE BALL

38. FIRE AND ICE

39. STROKE OF MIDNIGHT