Chapter Thirty-Nine Edith
Irina goes right for the seer school and disappears inside the crumbling building. We stop in front of the door. If we go in, chances are we’ll get trapped again. Since Amund already faced his trauma, this time, it’ll be my turn.
“Are you sure about this?” Amund asks me. He must have come to the same conclusion.
I have no choice but to face it.
I have to. I can’t keep living my life like this.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling open the door.
I step inside the seer school. As soon as Amund follows me in, the door slams shut behind us. I tug the handle, but it won’t give. We’re sealed inside now.
The school is empty, eerily quiet.
There’s no sign of Irina anywhere.
I turn to Amund. “Where did she go?”
“We’ll have to search room by room,” he says, sounding like a hunter again. “Normally, we’d split up to cover more ground, but… I think it’s safest we stay together.”
“Definitely,” I say quickly.
If Irina really is the killer, she’s attacked both of us once already.
At least this time, we won’t be facing her alone.
Amund moves swiftly down the hall, taking quick steps as he surveys the area.
“She couldn’t have gone far, right?” I say to him.
He nods, then pushes open the nearest door and sweeps inside.
Amid the empty classroom, a girl sits at one of the desks. She looks up at us, revealing a pale face and brown hair.
“Irina?” I ask, approaching her slowly.
As I get closer, I realize I’m wrong. The image of her starts to waver like a candle flame.
Whoever it is, it’s definitely a ghost.
Amund shakes his head. “This is her aunt.”
“They’re ready for you, Anastasia,” a voice calls from the hall.
Amund and I exchange a look.
Irina’s aunt—Anastasia—gets up from her desk, revealing the front of her dress darkened by blood. I stare in horror. A gaping wound runs across her throat from ear to ear, but the ghost doesn’t seem to notice. She smooths her skirt and heads straight toward us.
“Holy shit.”
My heart is in my throat as I stumble back. Anastasia continues toward us. Closer and closer. She passes through us, filling me with a sudden, chilling cold. I spin around as she disappears through the door.
“We have to follow her,” Amund says.
We rush out of the classroom.
There. At the end of the shadowed hall, Anastasia slips inside a door.
We throw the door open, revealing a stairwell.
Anastasia pauses as though she’s waiting for us to follow.
Once we get close, she floats up the stairs and vanishes through the second-floor entrance. We hurry after her, catching a glimpse of flowing hair before she rounds the next corner. I break out into a jog, Amund right behind me.
“Your initiation rite will take place in here,” the voice says. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
Anastasia disappears into the room.
As soon as I step inside, all the little hairs on my arms stand on end.
There’s total, unnatural silence. This isn’t a classroom but some kind of common room.
Pieces of furniture are scattered everywhere, lying on their sides and upended in different directions.
It looks like an explosion went off. The walls are blackened, with large cracks shooting through the stone.
“Each initiate, select a goblet,” the voice says.
The room is empty, yet I can hear the soft clink of glasses being raised.
“That’s right. Good. Drink.”
A long moment passes. The goblets clatter to the floor, followed by people falling with a heavy thump.
“Grab them,” the voice says.
My gaze darts around the room, unsure where to look. All I can hear is the sound of people moving quickly. Tables being dragged across the room. Chains rattling and snapping shut. A girl groans. “What are you—”
“Gag her,” the voice instructs calmly.
Her keening cries are soon muffled. Chanting begins to rise around the room. I can’t tell how many people there must be—it sounds like a dozen or more. The girl thrashes against the table, pulling at her chains, her struggle becoming louder, more urgent, until—
Quiet settles over the room.
Slowly, she’s cut open with a sick squelch.
“Take the intestines,” the voice says. “Arrange them as I showed you.”
Awful, wet sounds fill the room, turning my stomach.
I move closer, trying to hear more.
Something grinds under my sneaker. In the middle of the floor, chalk-like dust forms the shape of three interlocking triangles. It’s larger than I imagined—each triangle big enough for someone to lie inside. Goose bumps spread along my skin.
“It’s the symbol,” I say, voice shaking.
The symbol. The murders. The Tragedy. They’re all related somehow. What had that ghostly voice said about summoning spirits when I was in one of the old classrooms here? The havoc and harm they could wreak is unimaginable.
I swallow. “Do you think this caused the Tragedy?”
“It seems someone is attempting it again.” Amund crouches down, testing the powdery substance with a fingertip. “But we still don’t know how or why—”
The chandelier rattles above us. I crane my neck back… then stare overhead in horror.
Instead of lights, the chandelier is covered with eyes.
Eyes that are watching us.
The chandelier trembles violently—
Amund pulls me away as it crashes to the floor where we were.
I gasp. “What the hell?”
“The spirits don’t want us here,” Amund says, his voice grave. “This must be the site of the Tragedy. We should go. We need to find Irina.”
He’s right. The sooner we get out of here, the better.
We retreat, closing the door behind us quickly.
There’s no sign of Irina or her aunt outside.
When I turn the corner, the hallway of portraits stretches before me.
I swear under my breath. “So much for finding Irina.”
Amund frowns. “Now that we’re here, we won’t be able to leave unless we open the door again.”
The hall seems to stretch before me as I stare down the door to my parents’ bedroom.
Something about the hallway is different this time.
When I look at the row of portraits, the faces are all familiar. Jim and Patricia stare out at me. They look well-dressed, and they smile warmly. They should be arriving at Skallagrim on Thursday. I can’t wait to see them in person again—until I realize they’ll be in danger too.
As I continue down the hall, it’s like walking backward in time.
I see my uncle’s portrait.
After our parents died, we lived with our uncle for a year.
Mom’s murder drove him to drink. His house was littered with beer cans.
When he got really drunk, he’d yell get lost!
My uncle couldn’t bear the sight of me. Not when I had my dad’s dark brown hair and gray eyes.
I reminded him too much of the murderer who took his sister’s life.
That’s why we ended up in foster care.
Bea and I were almost separated, but then Helga found us a placement with Jim and Patricia. Even though that was nine years ago, I’m always afraid of being sent somewhere else and having to start all over again. It’s one of many reasons I didn’t want to come to Skallagrim.
Bea’s portrait is next.
Unlike Jim and Patricia, she’s making a silly face. Her expression looks like the selfie I have of her, the one I had hanging in my locker back home. Somehow, it’s here now too. Seeing her gives me the courage to face the next portraits.
Our dad and mom.
I stand between their portraits, tears burning my eyes. They’re both smiling the same way they used to smile at me. Dad would smile when he tucked me into bed; Mom would smile when she was reading me fairy tales. But they never smiled like that with each other, did they?
Seeing them separate like this, each one contained within their own frame, I wonder if things would have been different if they’d separated sooner like Amund’s parents. Maybe they both could have been happy eventually, instead of staying stuck.
Maybe if Mom had left, she’d still be alive.
Maybe I’d still have her.
As I look back down the hallway, I realize that for most of my life now, they haven’t been my parents. More of my life has been without them than with them. I’ve lived with Jim and Patricia for longer than I lived with my birth parents.
“Edith,” a woman whispers behind me.
I whirl around, but no one is there.
Amund stares at me, his brow furrowed.
My stomach sinks slowly.
That voice. A shiver spreads through me, my body recognizing it on some instinctual level before I do. It’s a voice I used to love more than anyone else’s.
Leaving Amund behind, I hurry toward it. “Mom?”
“Hi, Edie,” she says.
Tears well in my eyes. Even though I can’t see her, I can hear the smile in her voice. Edie. Mom is the only one who ever called me that. This really is her. I glance around the hallway, desperate to find her. No matter where I look, she isn’t there.
“Where are you, Mom?” I call out.
Amund looks confused. “What?”
“I don’t have long,” Mom says. “You need to leave while you still can.”
I rush toward the sound of her voice, trying to find her.
“I love you so much, Edie,” she continues, her voice echoing through the hall, everywhere and nowhere at once. “You and your sister mean everything to me. Even if you can no longer see me, I want you to know I’m always looking out for you.”
Hot tears drip down my cheeks.
Choking on a sob, the only word I manage to get out is Mom.
I hope it’s enough for her to know how much I love her. How much I miss her every single day. How much it meant when she cut the crusts off my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for me, or how her warm arms were the safest place in the world, or how her soft voice has always been my favorite sound.
“You need to escape,” Mom continues. “Open the door, Edie. I know you’re scared, but you need to see the truth. You need to know what really happened that night. This time, you won’t have to face it alone.”
I turn to Amund. When he offers me his hand, I take it and stare down the door to my parents’ bedroom. Thick, long scratches run through the wood.
My parents argue inside, barely muffled.