Chapter 45
CONNECT THE DOTS
By the time Jude and I come inside, the guests have migrated to the salon.
They’ve gathered in predictable groups, enjoying coffee, tea, and port while the wait staff readies the dining hall for dessert.
Opal sits on a fainting couch between Sterling and Camilla, scowling while Isabel talks about a private collection of late-eighteenth-century portraiture she viewed while living outside Paris.
I glance past them, toward Twig and Naomi, bursting with this new revelation—constellations, Lainey and Griffin have been marked with constellations—when Opal cuts through Isabel’s prattle in that thin, commanding voice of hers. “How are the stars tonight?”
Isabel goes quiet, a blush rising in her cheeks.
All eyes turn in our direction.
“Bright,” Jude replies.
“We were just going to, uh, visit the conservatory,” I add, feeling conspicuous. Hot in the spotlight. Like my face is twice as flushed as Isabel’s. “Jude wanted to show me a… plant. A very rare plant.”
I make meaningful eye contact with Twig and Naomi.
“We’ll come with,” Twig says as both of them stand from their chairs.
“Me too,” Kate adds, handing her tea cup to her mother.
Rafe leans his elbow on the fireplace mantle, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. Before he can worm his way into our group, I take Jude by the arm. “All right, then. We’ll just… be in the conservatory.”
But Opal Bogaard is not done.
She clears her throat so loudly, it has the five of us losing steam halfway across the room. “Sterling,” she says, jabbing her pale, pinched great grandson in the ribs. “Wouldn’t you like to go with them?”
The suggestion has me freezing mid-step.
Sterling isn’t invited.
We have things to discuss. Important developments. None of which we can talk about in his presence.
“Surely you don’t want to stay here listening to the same mind-numbing conversations we’ve been having since before you were born.” She gives him another sharp jab. “Go on. Join your friends.”
We aren’t friends.
But he is every bit as trapped as the rest of us, pinned beneath the razor-sharp stare of his great grandmother. He’s not willing to challenge her, and we’re not willing to exclude a classmate in front of a room full of adults.
My excitement curdles.
With no real choice in the matter, he comes with us, Rafe watching our exit with keen interest.
Jude makes a quick stop in the music room to retrieve some paper and a fountain pen from one of the side tables. Then we head to the conservatory, not at all interested in the plants, even if the glass-walled room is filled with them.
Lantern light reflects off the mosaic tiles and terracotta benches, and along the far wall, a black iron staircase curls upward.
Our footsteps clank as we climb it in a single file line to the viewing balcony above—an intimate space with ornate chairs that match the ironwork and a couple low-lying tables near the railing.
We arrange ourselves unevenly, chairs scraping, feet shifting, an uncomfortable silence settling while Sterling takes the seat farthest away and crosses his arms. “What is this plant you were so eager to see?”
I grapple for a workaround—a way to share what I need to share, even with an outsider present. “Did I say plant?” I laugh like a space cadet. “I meant puzzle.”
Twig and Naomi glance at one another sideways.
“That connect the dot puzzle we were all working on the other day, at school?”
They look absolutely bewildered.
“The one with the pictures of glowing dots, and we, er, had to figure out what it was?” I catch Jude’s eye and I’m almost certain he has the makings of a smile tucked inside his cheek. His dimple is flashing, anyway.
But it’s working.
Twig and Naomi have definitely caught on.
“You know,” I say, encouraging Kate. “Your friend, Lainey, was joking about how cool they looked and maybe she should get one tattooed on the inside of her wrist.”
This is very on the nose.
And also effective.
Sterling is completely lost.
But Kate’s face brightens with comprehension.
“Jude and I figured out part of the puzzle when we were on the terrace, looking at the constellations.” I take the paper he confiscated from the music room.
The pen, too. I bend over a table and draw the pattern of dots on Griffin’s wrist. Then I hold it up for my audience to see.
“You can’t really tell because it’s all the same color, but these two dots at the top are extra bright.
One is bluish silver. The other a warm gold.
That’s Castor and Pollux. And this one over here hovering above them—it was a paler yellow, but super bright—just ignore that one.
Because we’re not exactly sure how it fits, but if you take that one out, this is definitely Gemini. ”
I shuffle to a fresh sheet of paper and draw the pattern of dots from Lainey’s wrist, exactly and precisely how I remember it.
“This one—the one Lainey really wanted as a tattoo—makes the shape of a V. This dot right here in the middle was sort of reddish. But if you ignore that one, this is definitely Taurus.”
Everyone has come out of their seats to gather around the table. Even Sterling, who stares down at the papers with his head tilted. “So these two are planets?”
I look up at him.
He points to the dot in between the V of Taurus’s horns and the other above the heads of Gemini. “They’re not part of either constellations because they’re planets? The red one is probably Mars.”
Jude picks up Gemini. “And Jupiter. Or Saturn. I don’t think it can be Venus.”
“You said this is a puzzle?” Sterling asks, sounding highly unimpressed.
I nod.
“So, what’s the point—to identify a date?”
We all look at each other.
Then, Jude and Twig pull out their phones.
Jude opens an app called SkyView.
He enters information, deletes and re-enters for what feels like a torturous amount of time.
Finally, he goes very, very still.
“What?” I say, my heart thudding in my ears.
“The last time Mars was positioned in the middle of Taurus’s horns in tandem with Jupiter passing through Gemini was in April.” He looks up, his eyes alight with implication. “Of 1995.”
My skin erupts in goosebumps.
In April of 1995, the Vandenberg family vanished without a trace.
Turns out, B?che de Noel is a Yule log made of chocolate sponge and chestnut filling.
It’s served alongside a traditional Christmas pudding, which isn’t anything like the pudding cups my dad used to pack in my lunch box.
This is a dark, steaming dome of fruit, spice, and booze.
Delicious, probably. If I wasn’t too distracted to taste it.
I go through the motions, eating the food on my plate.
But every tastebud is overpowered by the intense buzzing in my head.
What is Vorat up to? According to every story of old, according to Mistress Bramble herself, he is a creature of insatiable appetite.
He wants to feed. This is his motivation.
So why are Lainey and Griffin marked with constellations that point back to the Vandenberg disappearance?
And how did Lily draw him before she was sucked up by the curse and attacked by one of his hellhounds?
My thoughts turn to the missing clock in the display case.
I saw it when the pearl ignited. Rafe thinks it’s being sold on eBay, but something tells me he’s full of bologna.
Somehow, all of this is connected.
Across from me, Sterling has grown suspicious—his sullen demeanor replaced by wary contemplation.
He studies us as keenly as Rafe. I can hardly blame him.
The “puzzle” pointed straight to the cold case that left this estate in infamy.
A cold case that is being tied to the disappearances happening today, even if Mayor Ridley thinks the connection is preposterous.
The party fizzles after dessert.
The Calloways have a full day of family tomorrow.
So do the Kapoors.
Camilla Bogaard has a headache.
Dad is eager to get out of his tie.
I stay and promise not to be long. Jude will walk me home. When all the guests have cleared at last, we make our way to the library.
“Our special editions and signed copies are set apart,” he says, striding toward the far balcony. Tucked beneath its shadow is a narrow alcove filled with leather-bound volumes, their spines gleaming with gilt lettering and tiny embossed family crests.
With a fluttering heart, I scan the shelves and spot the title.
The Picture of Dorian Gray.
My fluttering heart begins to pound.
I slide the novel off the shelf and run my hand over the cover.
It’s bound in deep green leather. As carefully as can be, I open the book.
With my breath caught in my throat, I flip through the pages—thick and cream-colored, the edges brushed in dull gold—and when a folded piece of paper falls free, I gasp.
Jude and I look at one another, equally stunned.
He picks up the paper and hands it to me.
I unfold it with trembling fingers.
The tear-stained letter is written in a familiar hand.
My mother’s hand.
My gut was spot on.
Dear Simon,
I keep having dreams about you. Nightmares, actually. You are trapped and alone in that place we used to visit. You keep calling out to me, begging for my help, and now here I am, sitting in the library we so often sat in together.
I don’t know what to make of these dreams. I only know it shouldn’t have taken nightmares to bring me back to Foggy Hollow, not when my daughter is here. Isn’t that wild? That Selah would find her way to this town, of all towns?
Fate is a powerful thing. A mysterious thing.
I hate what happened, Simon. I hate that I abandoned you, knowing the truth.
I could have found a way back. I could have tried to save you, or at least seen if you were alive to be saved.
Instead, I left and I’ve been leaving ever since.
Abandoning the people I love. I can’t seem to stop doing it.
What happened all those years ago haunts me.
And yet, as I sit here I can’t help but wonder, would Selah exist if you hadn’t disappeared?
I don’t want to live in a world where she doesn’t.
And I don’t want to be a coward anymore, either.
I want to be brave.
I want to stay.
I want to be a mother to my daughter. As much as I wish I could, I can’t make things right with you. You are gone. I must come to terms with that. But I can make things right with her.
I pray you and Lily and your parents are resting in peace.
Please forgive me for not trying harder.
Love forever,
Clara
My eyes burn.
My chest, too.
Here is the proof.
More than a vision. More than a gut feeling.
My mother came back and she wanted to stay. She knew I was here. She didn’t want to run. She wanted to make things right.
But then she did run.
Through the woods.
From a monster.
For her life.