Chapter 28
“When the soul sleeps, the truth wakes.”
- The Old Book
Laughter spilled through the hallway like sunlight. Mine and his—the kind of laughter that left your cheeks aching and your stomach sore.
“Willam!” I called, breathless, pressing my back to the wall as I peeked around the corner. “I’m going to find you!”
The floorboards creaked beneath my bare feet as I tiptoed down the narrow corridor of our mother’s house. The smell of old wood and lavender soap hung in the air—the scent of home.
Hide and seek. Our favorite game. He was always better at it than I was, even when I swore I’d beat him this time.
I darted into our bedroom first, flinging the quilts aside to check under the beds. Nothing. I yanked open the closet door, clothes brushing against my arms as I shoved them aside. Empty.
“Ugh!” I groaned, stomping my foot. “This isn’t fair, Willam! Where are you?”
Silence. Then—his voice.
“I’m here.”
It sounded close, but not too close. It was almost as if it had curled around the walls and whispered just for me.
“Come find me.”
I gritted my teeth and marched back into the hallway, determined. My gaze swept the old wallpaper, the framed sketches Mother hung with pride. Everything looked the same as always—until it didn’t.
At the far end of the hallway, there was a door I’d never seen before.
Rounded at the top, its wood was dark, weathered, and the handle was a smooth iron latch.
My feet faltered, toes curling into the floor as I froze.
That door didn’t belong here.
Not in my home.
“Willam?” I whispered, voice trembling.
“I’m here.”
It was the same voice—gentle, teasing. But now it seemed to hum from beyond that door, wafting like smoke under the crack.
Each step I took was heavy, as if the air had thickened around me. The boards groaned louder, stretching long, drawn-out creaks that made the hair rise on my arms.
I reached the door. My fingers hovered over the latch, slick with sweat.
“Willam?” I tried again, barely a breath this time.
“I’m here.”
The sound sent a shiver racing down my spine. Not fear exactly—something else. Something that beckoned me to go forward.
I curled my fingers around the latch and pushed it down. The door gave a low groan as it opened, just a sliver, and in that sliver—darkness. Thick and endless.
I leaned forward, shaking, my breath shallow—
And woke with a gasp.
The ceiling loomed above me, unfamiliar and dim. My hands flew to my face, damp with cold sweat. My nightshirt clung to my skin like I’d run for miles.
“Mavis?”
I flinched, jerking toward the voice. Talia sat on the edge of my bed, her small frame haloed in the soft glow of the wall lamp. Her wide eyes searched mine, concern etched in every line of her face.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
I dragged in a breath, forcing the tremor from my voice. “Yeah. Just… had a weird dream.”
Her head tilted, brassy hair slipping over her shoulder.
“My mother used to say dreams carry messages.”
Messages. The word crawled under my skin.
“Messages from whom?”
“From the beyond.”
“Like… the gods?”
“Sometimes,” she said, furrowing her brow. “The night my grandfather died, I dreamed he came to my bed. He held my hand and told me he loved me. When I woke up and learned that he had passed, Mama told me he had come to say goodbye.”
Unease coiled tight in my stomach. I didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not when the echo of Willam’s voice still lingered in my ears.
Nothing good came of visions. I learned that long ago.
If that dream was even one to start with.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, needing movement, needing anything but stillness. “Come on,” I said, forcing a thin smile. “Let’s go get breakfast.”