Chapter YASMINA MANSOUR EL AGAMY, ALEXANDRIA ONE MONTH AGO
Strange things kept happening on the Haikal estate.
They started small. A mascara wand going missing from the dresser drawer.
A pile of cobwebs on a pillow I’d dusted hours earlier.
At exactly four in the morning, a bunch of crows perched in the date trees would start to scream.
In the streets, the stray animals would join the call, dogs howling and cats shrieking.
I didn’t know how anyone could sleep through the din.
The house itself existed in a state of suspended disintegration.
Doors creaking on their hinges; an ecosystem of spiderwebs stretching over arches and in every high crevice; slanted tiles shifting beneath my feet.
Every banister leaned dangerously to the side, as though aiming to separate itself from the stairs it supported.
“Try not to leave your room at night,” Khalto Safa said, stirring sugar into her tiny cup of Turkish coffee.
Doing so ruined the pretty foam layer I’d watched the housekeeper spend five minutes developing, but I stayed silent, picking at the surface of the kitchen table.
The housekeeper’s young daughter clung to her mother’s ankle and stared at me.
“Parts of the villa are very old, and I don’t want you wandering somewhere unsafe. ”
“Which parts?”
Before she could answer, her phone lit up with a call. She licked the spoon and set it next to her coffee. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as my aunt left, the housekeeper yanked her daughter off the floor. “I told you never to come into this house,” she scolded. “Go to your father.”
The girl burst into tears and scampered out the back door. The woman avoided my gaze, pouring boiling water into a tea glass.
I chuckled uneasily. “I guess you know where the unsafe parts of the house are.”
The kettle jerked, sending water splashing on her abaya. She ignored it, whirling to face me. “You speak Arabic?”
I blinked. “Yes, of course. If you’re feeling generous, you might even call me fluent.” When she didn’t laugh, I awkwardly pressed on. “I’ve just been speaking English because Khalto Safa seems to prefer it. I’m Nadine’s daughter. Mina. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
The housekeeper materialized at my side in an instant. A hot hand covered my elbow. “Run. Get a car in town and don’t look back. There is nothing safe in this villa.”
I laughed again, expecting her to join me, but she was dead serious. Her horror-stricken eyes fixed on mine.
“My husband will get you out. How—” She glanced through the door, but my aunt’s voice was still far away. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen?”
“Has she tried to take you to the third floor yet?”
Apprehension skittered down my spine. I pulled away from the woman, backing away from the table. “What third floor?” The house ended on the second level.
She clutched her chest, a spasm of pure terror shaking her frame. Terror for me.
“Your mother ran away from this house for a reason. You should never have come here.”
Khalto Safa’s return abruptly ended the conversation. The woman sprang to the counter, stacking our breakfast onto a gilded tray with trembling hands.
“What’s wrong?” Khalto Safa asked. I was still standing. “Hamida, what is it?”
“Nothing, ya doctura.” The tea glasses shook in the woman’s hand. Her fear was real. Fear of Khalto Safa, fear for her daughter. Misplaced as it might be, I couldn’t help but be rattled by it.
I reclaimed my chair. “Nothing.”
Khalto Safa and the housekeeper’s warnings spun in my head later that night. Sleep refused to come, and every attempt at a distraction failed miserably. The wi-fi signal barely reached this bedroom.
I’d left the window cracked to air out the musty smell of the furniture. I moved to close it and reconsidered. Khalto Safa had said I couldn’t explore the villa at night, but my room was fair game, wasn’t it?
I rifled through the dresser and nightstand, unfolding old receipts and compiling a stack of stray buttons. Not exactly hidden treasure, but it beat staring at the ceiling and counting sheep. I stuck my arm under the bed, sweeping my palm across the dusty floor.
A sharp, flimsy object collided with my hand.
Delighted, I pulled it out from under the bed, sitting on my haunches to evaluate my new prize.
A plastic tiara. Coated in a fine layer of dust, a band of pink fuzz went around the tiara’s edge, and fake gemstones bedazzled the crown’s arches.
Someone’s kid must have forgotten it. One of my cousins, maybe?
In the mirror, I fixed the tiara over my hair. The curls bunched up under the tiara’s forked teeth, stretching the band to its breaking point.
Bored again, I roamed the room. If I would be staying up anyway, I might as well watch the sunrise from one of the balconies on the northern side of the villa. Technically, it wouldn’t be breaking Khalto Safa’s rule. I wasn’t planning to wander, just walk in a straight line to the balcony.
I shut the door behind me as quietly as possible. From our travels, I knew Khalto Safa slept lightly.
The second floor of the Haikal villa could swallow my house in Ward three times over.
I knew my bedroom was on the garden side and the balconies were on the pool side, but I hadn’t considered how tough it might be navigating a villa in the dark.
I crept past a sparkling clean kitchenette, dragging a hand along the wall for balance.
At this rate, the sun would be fully risen by the time I reached the balcony.
I mentally smacked myself for leaving my phone on the nightstand. I could have used the flashlight to guide my path.
Another ten minutes of wandering later, and I was still winding up in one of the ten million seating areas scattered throughout the second floor.
I leaned my forehead against the wall, releasing a sigh as I accepted the inevitable.
Maybe the sunrise would be better from my window.
Besides, there were a ton of mosquitoes on the balcony, and what if I encountered the creature those birds and animals howled at every night?
I trudged back to my room in defeat. Halfway there, my foot met hard resistance, nearly hurtling me to the ground. I cried out, stumbling against the blast of pain in my toe. I landed on my knee and clutched a wrought iron baluster for balance.
As soon as the pain cleared, bewilderment followed. How did I get to the stairs? I was almost certain I’d been walking straight, and the stairs leading to the bottom floor were to the left of my room.
In the gloom, long windows took shape beneath the high ceiling.
Twisting intricate patterns crisscrossed the stained glass.
Those windows … I had seen them when I’d entered the property, but I hadn’t come across them until now.
The first hints of dawn seeped through, tinting the walls a soft orange.
The light spilled onto a set of spiral marble steps.
I stopped breathing. These stairs hadn’t been here before.
With an uncomfortable jolt, I realized I was still kneeling. My throbbing toe forgotten, I rose.
Before me, a set of spiral steps emerged from the wall.
My muscles relaxed as a wave of tranquility washed over me. Every bit of alarm faded, suffocating beneath a heavy quilt of calm.
Mesmerized, I took one step up, then another. I wanted to see what was at the end of the stairs. I needed to see.
A door appeared at the top of the stairs. Unlike the rest of the mansion, it retained its pristine condition. Gold hinges hung on the gleaming white door, matching the interwoven gold patterns crossing vertically down its center. Playful accenting danced on the carved panels on each side.
With a dizzying sort of clarity, I understood that this door was ancient. Older than the pyramids I’d climbed. Older than Stonehenge, the tombs in France, the temples in Turkey.
Only three steps separated me from the door. The smooth surface was missing a handle, but I knew it would open. If I stood close, if I touched it, the door would open for me.
A ball hit me square in the back.
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from the door. A Barbie head landed on the ground next to me. At the foot of the stairs, watching me with stricken eyes, was the housekeeper’s daughter.
Before I could move toward her, the ground dipped. I keeled to the side, grabbing the banister for support—but it was gone. The stairs, the baluster, the door. Vanished.
I looked up to find myself kneeling on flat carpet, surrounded by couches shrouded in gray sheets. My palms facing up on my thighs.
“Yasmina! What are you doing?” Khalto Safa’s voice slapped me harder than a physical blow.
I shook my head, trying to clear the strange fog that had descended over me. “I was trying to find the balcony. I wanted … I think I wanted to see the sunrise.”
Wasn’t I looking for someone? I had the vaguest memory of a child, but the harder I tried to chase it, the faster it fled.
“The sun rose an hour ago,” Khalto Safa said.
“I told you, don’t wander the house at night without me.
I’ll take you where you need to go myself.
” She lit a cigarette, tightening her robe around her slim figure.
I used the wall to pull myself upright. A sharp pain in my toe pierced the haze. Why did my toe hurt?
The orange tip of Khalto Safa’s cigarette bobbed between her lips. “Where did you get that?” She was staring at my tiara. A strange, wild light brightened her eyes.
“Uh, I found it. Under my bed.” I extracted the prongs from my curls and held the tiara toward Khalto Safa. “Sorry, do you know who this belongs to?”
Dark satisfaction wove around Khalto Safa. With the hand holding the cigarette, she pushed the tiara back. “Consider it yours.”