The trunk creaks as I ease it open, and a cloud of dust scratches my throat. I fan the air and find a thin bone and two gold coins inside. This can’t be all that’s in here. I feel around the bottom, sure I missed something, but all that’s in the trunk are the three small items.

“What is it?” Bri turns the bone in her hand. “Is it… human?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” I say, suddenly creeped out. “It’s thin and light. I dissected a fetal pig in science once and the bones were really dense and thick. So, yes?”

“Bones are the currency of death,” Zora says, bringing it to her nose. “It is not human.”

I shudder and shove the coins and bone in my pocket. The last trunk in the closet is wedged in the farthest corner and a tug on its handle does nothing.

“Help me with this, will you?”

The three of us grab hold.

“One… two… three!” I rear back, gritting my teeth. The handle pops off, but the trunk doesn’t move, as if it’s welded to the floor. “See if you can get your hands under the bottom.” My fingers search for a divot, an in to slide underneath, but the trunk is flush with the floor. “How is this?…” The lines of the trunk blend seamlessly with the ground. As if it’s… wait… part of the floor?

“Back up,” I say, standing. I lift the trunk top instead of pulling. “Quitzi.”

The entire floor of the closet lifts like a lid, and a wrinkly-faced woman beneath it glares at me.

“Well, you’re not Totsi,” she shouts as something big and blunt dents my peripheral and smacks me in the face. The world goes black.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I RUB THE THROBBING SPOT on my head. My watch is a ray in the darkness. The pillow under my head is soft, and I yank myself up.

“Bri? Zora?”

Silence answers and I blink, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The bed beneath me is musty and the spot next to me is cold. I press my feet to the stone floor and blink several times, and I can see a bit clearer. Stone walls, a tall ceiling, and the telltale smell of moldy earth. I’m underground.

My heart rams in my chest and I hop up, scanning. No bars, a bed, a glass of clear liquid on a small table. I ease out a breath, my panic a flame fighting for air. There’s a door and no windows but for a tiny hole in the ceiling in the room.