Constance had died in the hallway behind the living room, then. And Esther, of course, had been in the attic. Her blood had spilled on the wood, and although Ephraim and his family must have cleaned the house thoroughly before anyone arrived to search it, they had not been able to eradicate all traces of the youngest daughter from the house’s highest floor.

Six Hulls. Six spirits, still lingering in the home, still haunting the halls they had once called their own, their eyes shining out of the shadows as they watched the usurper’s descendants take it over.

She shivered as she returned to the kitchen. One of the drawers held a small box of string. She placed it on the table, along with the button, then went in search of other items that might have enough significance to act as a ward.

Margot’s Tape was still in the VCR player. She lifted it out and carefully, painstakingly peeled the label off, tongue pressed between her teeth as she fought to not damage the sticker. It was old, its glue weak, and it gave way easily.

Upstairs, she found her hair clip. It was one of the few claw designs that would hold on to her hair, and she wore it almost every day.

Her travel cases still stood against the bedroom’s wall. She opened one of the zipper pouches. Inside was her most valued possession. Wrapped in a small silk handkerchief was her nana’s wedding ring. Living in an apartment, she hadn’t been able to keep much from the woman who had raised her, but that was the keepsake she’d always clung to.

Then, at the window, she removed the key from the padlock. Witchety said the emotions were allowed to be bittersweet, and she hoped the key would count. It represented the night she learned about the curse, about her family, and about her new life. It represented her parents and their efforts to keep her safe.

Finally, she returned to the kitchen and chose one of the photos from the fridge. It was the picture Kant had shown her on her first day there: her parents, leaning into each other, a fragmented wisp of Margot’s hair visible at the torn side. One corner held a stain from where she’d spilled coffee on it.

There weren’t many items, but laid out together on the table, Margot’s heart ached to look at them all.

She pulled up a chair and unrolled a length of string. Dusk had set in, heavy and dark beyond the window, and she was hyperaware of the press of passing time. She didn’t hurry, though. Witchety said the talisman needed to be woven with love and care. She lingered over each item, her fingers trembling as she tied careful knots through and around them.