Turning my head, I settled my gaze on a chair that had been pulled out from the corner. Closer to the foot of Charlie’s bed. As though someone had drawn it out so that they’d have a better view of my sister while she slept.

Dad again.

He didn’t have trouble sleeping so much anymore, but when he did go prowling, it was always to check on us.

Though I kept singing, my focus remained fully on my fingers clutching tightly to the selvedge of the white sheet. I eyed the chair. Then, unsatisfied with the way the sheet had settled, I fluffed it up once more.

Then I did something I hadn’t planned. On my next cycle of the refrain, I pitched my arms toward the chair, sending the sheet at and over it.

Over the invisible person who had been sitting there.

The figure shot to their feet, sending the sheet to the floor before the thin layer of white fabric had had time to fully betray their outline.

But there was no denying I had seen the impression of a mask.

A scream erupted in my ears. Propelled into flight by the most primal fear I’d ever experienced, I didn’t know it was mine until I reached the stairway banister.

My body moved on its own, legs carrying me from the danger while my mind tried to work out how I hadn’t been grabbed or stabbed. Or worse.

Ripping open the front door, I fell out of the house, tripping down the front porch steps and landing hard on the walkway, my palms the only things stopping my nose from crashing into stone.

I flipped myself and crab-crawled back from the open mouth of the front door, screaming again in the face of nothing, because I had fully expected to see someone there, ready to descend upon me.

There was no one. Not in the foyer or on the stairs.

Flipping myself again, I pushed up from the grass I’d retreated into and fumbled to my feet. From there, I ran pell-mell for my car, which I’d left parked in the drive.

Latching on to the handle, I yanked at it with an anguished cry.

My keys. I’d left them in the house.

Right along with my phone.

TWENTY-TWO

Zedok

My God. That voice. That voice.

The curse. Was it not enough?

Shall I forevermore now have that voice ringing in my hollow head as well?

I did not know where she had gone after seeing me—only that she had fled the house. For the moment, as I tore up the servants’ stairs and into her version of the attic, I told myself I did not care to where.

A black lie. But at least I could still lie to myself.

With fast footsteps, I tore across the room to the desk, where I already knew what I would find.

My music. It was gone. Of course she had taken it.