There’s no Paige in sight. No kitten, either.

Shit. It’s not the first time she’s snuck from the room. She’s quiet and stealthy, but usually I’m able to keep track of her. Aside from folding her laundry and organizing the papers for her schoolwork, it’s my only job. Now she’s gone.

Probably because I asked her to do schoolwork. This isn’t a coincidence.

I head down the expansive hallway, peeking into each of the large sitting areas and come up empty. Hmm. Next I go upstairs to her room to see if she decided to curl up in bed.

Her room is empty.

The room next door that holds her desk—also empty.

I try a few of the doors since I’m up here and find only spare rooms like mine. A few of the doors are locked. And in one last, random attempt, I peek into my own room. Nope, no one here. I even check the bathroom, in case Paige brought the kitten here to use the litter box.

From here I can see through the window to the outside.

Rain comes down in thick, uneven droplets.

Where could she be?

In a terrible but necessary repeat, I check all the same places again. The room where I left her—this time, under the couch and behind the armoire. The other rooms, calling her name. The dining room. The kitchen.

“Kitten,” I call in a high voice. “Kitten, where are you?”

Paige has refused to name the kitten, and I can’t do it since I already offered her the privilege. So the kitten is called kitten. Sometimes she meows when you call her that.

Silence. It’s like I’m in the house alone.

A shiver runs down my spine.

I go upstairs again and check her bedroom, her school room, my bedroom. I even check the strange bedroom with the watch and teacup—empty. I break the rules and check the attic. Nothing.

Finally, in desperation, I reach Mr. Rochester’s study door.

I hear a low voice coming through. “There’s no way I can make it to check the building myself. I don’t care how important it is. It’s not happening. I’m stuck here in goddamn Maine on a goddamn life raft, because it doesn’t ever stop raining. So you and the rest of those lawyers getting paid five hundred dollars an hour will just have to do your fucking jobs and figure it out.”

I knock on the ornately carved door and open.

He turns to face me. “What?” he asks, brusque and annoyed.