“My brother,” he replies. “He’s supposed to meet me here after…He went after the guys that…The ones from the room.”

The ones who killed his parents.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say. “Wick can be a little hard to find sometimes. But the house will let us know if any new guests come during dinner.” The nearest wall rumbles in agreement, and it’s enough to snap Colin out of his trance as he stares at the wall in openmouthed wonder.

The sound of voices and the smell of food grow stronger as we enter the ballroom. People fill the round tables throughout, plates piled high with food from the buffet, courtesy of the house. Nora sits at our family’s table near the far wall, which is more of a giant window. Tonight, the house has frosted it over, leaving little swaths of clear glass in the shape of pumpkins and falling leaves, and tiny crystalline lights bob through the room mimicking wisps.

I scoop up Max, flashing Colin a smile. “Remember what I said: embrace the weird.”

Chapter 4: Colin

I’ve never seen so much food in one place.

My stomach grumbles at the anticipation of eating something other than frozen pizza or takeout. Before we started moving, my dad made a new recipe every night, and my mom always made dessert. I miss their cooking almost as much as I miss them.

The ballroom itself is no less impressive than the food. There’s a small stage in the corner where three musicians pluck out a traditional Irish tune. Beside them is a bar, a huge wrought-iron raven with its wings spread mounted on the wall behind it. Its head swivels side to side, watching as a hundred different colored dispensers pour guests drinks of their own accord.

I dodge a woman with a foaming butterscotch-colored soda as I follow Anna. Like the grand staircase in the foyer, the dining hall reminds me of a ballroom from some long-ago castle, complete with dancing torches in iron holders along the walls. One of the flames leaps, taking shape in a flutter of autumn leaves, before diving back into place.

Anna grins at my astonishment. “They all think it’s a light show.” She nods at the guests.

I’m still gaping when we reach a long table, occupied by an older white woman who’s nearly Anna’s double, but without the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Colin, this is my mom, Nora Ballinkay,” Anna says.

“Hello, Mrs. Ballinkay.” I shake her hand, looking her straight in the eye and making sure to be extra polite. Polite kids get asked fewer questions, like Why are you here alone?

“Welcome to Ravenfall, Colin,” she says with a smile. “You can call me Nora. Has anyone taken a look at your shoulder yet?”