Never open it. Never touch it.

Her entire life she’d been afraid to brush that surface with so much as a pinkie finger, her covers pulled high to block the nightmares swirling behind it.

Not anymore.

Her breath shuddered in time with her hands as she wiped her sweaty hair from her forehead.

A voice rose up inside her. Don’t think. Just do.

She took two large strides and placed her hand on the chilled metal knob.

With one final gasp of air, she turned it.

The creak of the door’s hinges ripped open the forbidden portal.

Then Vera broke the plane of the doorjamb and placed her foot inside.

The room smelled musty, the old water stench reminding her of the flood damage years ago. She flicked the switch that illuminated a bare bulb and descended the steps into a chill much like the one she felt at the Durands’. She knew where she had to go. Somehow, despite never so much as glancing into the room, she knew.

She walked across the floor, her sandals slapping the painted spinach-green concrete, her eyes on the third shelf of a bookcase. A black velvet satchel rested, its drawstring pulled tight.

Vera’s hand trembled as she lifted the sack, a clattering of broken glass rumbling inside.

All of this over broken glass.

She loosened the strings and peered into the black mouth. Fangs of shattered crystal loomed, untouched for seven years.

Vera poured the razor remnants into the scorched gas worker’s hat. This was why she’d taken it. Some piece of her knew this moment was coming.

Filtered light from a tiny basement window reflected on the fragments—so small, so delicate, so destructive.

Vera shifted back toward the basement door, feeling that familiar pull, understanding the ramifications of the rule she’d broken.

Something was waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Max

When Max watched Vera tear off into the house (was she carrying the hard hat?), he spun toward his mother, refusing to let his girlfriend, or friend, or whoever she was, risk her life for his family while he stood outside flat-footed.

“Put my sister down!”

Only, his mom wasn’t looking at him, or his sister. Her eyes were locked on the house, as if tracking Vera’s movements inside. It was distracted. This was his moment. He had to act.

He shifted his weight to his toes, and as he did, his eyes caught on a sudden flickering shadow. The fog parted and a tiny white apparition emerged, its barks high and yappy. Max squinted, struggling to discern the shape of the beady black eyes sprinting closer, yipping like a record skipping. In his mother’s bedroom, she’d mimicked the sound. It was the neighbor’s dog.

His brow furrowed as the fluffy animal raced toward his sister.

Then Chloe started choking, hacking, flailing.

His mother’s knuckles protruded as they tightened around her daughter’s neck, lifting her higher from the ground. Guttural bursts erupted from Chloe, her feet desperately kicking for purchase. Max had to charge. Yaps reached a crescendo and Max watched as a tiny barking puff flew through the air and latched itself onto his mother’s calf.