I fill Tessa in on the details of how Latham killed my gran and my mother. As I talk, the color leeches from her cheeks. When I finish, she jumps to her feet. “I’ll get help.”

I put a hand out to stop her. “No. Wait.”

She pauses, and then as the silence stretches between us, her brow furrows in confusion. “We have to tell Norah. She’ll know what to do.”

But something inside me has gone very still. I feel as if I’ve been both hollowed out and made of stone. “It won’t do any good. Norah can’t protect me. No one can.”

Tessa’s eyes go wide. “You can’t just not tell her.” She throws a panicked look at Bram, as if pleading for support, but his gaze is fixed on the book.

He lays a palm on my arm. “Do you want me to get rid of it?”

“Yes,” I say, and then I shake my head. “No.”

The book is an abomination. An evil I can’t quite force my mind to accept.

And yet.

It’s the only thing I have left of my mother. I can’t bear to keep it and I can’t bear to let it go.

Bram studies my face, then gingerly picks up the book and wraps it in the brown paper. “I’ll put it in a safe place,” he says, “until you decide what you want to do.”

Relief sags from me as Bram slips out the door with the book. Tessa stands and paces back and forth along the length of the room. Her shoulders are curved and she chews her thumbnail as she walks. Several times she pauses, opens her mouth, and then seems to change her mind.

“Just say it,” I tell her finally.

She spins to face me. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve almost said a dozen times.”

“I …” She hesitates. “I don’t want our relationship to start out on the wrong foot.”

I nearly laugh. For me, meeting Tessa feels like thumbing through a book only to realize that I’ve already read the first few chapters. It doesn’t seem like starting so much as remembering. But her pained expression pulls me up short. It’s something more than worry about the book Latham left.

Tessa’s fingers wander to her hair, wrapping tightly around one of her curls and tugging as she stares off into the distance. She grimaces, as if unaware she’s causing her own pain. And suddenly I recognize her expression: guilt. Does Tessa know more than she’s letting on?

I sit up straighter. “What are you hiding, Tessa?”

Her eyes narrow and her expression grows fierce. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m trying to keep you from doing something stupid.”