I shrugged a little. I was out of my league. I didn’t spend a lot of time in candle stores, and I didn’t want to offend her with any clueless takes on season-appropriate smells . . . What is going ON? I wondered.

“So what I’m thinking is cinnamon, vanilla, and . . . you’ll never guess. Smell this.”

She held up another tiny bottle. I sniffed it.

Our eyes met. She was bursting with anticipation. “Cloves,” she said, making the word into two syllables: Cllll-oves!

“Wow,” I said.

“Right? Oh, it’s such fun. I was really looking forward to doing all of this with Agatha.”

“Okay, cool,” I said lamely. “I wonder if I should get back to my room.”

“Probably so,” she said, frowning. “You do need your rest, don’t you? Here, one more.” She held up a new bottle. “This one is subtle. Don’t be shy.”

I put my nose directly above it and gave it a big sniff. The scent was slightly sharp and unpleasant—not what I would have called subtle.

She took the bottle away and slipped it into her pocket. “Did you know I went to college?”

“I think . . . you said once . . .” I stopped talking. My mouth felt awkward and I suddenly couldn’t think of the words I wanted to say.

Laura turned slowly and watched me.

“Laura, I feel sick.” My voice rose. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Here,” she said, helping me over to the bed. “Sit right here.”

She helped me onto the bed, which (I noticed for the first time) had already been turned down.

Laura tucked me in tightly. “Yes, I went to college,” she said. “I studied pharmacy.”

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

“Just lie back,” she said softly. “Lie back until you feel better.”

I jerked away. I didn’t want her touching me. I didn’t want to be there. I felt awful, inhuman. Weak and growing weaker by the moment.

“I’m fine,” I said again, trying to sit up. “Let me go, I’m fine. I’m leaving.”

I meant it, too. I would have left if it meant crawling down the driveway on my hands and knees, but Laura didn’t give me the chance. She easily pushed me back against the bed.

“Margot,” she said. “You’re very unwell. I’ve brought you to this room because you’re sick. I can help you, but you have to be a good girl. I’m going to give you some medicine now, and we’ll talk more in the morning when you’re feeling more like yourself.”

“No,” I whispered, looking away.

She took hold of my chin and turned it back. “Come on,” she urged. “Look at me.”

I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t focus on her face. She seemed to be getting closer and farther, closer and farther . . .