“Then help me!” Nina said, shoving herself back into the wall’s hatch. As the walls groaned and cracks rent the ceiling, the girls helped pull Cal and Marcus up from the basement. Then all of them crowded at the hatch, straining to drag Rufus into the room. His slick clothes allowed him to slide through the small hole with barely a grunt.

“Where’s Sadie?” asked Nina.

Before anyone could answer, a roaring explosion sounded from inside the hatch and smoke spewed out.

“Sadie’s gone,” said Marcus, bolting for the door several yards away.

Nina trembled. “She’s dead?”

“No,” said Lou. “She’s gone. But we’ll be dead if we stand here any longer.” And with that, they trailed Marcus out into a new hallway.

Jason and Connie were standing outside the dollhouse in the dim light of the ghostly path.

They watched as a large wing on the right side of the house turned gray and brittle—like a dead branch on a living tree—and then crumbled to pieces. The roof caved in, then the walls tumbled down. Silently. Like ashes falling.

When it was done, the rest of the dollhouse stood as solidly as before. The lights in the windows flickered once.

Jason closed his eyes and breathed rapidly through his nose.

Connie took his hand, but her cold fingers were no comfort.

She’s still alive. She has to be alive. She’s the reason I’m here.

A moment later, voices echoed out of the dollhouse, not far from the destruction. Lou spoke clearly above the others, and Jason fell to his knees, heaving with relieved sobs. Connie knelt beside him. Together, they listened and learned what had caused the collapse.

“I think it happened when Sadie dropped her ukulele,” said Lou, “and it smashed on the basement floor.”

“Exactly,” said Cal. “That’s when she disappeared.”

“She said she saw her bedroom,” Rufus added. “Where she was heading. Home.”

“I have an idea,” said Connie. “Your sister will be okay for now. Come with me.” She squeezed Jason’s hand tightly and closed her eyes.

A moment later, he found himself in a room that looked like an art studio. Several easels stood in various corners, blank canvases propped upon them. Jars of dark water sat on window ledges and tables. The jars were jammed with brushes of all kinds and sizes. A freestanding mirror stood beside one of the easels, and a stool sat in front of it. On the walls, frames hung, containing paintings of mountains and rivers and sunsets. Other frames contained portraits of important-looking people. One man’s face appeared again and again, and in each painting, he appeared to be older, as if captured at different points along his lifeline. When he was young, his eyes were stony and cold, but in the paintings of his elderly years, they appeared to be tinged with wildness.