She closes her eyes, counts to ten, breathes. Allows the repetition to draw her gently back to sleep.

Another thump—the sounds are coming from the spa level. She’s sure of it now. But this time, it’s more like a slam. Heavy.

Maeve’s head swims. She struggles to rouse herself, but it’s too late, a new dream already taking over. She finds herself downstairs, in the lower hallway. She is dreaming again, isn’t she? Or is she sleepwalking, like Anna?

It’s dark, and she’s feeling her way along the wall. This is where she was the night she saw Sadie crouched in a doorway. It must be; it’s so much warmer here, the sudden change makes her shiver. On the other side of the wall she hears a groaning noise and another heavy thud, and she stops.

There’s a room down here. Down in the basement. Did she know that? She peers in, squinting. On the far wall, she can just make out another door. A door to the outside.

That same sharp cold, stinging at the back of her neck.

A loud pop from the fire and Maeve bolts upright, fully awake this time. She is in her bed in the lobby, Karo asleep on the couch. She hugs her knees to her chest, recovering. The last dream image still burning in her mind:

In the strange room, the door’s handle pumps up and down. The dead bolt grinds in its lock.

Day 7

Day 7

In the morning Maeve wakes by the fire, which is dead.

It’s barely warm enough, even buried under the duvet, and the contrast where the air touches her skin is stark. The morning air is not just cool. It’s crisp—frosty even. Bad dreams and a new blizzard swept in overnight, each of them waking her over and over. She burrows down inside the covers, relieved for the daylight. At least now she can stop trying to sleep.

In the light of morning, she pulls her hand from under the covers and places it on her cheek, her ear, and the sudden heat against her skin gives her a shiver. She twists in her makeshift bed to look out the window, but there’s nothing new to see. It’s snowing. Up on the couch, Karo is still sleeping; only the trim of her wool hat and her eyes show at the edge of her blankets.

Maeve keeps the duvet wrapped around her like a giant shawl and crouches by the hearth to rebuild the fire. The embers are there, black and ashy, and she builds a teepee of kindling first and lets it flame up before adding the bigger split logs, one by one. When the fire takes, she leaves it burning and, glancing back at Karo one last time, slips into her office and shuts the door.