“Dream bigger than that, Olivia. One day you could be the star of the whole show. Not just this little opera house ballet, but a real ballet in a real city like New York. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“More than anything,” Olivia said.
“And you shall have it,” my mother said.
That’s when I understood. The reality of it hit me square-on like a sledgehammer to my chest. My body reeled as I let the knowledge sink in.
It wasn’t me the demon wanted.
It was my little girl.
THIRTY-FIVE
HEY,” I SAID TOIzzy as I knocked on her half-open door. “Okay if I come in?”
“Sure.” She was sitting at her computer, editing footage of our family watchingThe Nutcrackervideo. It felt very meta: a video of people watching a video of people performing onstage.
Izzy paused it on a framed close-up of Olivia snuggled up beside my mother.
“You’ve been filming your sister and grandmother together a lot, huh?”
Izzy nodded. She picked up her phone, clicked around on it, probably checking for texts from Theo. Definitely making a point of not giving me her full attention—something I’d gotten used to these last few months.
The shiny black Krampus mask with its pointed horns was on her bureau. It was watching me with its dim red eyes. It looked dangerous.
I see you.
I see everything.
I turned away from it, told myself not to look. But I could feel it watching.
Izzy’s room was in its usual state of disarray: bed unmade, clothes and shoes on the floor, empty energy drink cans littering every surface.
“Have you ever noticed anything… weird with the two of them?” I asked.
Izzy looked at me over the top of her phone. “Weird in what way, Mom?”
“Just, anything odd. Anything that doesn’t seem right.”
“What, likeinappropriate? What is it you think Grandma is doing?”
“Nothing, I just—”
“What did she do to you, Mom?”
“Huh?”
“When you were a kid? What happened between the two of you? What makes you hate her so much?”
I took a step back. “I don’t hate her.”
“So what is it, then?”
I sighed. Stepped deeper into the room, perched on the edge of Izzy’s rumpled bed. She was so like me. And we’d been close once, not all that long ago. If there was anyone I could trust, anyone who might believe me, it was Izzy. I decided to tread gently, to feel her out as I went along before I said too much. And with all the time she’d been spending with my mother, all the footage she had, maybe she suspected something wasn’t right. Maybe she even had actual clues that might help me.
“I don’t think she’s herself,” I said. “Not all the time.”
Izzy let out a high, strained laugh. “What does that even mean, Mom?”
