I move closer, trying to hear more.
Something grinds under my sneaker. In the middle of the floor, chalk-like dust forms the shape of three interlocking triangles. It’s larger than I imagined—each triangle big enough for someone to lie inside. Goose bumps spread along my skin.
“It’s the symbol,” I say, voice shaking.
The symbol. The murders. The Tragedy. They’re all related somehow. What had that ghostly voice said about summoning spirits when I was in one of the old classrooms here?The havoc and harm they could wreak is unimaginable.
I swallow. “Do you thinkthiscaused the Tragedy?”
“It seems someone is attempting it again.” Amund crouches down, testing the powdery substance with a fingertip. “But we still don’t know how or why—”
The chandelier rattles above us. I crane my neck back… then stare overhead in horror.
Instead of lights, the chandelier is covered witheyes.
Eyes that are watching us.
The chandelier trembles violently—
Amund pulls me away as it crashes to the floor where we were.
I gasp. “What the hell?”
“The spirits don’t want us here,” Amund says, his voice grave. “This must be the site of the Tragedy. We should go. We need to find Irina.”
He’s right. The sooner we get out of here, the better.
We retreat, closing the door behind us quickly.
There’s no sign of Irinaorher aunt outside.
When I turn the corner, the hallway of portraits stretches before me.
I swear under my breath. “So much for finding Irina.”
Amund frowns. “Now that we’re here, we won’t be able to leave unless we open the door again.”
The hall seems to stretch before me as I stare down the door to my parents’ bedroom.
Something about the hallway is different this time.
When I look at the row of portraits, the faces are all familiar. Jim and Patricia stare out at me. They look well-dressed, and they smile warmly. They should be arriving at Skallagrim on Thursday. I can’t wait to see them in person again—until I realize they’ll be in danger too.
As I continue down the hall, it’s like walking backward in time.
I see my uncle’s portrait.
After our parents died, we lived with our uncle for a year. Mom’s murder drove him to drink. His house was littered with beer cans. When he got really drunk, he’d yellget lost!My uncle couldn’t bear the sight of me. Not when I had my dad’s dark brown hair and gray eyes. I reminded him too much of the murderer who took his sister’s life.
That’s why we ended up in foster care.
Bea and I were almost separated, but then Helga found us a placement with Jim and Patricia. Even though that was nine years ago, I’m always afraid of being sent somewhere else and having to start all over again. It’s one of many reasons I didn’t want to come to Skallagrim.
Bea’s portrait is next.
Unlike Jim and Patricia, she’s making a silly face. Her expression looks like the selfie I have of her, the one I had hanging in my locker back home. Somehow, it’s here now too. Seeing her gives me the courage to face the next portraits.
Our dad and mom.
