I pretended I hadn’t heard him. Heart thumping fast—too fast—I moved around the room, hauling the roaring nozzle over every inch of floor, even the areas I’d already scoured. If only I could suck him up inside thehose.
I heard his slow inhale again, and a bolt of indignation sparked inside my core. In my peripheral vision, I saw him step toward me. I put more distance between us. Finally, he got the message, because he walked out of the living room. It took several minutes for my breathing to return tonormal.
I shut off the vacuum, and as I dragged it back through the double-storied room, I spotted something on one of the couches. Something that hadn’t been therebefore.
My bag and myshoes.
Making sure the doorway was still empty, I strode over and checked the contents of my bag. I even unzipped my wallet. I didn’t carry around much cash, but the little I had was there. I took out my phone, half expecting it would have died during the night, but it had a full battery. Liam had probably charged it to peruse its contents. Sure my phone was password-protected, but the code was my birthday—it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to crackit.
I had two new textmessages.
One from Everest:Need me to pick youup?
One from August:Heard you were still in the running. What’s going on?Callme.
I didn’t answer either. I stuffed the phone back into my bag, returned the vacuum to the closet, and tidied up the terrace. Once I was done, I stopped by the kitchen for food. During lunch, I asked Evelyn if she would accompany me on a little trek: to my oldhouse.
Although hesitant, she’d agreed. We left the inn in the early afternoon and walked up a long stretch of winding road that ended in a cul-de-sac.
“One winter, I skidded on ice and fell all the way down the hill. Mom almost fainted when she saw me. I had cuts all over mycheeks.”
“Was it ghastlier than the way you were returned to me onSaturday?”
I flashed her a sheepish grin. “Probablynot.”
She looped her arm through mine, her bad leg slowing our pace. The skid of rocks underneath her sneakers worried me—she wasn’t even lifting the foot attached to the damagedcalf.
“Is this too hard on yourleg?”
“No. It is good for my leg.” The ends of Mom’s silk scarf, which Evelyn had wound around her ponytail, fluttered in the warm breeze. “I do not exercise enough, and it is becomingstiff.”
I kicked a pebble that landed noiselessly inside a clump of heat-bleached grass. The road, which used to be smooth, was pockmarked. I hoped that whoever owned my childhood home was maintaining the house better than the path that led toit.
When slate shingles rose in the distance, my heart sped up and so did my pace. But then I remembered Evelyn’s leg, and Islowed.
No smoke curled out from the chimney. Then again, it wassummer.
As we neared the house, I told Evelyn the story of how I forbade my parents from kindling a fire one Christmas, terrified it would char poor Santa. I’d believed he was real until we’d left for Los Angeles. After all, werewolves were real, so why wouldn’t Santabe?
Moss flecked the purple-gray stone walls, making my house resemble a witch’s hut…if witch’s huts had brokenwindows.
I frowned at the shatteredglass.
“Was all of the land your family’s?” Evelyn ran her finger over the heavy purple blooms of the wisteria that wrapped around the beams of our porch and spilled their heady scent into the hot air. After Mom planted the vine, it took years for it to bloom, and then one summer, it purpled andpinked.
As bees pirouetted lazily next to the blooms, I peered through another cracked, dusty window. There wasn’t a trace of life in the house. It wasabandoned.
“This was my bedroom,” I toldEvelyn.
The previous owners had stripped the mint wallpaper from the walls and painted them a blaring sunflower yellow, but the floor was the same faded-honey color with scratch marks they hadn’t been able to sand down. I remembered leaving them there the first time I’dchanged.
The only feature that remained in the room was a built-in closet that hung open like a gaping, toothlessmouth.
“And in here?” Evelynasked.
I went over to her. “That was Mom and Dad’sroom.”
Only a bare box spring and an iron headboard remained. Like my room, it was barren and grubby. My heart squeezed as memories trickled into my mind: dawn-tinted bedsheets, the space between their warm bodies, soft lips on my forehead, fingers running lazily through myhair.
