Behind her, Safa leaned against the banister. She kicked aside Nadine’s knife and withdrew a small pistol from the inside of her cardigan. “Mama warned you. Wherever you go, whatever new identity you build, it will follow.”
“It won’t follow Mina,” Nadine said fiercely. “It never touched her. She’s safe.”
“It hasn’t touched heryet.” Safa raised the gun almost lazily, aiming for Nadine’s forehead. “Open the door, sister.”
Nadine balked. “What?”
“Go on. It’s time to face your mistakes.” When Nadine didn’t budge, Safa smiled. “Or I can shoot you where you stand and have a flight booked to Ward, California, before your blood’s gone cold.”
Not a drop of compassion tainted the clear pools of cruelty in Safa’s eyes. Nadine had underestimated her sister. Experience and time had sharpened Safa’s brute savagery into a deadly art, imbued her with Nadine’s skills of deception and their mother’s ruthlessness.
“How do I know you won’t go to Ward even if I open the door?”
“Because your daughter will come to me. The worst I can do in Ward is kill her. If I wait, your Yasmina will find her way to this door. To the test.” Safa shook her head, gazing at Nadine with amazement. “You don’t see the irony, do you? You fed this curse well, Nadine, and you never thought twice about the lives you devastated. Why do you think your daughter deserves to be spared when theirs weren’t? That girl is your debt, and fate will always come to collect what it is owed.”
“She’s innocent.”
Safa offered her an inscrutable smile. “Aren’t they all?”
Her sister gestured with the gun. “On with it, now.”
Nadine had fed dozens of children to the door behind her. Watched as unadulterated horror tore across their faces, breaking their young minds in two. Between getting shot and opening the door, Nadine would die by gun a million times over.
But she also knew Safa would make good on her promise. If the vision of the curly-haired girl was just a trick, then Mina would be safe in Ward. At least for a while.
It wasn’t much of a choice. Safa had her gun, and the house wasn’t on Nadine’s side. It wouldn’t let her escape a second time.
Nadine took one last, long look at Safa. The baby sister she’d held in her arms the night Mama laid her at this exact threshold. It spared Safa, and Nadine remembered feeling a mixture of relief and despair. Despair, because another Haikal would be consigned to repay Bamba’s debt. But at least Nadine wouldn’t be expected to shoulder the burden alone.
She turned around. The white door shone, gold hinges gleaming. An invitation. A handle appeared from the door’s frame, round and untarnished.
Nadine’s hand closed around the handle. Her corrupted soul shuddered, shrinking away at the nearness of such a consuming evil. She would never get to see Mina grow up. Hatem was like a stone in a river: reliable and steady, but averse to any kind of forward movement. He wouldn’t bring Mina to Masr out of fear of confronting their families. He might never even speak of Nadine again, shying away from the pain of her memory.
As for Nadine, this was what she deserved. The doomed tapestry she had sewn for herself with each grieving parent and broken family, now settling over her like a corpse shroud.
Nadine twisted the handle and pulled the door open.
A bright, searing orange light blinded her. She blinked, adjusting, and what she saw made every horror, every pain and tragedy she had everencountered seem like a paltry sentence in the page of a children’s book. Nadine’s careful, calculating mind unraveled. Spools of her sanity curdled like hair brushed against an open flame.
Nadine Haikal screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Istare at Khalto Safa, and an absurd thought strikes me:We’re going to have to move again.
We’ve ruined the heart of this house like we did our old one. Nourished its bones on dread and loneliness. On my father’s blood, slipping between the floorboards and into the house’s waiting mouth.
Blood. A dizzy fog steals over me, and I yank my gaze from the puddle. I won’t faint. I can’t.
“He’s alive,” my aunt reassures me. Khalto Safa cups a slim hand around her lighter, thesnick snick snickof her thumb against the wheel cacophonous. The spark finally catches, and she lowers the tip of her cigarette to the precarious flame. “Don’t look so frightened, ya habibti. I just want to talk.”
“How did you find me?” I sneak a glance toward the shoe rack, where I’d tossed my purse. Jesse’s switchblade is still in my bag.
She rolls her eyes. “Your father’s photograph is on the university website. I didn’t even need to pay to find your address. It’s rather alarming, how accessible all your information is.”
Khalto Safa picks up a strand of thick, glossy hair and twirls it around a ringed finger. Her skin glows, unnaturally smooth and pristine. Every part of Khalto Safa dazzles, and now I understand that this perfection is part ofthe curse’s bargain. Anyone who looks at her wouldn’t think twice about her intentions. She is too beautiful to doubt—too stunning to suspect.
Mama had always look normal to my eyes, but how lovely must she have been when she was the Terror of El Agamy, feeding the curse and reaping its benefits?
