“Because of what Charles saw?”
“Because he saw a finger,” Jill said. “And eels. I know he wasn’t lying because I saw them, too.”
Una’s blood ran cold. “You did?”
“Not during the regatta.” Jill looked down at her injured hand. “Last night, when I was watching TV, my hand got really hot. It felt like it was burning. Mom told me to let the dogs in. They were down by the water, barking like crazy. I called them, but they wouldn’t listen, so I went down to the beach. My hand was on fire, so I stuck it in the water. That’s when I saw them.”
“Tell me.”
Hugging herself, Jill murmured, “Eels. Hundreds of them. Only, they weren’t actually there. They were, like, in my head. But it wasn’t a dream because I was awake.”
“What were they doing?”
“Swimming under a boat. A Blue Jay. Like the ones we use in sailing class. There weresomany of them. It was gross. Then someone fell off the boat. They were wearing white sneakers and white shorts and a life jacket. Then there was a big cloud of bubbles. Then... the water was full of blood.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Una grabbed tissues from her purse and wiped them away.
Jill’s eyes pleaded with Una. “I’m not lying, I swear! I saw the eels swimming through the blood. They were excited—like sharks get in a feeding frenzy. Then I yanked my hand out of the water, and everything went back to normal.”
Una smoothed Jill’s hair. “Amma had visions from time to time. She said it was like dreaming while she was awake. Some people thought she was just telling stories, but I believed her. I believe you, too.”
“I think I saw one of the missing boys. I think...” Jill pointed at the library books strewn across the back seat. “If it wasn’t a propeller, or a shark, then it was somethingelse.”
A catalog of sea monsters surfaced in Una’s memory. These creatures appeared again and again in Amma’s fireside tales. Some came from Norse mythology. Others were part of their island’s folklore. All were very old.
Una guessed Jill’s mind was filled with monsters, too.
Serpent. Leviathan. Kraken. Sea witch.
What were the curved paths radiating out of the stone face in Mrs. Smith’s garden? Were they tentacles? The eels from Jill’s vision?
Eel’s Nest.
Una cast an anxious glance at the looming gray mass of a house.
“I want to tell you something.” Una took Jill’s hand. “The box I got from Mrs. Stapleton is about Cold Harbor’s history. I borrowed it so I could learn more about that house and the people who lived there.”
“You did?”
Una nodded. “We can share what we learn, you and me. We can be a team. Okay?”
Jill’s face flooded with relief. “Okay.”
Una drove down the Scotts’ driveway and let Jill off by the garage door.
Before Jill got out, she leaned over and kissed Una’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Una waited until Jill scurried inside before turning around and motoring up the driveway. When she reached the top, hercar paused as if holding its breath, and Una caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her head to the left and saw a woman standing in Mrs. Smith’s driveway, her hands curled around the bars of the motorized gate.
She wore a silky blue robe, which the rain had plastered to her skin. Long dark hair framed a phantom-white face. Her feet were bare. Her mouth was a slash of red. Her eyes were deep black marbles. They studied Una with cold malevolence.
Una heard a low moan of terror and realized it was rising out of her own throat.
It was the woman from John Stapleton’s book about Cold Harbor. She had the same face. The same soulless eyes.
Una wanted to strip off her own skin, to burn it—anything to stop the prickling, probing invasion of the woman’s black gaze.
