Page 108 of Queen of Nothing

Panic is ice-cold in my chest. It’s spreading, tingling, reaching even my fingertips.

I flex my fingers, once, twice, and fall back to slump in the seat.

I flatten a hand to my chest, as if to soothe the cold anxiety, to steady the uneven thuds of my heart.

It does nothing.

And instead, I find myself staring at Father’s cheek, turned to me, and he watches the lush, green land in twilight pass through the window.

Moonlight cascades over everything, the ponds, the barns, the sheds, the cottages.

The driveway is both impossibly long and terribly short.

Before I know it, before I’m ready, but also after the longest ride of my life, Elcott Abbey looms against the moonlight.

The stone façade and long stained-glass windows stretch all the way up to the sky with a grandness I missed, a grandiosity I yearned for.

A stone courtyard is now fixed in front of the entrance, pushing back the driveway and offering some stone arches above. It’s now a private little spot for those who come and go.

I look up at the vines that coil around the arches, and the ivy growing up the stone face of the home, and I smile.

The car pulls into the courtyard beneath the arches and rolls to a slow stop.

The moment it does pause, and it idles for a mere heartbeat, my smile fades—and the nerves are quick to overthrow me again.

Father doesn’t wait for Mr Younge or any servant to open the door.

He exits the car with a brisk, stiff haste.

Dray steps out after him.

But Oliver lingers for a moment, taking his time with the seatbelt, then once the others are out, he reaches for my wrist on my lap.

He gives a gentle squeeze. “You’ll be fine.”

I nod.

He gets out of the car.

With the doors wide open, the tepid evening breeze snakes inside and tries to push me out.

Slowly, I unbuckle my seatbelt, then scoot over to the door.

I peer outside—and flinch.

The front doors of the abbey whip open so violently that they crash into the stone walls, and the noise is thunder over the courtyard.

But then a cluster of silhouettes come rushing into the light. The forked black lampposts circle the driveway and illuminate the courtyard.

Some of the silhouettes will be servants sticking to the shadows. But one, at least, is Mother.

I’m certain she is among the two that are running across the driveway in my direction.

I stumble out of the car.

And I’m barely a step away from the door before the force of a body slams me right back into it.

Something screams up the length of my spine.