Page 31 of Queen of Nothing

I don’t take a step, not until Serena does, then I’m quick to follow at her heels—maybe too close. So close she can probably feel my breaths rustling her hair.

She might think I’m nervous, and that’s why she doesn’t push me out of her personal space, and she would be sort of right—but also, I’m not going to lead the way into the shield witch’s home. If anything happens, at least it’ll happen to Serena and not me.

We approach Sofía, the visor of her hand casting shadows down her face, and I find that her eyes are on me.

That look glints with recognition.

Her grin is faded, and in its wake is a small smirk.

I force a smile back, but mine most certainly looks more like a grimace of nerves and uneasiness.

I could break the ice, ask her, ‘So what made you abandon the Videralli and want to spend the rest of your life in hiding?’

But then she could throw that question right back at me.

And, as I walk over the creaking porch for the open front door, I have trouble remembering my answer.

Still, she is staring at me—waiting for my greeting, for any acknowledgement to come from me.

So I settle for awe. “You can conceal an entire house? That’s impressive.”

“I can hide just about anything.” There’s a bragging silk to her voice. “This way,” she adds, gesturing Serena to lead the way down to the corner of the house—not up the porch steps.

That liquid dread returns to sway and sway in my gut as I follow them to the small, fenced garden stuck to the side of the building, then in through a door that’s almost hidden by overgrowth and vines, so concealed that it feels like a forgotten or secret door.

It takes us into darkness. No windows or lights to illuminate the way.

Serena takes my hand, and hers might just be as clammy as mine. Could be the heat outside that’s done it, or the nerves as we follow Sofía through the darkness—

Until I hear the clatter of a doorhandle and light floods into the thin corridor.

Fingers unclasping, Serena and I chase the light into the new room, and immediately I’m suffocated by perfume and chaos.

I don’t know what sort of room this is supposed to be, whether a kitchen, a lounge, a parlour, or even a bathroom, because it’s impossible to tell through the sheer clutter.

Clutter might be too gentle a word.

Shelves take up the bulk of the room, standing at odd angles, and are stacked with figurines and tiny phials and long-neck bottles.

Strings of dried herbs and flowers hang from the ceiling—like a dense garden is just dangling above my head and flooding my nose with too much perfume.

Crystals glimmer from the shelves, bones too, and photographs, and letters, and books and candles and feathers.

It’s so overwhelming that my legs move of their own accord, taking me into the corner of the room, as if to hide from it all.

Serena tosses the bags to the floor.

They land at the toes of my sneakers. I just glance down at the bags when Serena mutters, “Wait here.”

Then she and Sofía squeeze through the mess, duck under hanging chimes and leaves, then weave around a massive scratched table that’s littered with loose papers.

They make their way through the tangled maze of mess, to a door with glass panes that glimmer with sunlight.

They go through the door, maybe to a sunroom, and leave me in here.

Trapped in a hoarding hell, while they have their privacy.

What they can’t say in front of me, I don’t know. I’m as much a part of this as Serena.