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And then it hits me: You can learn all you need to know about a person by the inside of their house.

The bunja. Its black entrance looms in my mind like a challenge. A haunting invitation. Maybe I could discover something useful inside. I remember the crying I heard before the mora pushed me. Was that her or someone else?

My mouth goes dry as fear clogs my throat. I don’t want to go back there, but I’m not sure what else to do. The thought of another sleepless night makes my insides cringe in pain. But the image of Luka’s lifeless body is stronger. I may not love him, but I care. I miss our late-night walks, his easygoing presence, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I won’t lose him like every other important person in my life. Not when I was just starting to feel whole again.

And so I make a decision. Maybe it’s delirium fueled by insomnia, but I’m tired of hiding, of lying in bed every night paralyzed with fear. If all this time the mora has been haunting my family’s home, killing my dad, chasing away my mom—then it’s time I haunt hers.

Nineteen

Magdalena

1 July 1895

Ana’s condition has worsened over the past several days—she can hardly maintain conversation before falling into a fitful sleep, and her limbs are frigid, like ice. A part of me feels guilty, like exposing the Evil Eye has somehow caused it to intensify its force in defiance.

I did manage to confirm what I saw in the vision. It is as I suspected. Marko had a mistress—Pierre’s wife, Joséphine.

Ana was reluctant to reveal this truth, but with some gentle prodding, the story came spilling out of her amidst hot tears. She had discovered them together on their last trip to Paris. Joséphine was pleading with Marko apparently, asking him to leave his marriage to be with her. Ana had cried all night in her room, asking how Marko could have been untrue. He comforted her, telling her it was all a big mistake. He said that he would never come to Paris again, that he would cut all contact with Pierre and Joséphine—lofty drivel in my mind, but this soothed Ana.

But then on the morning they were set to leave, they saw Pierre and Joséphine one last time, walking along the Seine, and Ana felt a strange chill when the other woman looked at her. It was just like the vision I saw. I told her the meaning of that moment, that Joséphine—knowingly or unknowingly—must have felt so much envy and spite that she had cast the Evil Eye upon her.

When I told her my diagnosis, she bitterly blamed the other woman, calling her a name I will not repeat. I found it a little odd—why not be angry with her unfaithful husband first? Isn’t he the true one to blame? I do not understand how she could still want to be with such a vile man.

She then grew sullen. “I always wished to see Nikola married,” she said. As if it were a dying wish. The idea made my heart pinch—and yet I wondered if she somehow knew about us. Had Nikola hinted at something? Or had she sensed our connection?

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I will save you.” I did not wish to frighten her with details of the exorcism, so I merely told her I would perform a cleansing ritual on the night of the full moon. She must have sensed my anxiety over the matter, for she squeezed my hand then, tighter than I thought she could manage in her frail state, and told me she trusted me.

She trusts me.

Writing those words now fills me with fresh determination. I was dedicated to helping her before, in order to win the village’s favor, but now my motivations have changed. I have never wanted to heal someone as much as I want to heal her, except when you and Otac fell ill. Even though I haven’t known Ana very long, we have developed a bond. She cannot compare to you, but sometimes . . . it feels like having a mother again.

And then there is Nikola. Where to begin.

I was worried that things might be uncomfortable between us after the kiss we shared. I feared he might regret it or act like it never happened. But that was not the case at all. The very next day, as soon as we went to the workshop and shut the door behind us, he engulfed me in his arms, kissing me as urgently as the first time. His passion has only grown hungrier over the past few days, and mine as well. I won’t go into the details, but I am glad that the workshop is removed from the house, for I doubt Antula would appreciate overhearing our lovemaking.

Yes—we have given ourselves to each other completely. I never imagined Nikola would want me in that way, but he says I am unlike anyone he’s met before. He says the other girls only bored him, but that I’m rare—not only smart and beautiful, but unafraid of defying the standards of society. I never thought of it that way, that living as I do, on my own, is an act of bravery. I wondered what Dobrila would think, if she knew what he said, what we’d done. I had seen her speaking to Nikola along the harbor the day before. He did not look pleased. It took everything in me not to push her away, to claim him as my own.

Tonight was our final night together before Marko’s return. The full moon is still five days away. After treating Ana, instead of going to the workshop, Nikola took me to his bedroom. I worried about Antula noticing, but he assured me that she was already asleep.

It was heavenly, lying with him in his own bed. His sheets are the softest I have ever touched, and his shelves are filled with enough books to stock a library. After our tryst, a gentle breeze blew in from the balcony, and I couldn’t resist tiptoeing out to take in the view. Though it was dark, I could imagine the rich violet hue of the blooms below, swaying like soft waves on the sea. I felt like a queen surveying her kingdom. Like Lavender House, for just one night, was my own.

What would the villagers think now if they saw me? I wondered. Just that morning, a fisherman had spat at my feet when I passed him. Soon, once Ana was healed and I was revealed as her savior, I would no longer be an outcast, but the highest one of them all. I am a part of the house now, and I always will be.

Nikola joined me, holding me from behind, caressing my neck with kisses. “I feel like I’m in Heaven,” I told him. He let out a small laugh, his hot breath sending shivers of pleasure down my skin.

Blame it on the lingering shadow of the Evil Eye, but as I stood there wrapped in his arms, a thought settled in my heart: Despite my mere twenty-seven years, I was so happy, I could die.

Twenty

Petra

July 2026

I lie in bed, clutching the necklace of the Virgin Mary as sunlight filters into my room. I still can’t believe it worked—no mora, no nightmares, no paralysis. Iron must really offer protection.

My satisfaction is quickly swallowed, however, by the weight of what I must do:

Today, I have to go to the bunja.