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I smile awkwardly. As she leads me toward the house, I remember the diary. “I need to show you something.” Before she can stop me, I rush up to my room.

I burst through the door, scanning the nightstand and then my bed. But it isn’t there. I could swear I left it in my room. Where could it have gone?

I move to the vanity, the armoire, pulling open drawers, growing more frantic with each second. I even check my empty suitcase, tucked into the closet.

“What are you looking for?” Karmela asks, entering.

I check the bed again, throwing off the sheets. Nothing. Panic spikes through me as I sit down, running my hands through my hair. How could I lose it?

I consider my options. Even without the diary, I can still explain what I discovered. While it isn’t ideal, I hope that I can tell the story with enough conviction that she will believe me.

My gaze locks onto Karmela. “The other day, I found an old diary. It belonged to a woman named Magdalena Derokov. She used to live on Tolba.”

“What?” Karmela asks slowly, clearly confused. She sits beside me, concern creasing her features. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s the mora. The one who cursed our family.”

Her face hardens and she leans away, ever so slightly. “I told you, that is just gossip.”

I shake my head firmly. “Then why are all the keyholes blocked up?” I ask, pointing to the door. “Why is there an iron horseshoe outside? Why did you give me the necklace?”

Karmela wavers, her lips pinching together as if she’s thinking about how to formulate her response. “The necklace was a gift. Nothing more. And the others, they are merely . . . precautions our ancestors took. Traditions passed down. They are meaningless.”

I can’t tell if she’s hiding something, some trace of her own belief in the mora, or if she truly stands by what she says. I brush this aside, pushing on. “According to her diary, she was a healer on the island. Nikola’s mom, Ana, became sick, and so he went to Magdalena for help.”

Karmela raises a hand to silence me, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. I need to say the incredible story aloud, if only to hear the words myself.

“Only, it wasn’t any ordinary sickness, it was the Evil Eye, and while Magdalena was figuring out what to do, she and Nikola fell in love—”

“Stop it, Petra,” Karmela says firmly. “This is absurd. Where is this diary?”

My heart falls. “I don’t know. I had it yesterday, but now I can’t find it. It has to be around here somewhere. It has a red cover, and it is very old.” I search the nightstand drawers again, even though I’ve checked them already.

Karmela shoots me a skeptical look. “Are you sure this wasn’t some kind of dream, part of your fever?”

“No. It’s real.” I let out a huff of exasperation, eager to complete the tale. “Then when Magdalena became pregnant with Nikola’s baby—”

“Pregnant?”

“Yes. She went to tell him, but he—” I hesitate, picturing the pool of blood.

Karmela arches a wary brow. “He did what?”

I swallow my rising nerves, the weight of the truth looming over me. “He killed her. I saw it, last night in the workshop. I saw the past, like a memory. Luka told me that can happen, that a place can be scarred when something terrible happens there.”

I’m so focused on Karmela’s face, willing her to understand, that I don’t register what’s going on around me. But from the silence rises a groaning sound. At first, I think it’s a heavy wind blowing outside—but then my bed trembles.

Lies. The same rumbling voice as before. Did Karmela hear it too?

The walls shake, sending the portrait of the Virgin Mary hanging near my vanity crashing to the ground. I’ve experienced a brief earthquake in California before, but something tells me this is no random occurrence. The house is displeased. Angry.

“These are lies,” Karmela says, mimicking the voice.

Now my own anger flares. “No, they’re not. The diary is real. I read it and I saw her. Magdalena. That is why she became the mora.” My family has done enough burying of the truth. First, there was my mom never speaking of my dad. Then her lying about Karmela. And now this, a truth so dark and heavy I’m not sure what to do with it. But it must be let out, exposed.

Karmela stands abruptly. “I’m getting the doctor.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to speak. “No, I’m fine. I told you I’m not sick—”