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I drag my hands through my hair, despair pooling heavy in my gut. As I peer helplessly through the dark, my gaze falls on the portrait of the Virgin Mary on the wall. Something drips from her eyes, and for a moment, I think she’s weeping for me and my plight. But her tears look far too dark to be water, nearly black.

Blood, I think, just as the numbing haze of lavender overtakes me once more.

Thirty-Four

Petra

July 2026

I drift in and out of consciousness, time passing in a blur.

At one point, I hear murmurs, the sound of footsteps shuffling down the hall. A deep voice chanting. When I pry open my bleary eyes, bright candles wink from around the dim room. Karmela rubs my back. “Don’t worry. The priest is here, blessing the house.”

More sleep fraught with frightening images. Soup ushered into my hands. Karmela praying over my bed. The smell of lavender always, choking and thick.

Then Karmela shaking my shoulder, prodding me sharply. “Petra, wake up. Luka is here.”

It takes a long moment for my mind to decipher her words. But as I comprehend Luka’s name, I sit up, swaying from the effort. “What?” I ask groggily.

“He came the last two days as well,” she continues, a note of irritation in her voice. “I keep telling him you are sick, that you need to rest, but he insists on talking with you. He says he won’t leave until he does.”

Faintly, I remember Luka on the boat, him telling me he would come by, but the rest is muddled. It seems ages since I saw him. “What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday. The gala is in two days.”

What? That means three days have passed since I left him, since the doctor came. How have I slept so long?

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Karmela adds. “I spoke to his mother. She has agreed to cater again. All I had to do was increase the payment.”

But I can hardly register what she’s saying as a sharper fear cuts through. Magdalena on the balcony. Luka’s grave.

“I can tell him to go away,” Karmela offers.

“No,” I say sharply. “I—I want to talk to him.” My stomach churns with unease. I should’ve spoken to him right away.

Karmela purses her lips. “Very well. I’ll tell him to wait in the garden for you.”

When she leaves, I get up, my movements slow and labored. Bright sunlight filters in from the balcony, illuminating the gleaming edge of the vanity. I blink hard, scanning the room. For a brief moment, I wonder if I’m dreaming again.

Everything is different—well, not everything. There’s still the same heavy furniture, the religious paintings watching from the walls. But now they’re all polished to a shine. The paint no longer peels away from the limestone in rugged bruises. It’s all smooth, replaced by fresh plaster and a coat of soft off-white paint. Did Karmela remodel while I was knocked out?

I hurry to the bathroom and splash water over my face. My skin is pale, puffy with sleep. Raw panic flashes in my eyes. What am I going to do?

This is all my fault. I was too selfish, too greedy, seeking comfort when I should’ve left Luka alone.

Focus. There’s still time. I need to come up with some plan.

I try to conjure my nightmare, the exact words of Magdalena’s threat. Something about it being difficult, because Luka doesn’t live at the house.

Is she only able to kill here? That’s where all my ancestors died. Davor had said something about that too, how she tormented others but took life only in this house. Magdalena had laughed when I said I’d simply tell Luka not to come to the gala. Do you think your family didn’t try to save their lovers too? Tell them to stay away?

But Luka is different. He’ll listen. All I need to do is explain. There are still two days until the gala. I could try to come up with another idea to protect him in the meantime.

I dash from the bathroom, heading downstairs. I need to get Luka away from the house—starting now.

When I step outside, I wince at the bright afternoon sun, brutal after the cool dim of the house. Squinting, I stride toward Luka sitting at the table. It’s laden with an array of sweets—bright pink breskvice, sugar-coated kiflice curled into soft crescents, and tall slices of mađarica, their chocolate layers perfectly stacked. Karmela must have been busy while I was out in my feverish haze.

Luka rises as I approach. The moment he sees me, concern flashes across his face. “Are you alright?” he asks.