Page 90

“Magdalena?” I whisper before tensing.

“I’m here to help,” she says quietly, her voice softer now, no longer the harsh rasp from my nightmares.

A tinge of mistrust gnaws at me, but it fades quickly. What choice do I have? Time is running out if we want to get out of here alive.

“We’re locked inside,” I blurt out. “I think . . . the house won’t let us out.”

In response, the house groans and trembles, as if protesting her very presence.

Magdalena narrows her eyes at the ceiling. “Come,” she says. I obey without question.

We dash toward the stairs. A wall of heat and smoke slams into me as we descend, forcing a violent cough from my lungs. The fire has spread, leaping toward the living room. Luka is still at the front door, kicking forcefully at the lock. Karmela hovers behind, terror etched on her face.

As we approach, she cowers back. “The mora,” Karmela gasps, clutching the rosary around her neck.

“It’s Magdalena,” she corrects. “Stand aside.”

Luka stops, eyeing her warily, but when I give him a small nod, he moves away.

Magdalena steps forward, and before I can process what’s happening, she vanishes. A black speck darts toward the door as the fire roars higher. My heart pounds, counting each agonizing second. Is this some kind of trick? The fire is closing in, reaching the stairs—there’s nowhere else to go. Karmela clings to me, and I wrap my arms around her. Luka rests one tense hand on my shoulder. This is it. We will truly die here.

Then, just when all hope seems lost, a faint click sounds and the door swings open. We stumble outside, gasping for air. We’ve escaped.

Magdalena reappears beside me.

“You helped us,” I say, still breathless.

“I did.” A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Thank you.”

She dips her head in acknowledgment. Then hesitantly, she adds, “Thank you for telling the truth about my life.” She lifts something, and I recognize the diary in her hands. “Can you hold on to this? Keep it safe?”

“Yes. Of course,” I sputter. I take the book carefully, running my hand over the worn cover.

When I look up, she is no longer beside me. She is moving toward the house. As she stands in the doorway, the fire blazes behind her, casting her in a fiery red glow.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my panic returning.

A look of contentment washes over her features as she inhales a deep breath. “Going home.”

With that, she shuts the door, disappearing into the flames.

I stand frozen in disbelief, unable to move until Luka nudges me. “C’mon,” he says softly. “Let’s go.”

As we flee down the road, thunder cracks across the sky. The storm has finally broken, but even with the rain pouring down, I know this is the end. The end of Magdalena. The end of my family’s curse.

The end of Lavender House.

Thirty-Eight

Petra

July 2026

My world was upturned by my mom’s death, and now it’s been upturned again.

It’s been one week since the Lavanda Gala. One week since Lavender House burned to the ground. So much has changed: