Page 56 of Mine

Valerie.

I reach for my drink and notice my hand is unsteady.

Must be tired.

I take a long sip, staring at the screen, the only light in the room.

Before I can stop myself, I click into the surveillance video of Valerie, days before she was taken, wandering the garden in the middle of the night. Before she died in an unnatural way and never received a proper burial ceremony.

A vengeful spirit . . .

Like a moth to a flame, I lean into the monitor, my chair squeaking against the silence of the room. I study her pale face, white nightgown, and long snowy hair.

Mesmerized, I draw even closer to the screen, feeling my pulse increase.

Valerie’s lips are moving as if she’s talking to someone. Her steps are unsteady, and she appears to be agitated. She lifts a long skinny arm and points to something just out of view of the camera.

Suddenly, she stills, completely frozen. Not even a strand of her hair is moving in the wind.

Is she scared? Or is she listening as someone responds to her?

“What is it?” I whisper, my heart pounding.

Like whiplash, her face turns to the camera, her eyes glowing unnaturally in the light.

I lurch backward, almost tipping over the chair.

Thirty-Four

Sabine

I beeline it to the kitchen the moment I step inside and out of the prying eyes of whatever—or whoever—was watching me from the forest. I was hoping to find Astor. Instead, I find Prishna there, surrounded by mounds of fruit, vegetables, and baked goods. She’s washing veggies in the sink, her back to me.

Maybe she was the one watching me? From the windows, perhaps.

I toss my blanket and books on a chair and join her at the counter. “Hi.”

Her disapproval of my presence is clear by both the scowl on her face and the sudden vigor with which she scrubs the potato.

The unforgiving natural light from the window illuminates how severe the burns are on the side of her face, and again, I find myself wondering what happened to her. What is her story?

“Is Astor still in his office?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Do you know if anyone is outside? Cillian or Leo?”

“It’s not my job to handle their schedules.”

“Were you outside?”

She rolls her eyes, gesturing to the activity on the counter.

Right.

A moment stretches between us.

“Can I help?”

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