Page 98 of The Serendipity

Bellamy’s words clanged around in my head the rest of the day, almost like he was standing inside my head beating a gong.

Which is more likely—Willa lying to me? Or the existence of a magical closet?

If anyone had posed the question to me as a hypothetical, there is no question. I’d believe the person making claims about a magical closet to be a liar.

But it’s not a hypothetical person. It’s Willa. And the moment Bellamy asked the question, I knew the answer.

She’s not lying.

And I also don’t believe she’s delusional. Which leaves me caught in a kind of limbo, holding two opposing beliefs in my hands.

Willa wouldn’t lie to me.

There’s no such thing as a closet—or anything else—that can transport people from one place to another. No technology exists.

Yes, I looked it up.

Neither does magic or the paranormal or whatever category such a thing might fall under.

Magic, most would say—at least given the lore surrounding Serendipity Springs. I looked that up too.

Apparently, Galentine wasn’t the only one who believed in some kind of magic in Serendipity Springs. There are almost as many posts and blogs dedicated to the city as there are to the existence of Bigfoot, though I’m not sure that is a point for or against.

In any case, having a lot of people talk about the city’s historic good fortune and unsubstantiated claims of some kind of magic from the springs doesn’t validate anything. And it doesn’t help me with my debate.

I either need to believe Willa. Or not.

And if I do believe her, it means choosing to stand firmly in that belief and then considering the significance of her actual claims later.

I’m shocked to find myself at peace, finally, with this idea.

I don’t believe Willa is a liar.

I may not believe in magic, but I believe inher.

Which means I’ll worry about the closet thing later because I have bigger things to worry aboutnow. Specifically, the way I left things with Willa. The look of crushed hurt on her face has been haunting me, and the need to see her and to make things right pounds like a drumbeat in my mind.

It only takes a few minutes for me to debate the merits of returning to Serendipity Springs tonight when I’m required to appear in court tomorrow.

Worth it, I decide. Even if I can’t get back and end up in contempt of court.

I’ll have to text Bellamy about a private plane. There’s no time to wait for anything else. But texting him means picking up my phone and finally facing the notifications and whatever news I’ve been ignoring.

Not quite ready to do that, I step inside my closet, wanting to pack a few more things to leave in Serendipity Springs.

But I’ve taken no more than a step inside my walk-in closet when the overhead light goes out. In fact, all traces of light from my apartment disappear. I stumble forward, hands splayed out and reaching for something familiar, but the only thing I find is a wall as I run face-first into it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Willa

When Sophie finds me,I’ve moved through what I’m calling the five stages of self-destruction. My current level—which I’m labeling a bomb shelter somewhere below rock bottom—involved pulling everything out of my closet. I meaneverything. I dumped the contents on the floor of my bedroom in a messy pile resembling something between a hoarder’s stash and a giant bird nest.

I am now sitting in the center like it’s my personal, messy throne. My only loyal subject is the dresser I’ve dragged in front of the closet door. It’s one of those pieces of furniture where the drawer pulls give it the look like a human face, so it’s staring back at me in something like horror.

Fitting.

“Oh, honey,” Sophie says, crouching down beside a pile topped with a handbag and a few unmatched socks. “This is …”

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