Page 45 of The Queen's Box

As Willow drew closer, she noticed a thin seam of light beneath the slab of stone. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d beenwith the sisters because this side of the root cellar had been cast in shadow. Now the light bled stronger. With a softclickand a sound like shifting gravel, the stone slab eased back—not opening on a hinge, but pulling into itself. A pocket door made of granite and impossibility.

The sisters stood waiting on the other side. Ruby’s brows were knit tight, but Brooxie’s eyes sparked when she saw Willow. She gave a small, satisfied nod.

Willow blinked against the light as she stepped back into the root cellar, the damp air curling around her ankles.

“So... was it all just a trick?” she asked, hollow-voiced.

“No,” Brooxie said quickly. “Oh, hon, no. It wasn’t a trick.”

Ruby’s posture softened. “You did well,” she conceded. “Better than I expected.” She smiled at Willow, and Willow could feel that they were no longer adversaries. They were... something else.

Cole cleared his throat. “When’s the last time you slept? Or ate? Or had a glass of water?”

The question hit her like a punch to the ribs. Water. Yes. She wanted a glass of water more than anything in the world. More than anything inthisworld anyway.

Willow nodded.

“Okay,” Cole said. “Upstairs, then.”

He took one of Willow’s elbows. Brooxie took the other. “Let’s get you fed and watered,” she said gently. “We’ll save the rest for the morning.”

They had to take the staircase in single file. Willow noticed that someone had stashed a child’s rocking horse in the crook of the stairs, half-buried in an old quilt. A long-dead wasp lay belly-up in the seat. Dust lined its glassy wings.

In the kitchen, the sisters moved like a practiced pair. Brooxie opened the icebox. Ruby set out four mismatched bowls and began ladling soup from a dented enamel pot. It smelled ofsweet corn and ham hock, savory and rich. Cole led Willow into the main room and pulled out a chair for her at the long table. She sank into it gratefully.

Cole handed her a glass of water with a wedge of lemon floating in it like a tiny moon. She took it with both hands and drank the whole thing in six greedy gulps.

“I’ll get you more,” Cole said, whisking away her glass.

Ruby set down a napkin made of real cloth and folded with care.

“Thank you,” Willow said.

Soup came next. Brooxie dropped in a biscuit the size of her palm and pushed the bowl toward Willow. Willow lifted the spoon, blew on the soup, and took a tentative bite.

Warmth hit her tongue and spread through her. Salt and fat and something sweet, maybe squash. She took another spoonful, greedier now. Starving. As she ate, she thought of the door retracting into stone, of the way the air had changed, like breath held just beneath the world’s skin.

She pushed that away for now, letting the easy chatter between Cole and the sisters wash over her. Willow’s bowl was scraped clean when she finally found the energy to join the conversation. Her cheeks were flushed, her muscles warm, and her thoughts just clear enough to stir curiosity again.

“How did you all meet?” she asked.

Ruby’s spoon paused midair.

Cole’s smile turned faint. “You’re not one for easing into things, are you?”

“I’d say she’s not one for avoiding them,” Brooxie said, setting down her butter knife. “We met the usual way. Usual for Lost Souls anyway. Tragedy. Suspicion. A touch of fate.”

Willow raised an eyebrow.

“He was only four,” Brooxie said.

“Cole?”

She shook her head. “Small for his age. Liked sugar cubes in his tea. One front tooth had come all the way in, and the other was catching up fast.”

“Oh,” Willow said. She looked from one face to the next. “You’re talking about Cole’s brother.”

“Micah,” Ruby said softly.

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