Page 106 of Don't Let Me Go
We could be completely wrong about her being Ulfhild, in which case, she’ll probably call hotel security when she finds two teenagers outside her room insisting that she’s a witch. But if we’renotwrong, then we’re about to confront the woman who once got Jackson and me killed.
“You don’t think she’s dangerous?” I ask, surprised that this thought is only now occurring to me.
Jackson snorts. “I think we’ll be okay.” A second later, though, he swallows uncertainly. “Just to be safe, though, we should watch our backs.”
I nod. Then, before I can chicken out, I take a deep breath and knock.
“Yes?” Jocasta calls from inside.
“Room service,” Jackson improvises when I’m too tongue-tied to speak.
“I didn’t order any.”
“It’s champagne. Compliments of the hotel.”
The door swings open and reveals Jocasta’s eager, excited face—an expression that instantly collapses into a scowl when she sees Jackson, me, and no champagne.
“No autographs,” she barks, starting to close the door.
Jackson thrusts out his hand to stop her from shutting it in our faces. “Wait!”
Jocasta’s nostrils flare, and her eyebrows rise in indignation. “Young man, I suggest you remove your hand from my door or I will call the police and have you escorted from the premisesin handcuffs.”
“Sorry,” Jackson says, dropping his hand. “We don’t mean to scare you. We just need to talk to you.”
“If you’d like to book a private spiritual consultation, you can do so through my website.”
“We don’t want a consultation,” I reply. “We want to know if you recognize us.”
Jocasta looks from me to Jackson and back to me, then shakes her head in confusion. “Why on earth would I recognize you?”
“You’ve never seen us before?”
“Never.”
“Are you sure?” I press. “Look at us. Really look at us.”
Jocasta snorts. “Iamlooking at you. And all I see are two hooligans who are wasting my time and ruining my nap.”
My heart sinks in disappointment while at the same time a strange relief passes over me. We’re wrong—Jocasta isn’t Ulfhild. Which means all the crazy things that have been happening to Jackson and me aren’t supernatural occurrences, just bizarre coincidences.
“You really have no idea who we are?” I ask one last time to be certain.
“No. Should I?”
“We met in Greenland,” Jackson jumps in. “In a place called Brattahlid.”
Jocasta scoffs. “I’ve never been to—”
She doesn’t finish her thought. Instead, a flicker of recognition flashes across her eyes. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, and a second later she pushes it away with a shake of her head as if trying to dismiss an unpleasant memory.
“I’m sorry. You have the wrong person. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She tries to shut the door again, but this time I’m the one who stops her. “Youdoknow who we are,” I exclaim in amazement.
“I donot,” she insists, taking a quick step back like a cornered animal. “I have never laid eyes on you—either of you—in my life.”
“Well, we’ve met you,” I say, growing more certain with every second. “And we know your real name:Ulfhild.”
