Page 42 of House of Hearts
“You should see her in a game of musical chairs,” Calvin comments with a sweep of his thumb across his skin. “Cutthroat.”
“Am I supposed to apologize for sitting down?”
“You? Apologize? That’d be a first.”
I ignore their banter in favor of studying the desk in front of me. It’s remarkably empty but for a few stray pens, a scratch pad, and an old picture frame perched in the corner.
Photo Calvin is posed with his brother and sister, a rare group selfie of the three of them where they don’t look like they all actively hate each other. Calvin’s eyes are bright, but his grin is even brighter, his arm slung over Percy’s shoulder and his other hand making bunny ears behind Sadie’s head.
Percy is the perfect gradient between Calvin’s sandy blond and Sadie’s sleek black hair. Brown waves graze the soft slope of his jaw and match the warm depths of his eyes, his baby-fat cheeks giving him an endearingly poetic look. Large round frames rest on the bridge of his nose, which only complete the scholar vibe he’s got going on. He’s farfrom the ridiculously chiseled prince on a white horse, but I can see how Em fell for him.
“This is the last photo we took together,” Sadie says. “Before everything fell apart.”
I remember her outburst by the tower, and it’s clear she’s showing a lot of restraint. She’s yet another girl who refuses to cry. I can relate.
“Was there anything special about that day?”
“It was only special because there was nothing happening. Everything was perfect and normal. The world looked bright, and then…”
She fidgets in her seat and runs a frazzled hand through her hair. “When Emoree came, that all went out the window. He was jittery, anxious, always zoning out like he was lost in his own head. He’d go missing for hours, and we’d find him wandering aimlessly through the gardens. It went downhill like this,” she says, illustrating the severity with a jarring snap of her fingers.
“And then he just disappeared?”
“Precisely,” Headmistress Lockwell’s voice says from behind me.
I turn to find her hovering in the doorway like a Victorian ghost. She regards us with a dainty arch of her thin brows before breezing past the three of us to take a seat at her desk. “I trust you’ll make this quick.”
“Of course, we know your time is very valuable, Mom,” Sadie says, her answer immediately met with a gag from Calvin. Sadie’s smile thins, but she continues as rehearsed. “We need the skeleton keys for the tower. It’s for the séance.”
Headmistress Lockwell frowns at that. “The incident is fresh in everyone’s minds. You’ll need to be careful not to draw unnecessary attention.”
Sadie nods sagely, and Calvin does his part by not saying a word.He leans against the wall and busies himself with a cuff link on his sleeve.
“What makes you so sure Percy will respond to you up there?” the headmistress challenges.
Sadie’s eyes flick briefly to mine, and I ball my fists in my lap before speaking. “It wouldn’t be Percy we’d be channeling. It’d be Emoree.”
The full weight of her stare settles on me. “You think she would prove useful?”
I grit my teeth at the word “useful.” “She would know a lot more about Percy’s final days than we would. From what I’ve heard, last year was atypical.”
“That’s putting it mildly, but yes,” she agrees, leaning back in her chair as she contemplates our request. “I am not opposed to it, but I need the group to be discreet. No marching around in plain sight with a Ouija board and heading up to what is still widely considered a crime scene.”
Sadie dips her head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re calling her ‘ma’am’ now?” Calvin questions with a curl of his lip. “What’s next, ‘Your Majesty’? ‘Supreme Maternal Overlord’?”
“Calvin Peregrine Lockwell.”
Peregrine, huh? Definitely storing that one in my brain for later.
“We’ll be careful,” Sadie reassures. “I have everything under control—annoying twin brothers included.”
Calvin only rolls his eyes at that before focusing on something beyond his mother’s head. I follow his line of sight to an impressive glass curio cabinet tucked in the corner. If you sat me down and had me guess what a rich headmistress might collect, I’d probably say fine china or antique pocket watches. Genuinely anything under the sun other than what’s actually on display.
I have to blink three times to make sure I didn’t spontaneouslyconjure it out of thin air. But no, the dagger is 100 percent real and tucked safely inside a glass frame. The photo beside it shows a young Oleander with his father, dead pheasants at his feet and the same knife plunged into one of their chests. Blood drips down the sides of their limp throats, oozing into a puddle at Oleander’s feet. The accompanying plaque beneath the image readsHart’s Most Cherished Artifacts.
“Is that knife the one that…um…” I can’t believe I’m even speaking but also can’t stop the question from flowing freely out of my mouth. “The one that you used on…your…um…”
