Page 71 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

I take a step back, bumping into Caleb.

“What happened?” My voice is steady, even if the rest of my body wobbles.

He doesn’t answer.

I turn. “Caleb, what happened?”

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he says. “You wanted to come in here. You’re asking questions you should already know the answer to.”

I squint at him. “What?”

He shakes his head and takes a step back. “Move on.”

I shut the door, leaving it untouched. And then I move down the hall to my old room, where I had run the other day. The door swings open under my fingertips like it remembers me.

I walk into the room and inhale.

When I was twelve, I had nightmares about being locked in this room. In the dream, I beat my fists against the door until they were bloody and bruised. After Caleb follows me in, moving a bit slower than I’d prefer, I close the door.

I don’t expect to find anything.

Hell, it was just a dream that I had when I was twelve.

And thirteen.

And fourteen.

Angela, my case worker, made me see a therapist. The foster families I was with were terrified of the screaming that happened while I was asleep. And with the therapist, I convinced myself it was just a dream blown out of proportion.

But…

There are smudges of blood on the white door, at my chest level. Scratches, too.

I stagger backward. “What the hell happened?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “You know what happened. You were here. You caused it.”

I shake my head, sinking down onto the bed. “That’s wrong.”

He comes closer, trailing a finger over my dresser.

“Caleb, come on. Did I do that?” I examine my fingers. Would scratches in the wood like that have torn my nails? Whatever happened when I was ten… there’s no trace of it on my skin now.

He lifts something from my dresser, tucking it into his pocket.

At my raised eyebrows, he just scowls. “Just something of mine that you stole.”

“Why has no one come back here?”

He yanks the door open and points. “Time’s up, love. If you want me to explain exactly what happened… that’s another beast entirely.”

“So you do know.”

His nod is short and jerky. “I know pieces.”

“I know pieces, too,” I huff.

“Apparently not.” He guides me out of the house.

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