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An eight-legged, shadowy beast squatted in an alcove.
“Liliana Sophronia,” the spider hissed. “What a truly splendid surprise.”
The girl and her dog crawled out of the fountain, dripping water onto the floor. “Is that my name?” The girl’s voice echoed as she wrung out the bottom of her dress, water splashing on concrete. “Liliana Sophronia?”
The spider gave a thoughtful hum. “Most call you ‘Loren’.”
“Loren,” the girl repeated. Quieter, she mouthed, “Loren…”
“I feel as though we’ve had this conversation before,” said the Widow. She paused, as if realizing something, her many eyes shining like black eggs. “Oh my dear sweet child, you seem to have misplaced your memories. And would you just look at your hands!” She tutted.
Loren held them up—and sucked in a quiet gasp.
Both of them were transparent now. And the rest of her felt like…a broken eggshell. Brittle and empty, no life left inside.
“Am I dead?” The question was a hollow whisper. She peered into the darkness, squinting to see the Widow, but all she could spot of her were eight thick legs and a monstrous mound of a body.
The Nameless being carefully considered her answer before giving it. “You are teetering on the precipice of life and death,” she said, her childlike voice echoing.
“Is there anyone waiting for me?” Loren swallowed. She couldn’t feel the cold here, but she was suddenly shivering, “Back at home?”
“Many a person waits for you,” the Widow said gently. “They fight for you to return. You are in very good hands, child.” If only she knew who those people were. The only ones who came to mind were Dallas and Sabrine; she doubted Roark and Taega would fight for her to come back. She remembered them now—remembered bits and pieces of her childhood, however sparse.
And it was that broken childhood that told her that her adoptive parents were not fighting.
“How did I get here?”
“You made an incredible sacrifice for your city and those you love. An act of selflessness—a true one.” That didn’t sound like her. Selfless? Maybe. An incredible sacrifice?
Definitely not her. If there was one thing she wasn’t, it was brave, courageous. She had always dreamed of having the right to call herself those things, but she knew herself, and she was no hero.
“How do I get back?”
“You are the Skeleton Key.” Skeleton Key? “If you cannot find a door, you need simply to make one.”
“Can you help me?” Emotion choked her words, and her stomach twisted with urgency. “Please, I—I want to go home. I feel like I...like I miss people and I can’t even remember who they are.” Her breath hitched in her throat, sticky as those webs clinging to the ceiling, where long-dead insects hung in iridescent cocoons. She said again, “I want to go home.” The last word broke on a sob that echoed against the walls. Her features pinched with sadness, but no tears came. To be unable to cry was a very strange cage.
“Start by placing your hand on the wall to your right.”
Loren picked up the hem of her sodden dress and stepped over rocks and bones. When she reached the wall, she brushed aside a curtain of webs, unveiling smooth stone beneath, and flattened her hand on its surface.
“Close your eyes,” said the spider. “Listen to your heart.”
Loren shut her eyes and concentrated. There was no heartbeat to listen to—just a deep and silent void in her chest, in her very being.
But she tried—she tried really hard, casting a line to the heart that had ceased to beat.
In her mind, she saw darkness. After a few moments, it began to ripple, as if she were peering through water.
Beyond the waves, there was a face. She couldn’t see much of it, but it was male. Male and very, very handsome. Obscured as it was, this fact was clear.
“Who is he?” she whispered, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the night-dark gleam of his hair.
The Widow merely said, “Forever your protector.”
Her brows pulled together as she tried to force the water to clear. She wanted to see him, but the depths just kept rippling, stopping his features from clarifying.
“What do I do now?”
