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“Here, kitty kitty. Hey, I found a friend for…” Link lifted up a cat preserved by the Southern art of taxidermy, then dropped it when he realized it was a stuffed dead cat with mangy black fur. “Lucille.”
“There has to be something else. Whoever was here wasn’t looking for Civil War registries.”
“Maybe they found what they came for.” Liv shrugged.
I looked at Aunt Del. “There’s only one way to find out.”
A few minutes later, we were all sitting cross-legged on the floor, like we were in a campfire circle. Or a séance. “I’m really not sure this is a good idea.”
“It’s the only way to find out who broke in here, and why.”
Aunt Del nodded, barely convinced. “All right. Remember, if you feel sick, put your head between your knees. Now join hands.”
Link looked at me. “What’s she talkin’ about? Why would we feel sick?”
I grabbed Liv’s hand, completing the circle. It was soft and warm in mine. But before I could think about the fact that we were holding hands, images started to flash before my eyes—
One after the next, opening and closing like doors. Each image cued the next, like dominoes, or one of those flip-books I read as a kid.
Lena, Ridley, and John dumping out boxes in the attic…
“It has to be here. Keep looking.” John tosses old books onto the floor.
“How can you be so sure?” Lena reaches inside another box, her hand covered in black designs.
“She knew how to find it, without the star.”
Another door opened. Aunt Caroline, dragging boxes across the attic floor. She kneels in front of a box, holding an old photo of my mother, and runs her hand over the picture, sobbing.
And another. My mother, her hair hanging over her shoulder, held back by her red reading glasses. I could see her as clearly as if she was standing right in front of me. She scribbles madly in a weathered leather journal, then rips out the page, folds it, and slides it into an envelope. She scrawls something across the front of the envelope and slips it into the back of the journal. Then she pushes an old trunk away from the wall. Behind the trunk, she pulls a loose board free from the wainscoting. She looks around, as if she senses someone might be watching, and slides the journal into the narrow opening.
Aunt Del let go of my hand.
“Holy crap!” Link was way beyond remembering his manners in front of a lady. He was green, and stuck his head between his knees immediately, like he was coming in for a crash landing. I hadn’t seen him like that since the day after Savannah Snow dared him to drink an old bottle of peppermint schnapps.
“I’m so sorry. I know it’s difficult to acclimate after a trip.” Aunt Del patted Link’s back. “You’re doing fine for your first time.”
I didn’t have time to think about everything I’d seen. So I focused on one thing: She knew how to find it, without the star. John was talking about the Great Barrier. He thought my mom knew something about it, something she may have written in her journal. Liv and I must have been thinking the same thing, because we touched the old trunk at the same time.
“It’s heavy. Be careful.” I started to pull it away from the wall. It felt like someone had filled it with bricks.
Liv reached for the wall, working the board free. But she didn’t reach into the opening. I put my hand inside and immediately touched the battered leather. I pulled out the journal, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was a piece of my mother. I flipped to the back. My mother’s delicate handwriting stared back at me from the front of the envelope.
Macon
I ripped it open, unfolding the single sheet.
If you’re reading this, it means I wasn’t able to get to you in time to tell you myself. Things are much worse than any of us could have imagined. It may already be too late. But if there is a chance, you are the only one who will know how to prevent our worst fears from becoming reality.
Abraham is alive. He’s been in hiding. And he’s not alone. Sarafine is with him, as devoted a disciple as your father.
You have to stop them before we all run out of time.
– LJ
My eyes dragged across the bottom of the page. LJ. Lila Jane. I noticed something else—the date. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. March 21st. A month before my mother’s accident. Before she was murdered.
Liv stepped away, sensing she was witnessing something private and painful. I flipped through the pages of the journal, looking for answers. There was another copy of the Ravenwood Family Tree. I’d seen it before in the archive, but this one looked different. Some of the names were crossed out.
