I shift away from the curious barista and lower my voice. “Seriously Rafe, why are you keeping tabs on me?”
I expect him to respond how he always responds—flippantly. With a tease. A taunt. A saucy wag of his eyebrows. Instead, he holds my gaze with such intensity, I have to look elsewhere. “Would you believe me if I said you’ve gotten under my skin?”
Warmth gathers under my collar.
Folding my arms, I turn my back on him. “Not for a second.”
“You have a talent for finding danger.” He steps behind me and whispers in my ear, “Maybe, Selah, I don’t want you to find it.”
I grind my teeth.
The barista hands me my drink. I take it with a polite thank you, then turn to face the scoundrel. “I think you’re trying to get undermyskin. I think you’re trying to get under Jude’s, too."
He shrugs lazily, like only time will tell.
I don’t wait for him to get his latte.
I push out the door, into the cold, determined to ignore Rafe Vandenberg.
Now it’s Monday, the twenty-second of December—our first official day of winter break.Christmas Eve is right around the corner and Dad and I have been invited to spend it at the manor. Jude extended a personal invitation to my father, who has no idea we broke up and therefore had no reason to decline. Jude invites the Calloways, too. Along with Naomi and Harper and both of their families. Isabel insisted upon reviving the old tradition, wherein the Vandenberg family would host a Yuletide soiree—a formerly exclusive affair involving a fancy dinner, the founding families, and the town mayor. It came to an end thirty years ago, when the Vandenberg family vanished into thin air.
Now it’s being reinstated with a few modern alterations.
Personally, I think Isabel cares less about restoring traditions and more about her reputation as a hostess. The last party she threw ended in chaos. I’m almost positive this is her attempt to leave a better impression on the more influential people in town. Jude agreed to play along on two conditions: he could invite guests of his own, and Isabel has to be nice to them. With so many in attendance, I think I can probably avoid him? But I don’t feel super confident about it.
I lean against the front counter of Evermore Books, drumming my fingers while Twig swipes through notifications on his phone. I keep peeringat the front door, half expecting the bell to jingle and Rafe to appear. I roll my bottom lip between my teeth and turn my gaze to the two girls lingering near the staircase in the back. I don’t recognize them from school, but they look to be our age. They keep stealing glances at me and Twig, which makes me suspect they aren’t here for the books.
If I had to guess, they’re interested in the Vandenberg exhibit on the second floor. There’s been such an influx of interest in this particular display, Maggie posted a sign on the door that reads “Second Floor Exhibits by Appointment Only.” She also hung a velvet rope stanchion across the top of the staircase.
“This will really keep ‘em away,” Walt had teased, a drill whirring in his hand while he installed the wall hook.
“Listen to this one,” Twig says, scrolling through the comments on yet another social media post. “‘I think there’s a massive sinkhole under the quarry. Maybe it spreads underneath the entire town. No bodies were found because they were sucked inside the sinkhole. The girls could have fallen in, too. Maybe even that Vandenberg family.’”
“Who wrote that?” I ask.
“Some guy who calls himself ConspiracyCarl.”
“He’s not too far off, is he?” I mutter, eyes still on the girls.
Twig continues scrolling, faster this time, comment after comment after comment. “Everyone’s looking for an explanation.”
“Do you think we should give them one?”
He looks up from his phone.
When I don’t wink or even blink, he peeks at the girls, then leans closer. “You want to tell the truth?”
“We were going to before Lainey returned.” But then she came back and the idea of sharing the truth has turned into a game of tug-of-war. Twig is ready. I object. I’m ready. Twig objects.
“Selah, if we released a podcast episode claiming there’s a monster in an alternate dimension kidnapping teenagers, only the crazies and the conspiracy theorists would believe us.”
He’s right, of course.
More of them would flood to town, which wouldn’t get us any closer to Vorat or his prisoners. It would only add more steam to this pressure-cooker of a situation. I place my hands on either side of my face and drag them down my cheeks. With each passing day, I grow increasingly restless. It feels like we’re just sitting around, waiting for the next attack to happen.
I watch the girls slowly making their way tothe front of the store. I catch the taller one’s eye, and this time, instead of looking away, she takes her friend by the arm and pulls her to the checkout counter. “Are you Selah Whitlock?”
“Yes,” I say, my response sounding more like a question.
