The solitary lightbulb casts a spotlight upon Naomi, Twig, and Harper sitting at the table, which is large and pockmarked, with crisscrossing wires connected to microphones and sound equipment.
“It’s Emma Rollins and Sienna Clark,” Harper tells us, looking—as Mrs. Calloway would say—very peaked.
“I know,” I reply.
It’s all over social media and I was added to a massive group chat. Most people at the barn party were included. I skimmed the conversation on the way over. Apparently, Emma told her mom she was sleeping over at Sienna’s and Sienna told her mom she was sleeping over at Emma’s. Neither mom realized anything was afoot until late this morning when their calls went unanswered. Emma and Sienna went to the barn party last night and that’s the last anyone has seen of them.
I keep picturing them in the hospital waiting room on Halloween night, dressed up as Wednesday Addams and Chucky’s Bride, tears streaking through their costume makeup as they cried over their friend, Callie Reese, who is still recovering in Morgantown.
Now, they’re missing.
With no more chairs to sit on, Jude grabs one of the wooden crates lining the far wall. He sets it at the table for me, then grabs another for himself.
I can’t sit, though.
I have too much energy inside my body for sitting.
Jude doesn’t sit either.
“So, what happened?” I ask Harper.
“Jake woke me up this morning wanting to know if I was at the party. He told me two girls had gone missing, but he wouldn’t name names. Hesaid he couldn’t, which totally freaked me out because—” Her voice catches.
Naomi reaches across the table to take her hand. “You knew we were there.”
Harper wipes at an errant tear. “He called it bad timing. Can you believe that? Bad timing? Then he started grilling me like some sort of interrogation. Did I know about this party? Did my friends go? Who got rides home with whom? He told me to stay home and keep my mouth shut. But if I hear anything weird—anything at all—to call him right away.” Harper finishes her monologue with a huff, and a pointed look at each of us.
“Anything weird, huh?” I say with a grimace.
“Does an alternate dimension count?” Twig asks. “Or the potential for an evil doppelgänger?”
“Twoevil doppelgängers,” I correct. “Griffin came back last night, Harp. And he had the same marks on his wrist as Lainey.”
With a slightly maniacal laugh, Harper plunks her elbows on the table and cradles her head in her hands.
I pull a small journal out of my coat pocket and set it in front of her. We made a pitstop for it on the way over. “I’m not sure why I didn’t think to show you this sooner.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“Simon Vandenberg’s journal.”
“You mean…” Her attention darts to Jude.
“My cousin,” he says. “Once removed.”
I slide the journal closer, already skipping pages, my fingers trembling with adrenaline. “You can read as much of it as you want, but for the sake of time, I’d skip to March twelfth. It’s not as convincing as the evidence we have in the crypt, but it’s still evidence.” While she reads, I reach again into my pocket and hand her two photographs. One, a copy of my mother’s yearbook photo. The other, a glossy four by six from Simon’s disposable camera.
“Who is this?” Harper asks.
“My mother. Or, as Simon called her,Daisy.”
Harper’s eyes widen. “Your mom was going out with Simon Vandenberg?”
“It’s a relatively new discovery, but yes. She was. And five years ago, she came back. She visited the estate. And I think—I think something got her.”
“Got her?”
“A monster.”
