Naomi ignores us.
Her gaze is fixed on Harper, who looks at each of us in turn, as though considering. I think it’s Jude who finally convinces her. He isn’t the type to believe in ridiculous things. Whatever the case, she exhales long and loud.
“Fine,” Harper says. “I believe you.”
Naomi melts with visible relief.
Harper doesn’t seem to share the emotion. She’s too busy wringing her hands. “So what now? Are Emma and Sienna going to come back like Lainey and Griffin, or are they going to turn up dead like Ivy?”
I shake my head, because there’s no way of knowing.
The only certain thing?
Something horrible is targeting Foggy Hollow. Mistress Bramble said it herself—evil has come to this town. I can feel its hunger the same as I felt it when I was the monster chasing my mom.
“Did you find anything at Lainey’s?” Twig asks.
“Oh, we found something,” Jude mutters.
“The ruby?”
“A rift,” I say. “It was open in her basement. But then it closed. Violently. Lainey tried openinganother with the mark on her wrist, but she wasn’t able to.”
“Should I tell Jake about this?” Harper asks.
“He isn’t going to believe you,” Naomi replies. “We could barely get you to believe us.”
Harper slumps in her chair.
I sink onto one of the crates and a panel on the side falls open. Several items spill onto the concrete floor.
Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Embroidered napkins. A porcelain butter dish. And a really old roll of ticker tape with short and long rows of faded ink marks marching down the paper.
“What is that?” Harper asks.
I scoot off the crate. “If I had to guess, donated items Maggie can’t use but refuses to throw away. Probably from estate sales.”
“Look at this,” Twig says excitedly, coming out of his chair to pick up the roll of ticker tape. “Do you know what this is?”
“Telegraph tape,” Naomi replies.
Harper pulls out a hand mirror with a tarnished silver backing and a hair brush with boar bristles. “How old is this stuff?”
“Really old,” I say, lifting the lid off the other crate Jude pulled to the table. We’ve never bothered looking through these crates before. They’ve always just been here, a fixture of the room. I pullout a lava lamp. “This, on the other hand, is a bit more recent.”
“Ooo, I love these,” Harper says, grabbing a Magic 8 Ball.
The discovery has turned into a pressure release. The air has been taken out of a very tense balloon. Even Jude joins in as I rifle past a dream catcher, a baggie of glow-in-the-dark stars, and a boombox, along with a collection of cassette tapes and CDs.
“Check out this phone,” Harper says, picking up the handset of an old-fashioned hot pink telephone with a cord. She holds it to her ear, then lets out a yelp and slams it onto the base.
We all stare at her.
“I swear, I just heard a voice.”
Twig picks it up and listens.
From his expression, I don’t think he hears anything.
