Butafterthe curse began, the two of us became very devout. Very involved. We’d pray after the incubus would visit, and sometimes I’d even go alone, on my knees as I begged God to spare my little brother. To end his suffering.
God never listened. Or maybe He did, and He sent Julian to us. Either way, I’m unhappy.
My eyes lift to the top drawer of my dresser, where theBlack Bookis still nestled. I need to ask Julian where he got it so that I can return it. Something in me hates that it’s here, in this room with me still, while the rest of me is hesitant to part ways with it.
Why? I’m unsure. It’s unholy, a pure form of dark magic.
How Julian managed to obtain it, understand, and utilize it when Father and I spent months searching that dusty old altar room is beyond me.
Finally motivated to shower by the sheer irritation of spending too much time thinking of Julian, I stand.
Only, as I do, I spot a pair of sneakers sitting by the far window of my quarters.
I have several pairs, but the ones I’m looking at now are my old running shoes, ones I haven’t worn in about a year. Yet there they sit, taken from my closet and covered in drying mud.
My eyes trail away, noticing a few half-visible footprints on the ground leading to the door. I know for certain that Hannah cleaned the hardwood of the second floor just yesterday morning, so how…
Was it Abigail again? Has she formed a nasty habit of sneaking into my bedroom while I’m away, breaking and dirtying my things?
Certainly not… Abigail has always been a good little sister, if not a bit too wise for her age. And there’s no way any of the help would have done it. Atlas, maybe?Julian?
I guess there’s only one way to find the answer.
I shower quickly, changing into my evening wear and heading to the dining room.
Everyone is already seated, with Father at the head of the table as he speaks to Jeremy.
“We need to fly to New York, then,” he’s saying as I take my seat next to him. “If there are inconsistencies, we need to investigate.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy agrees, his spine straight as he listens to his boss.
“Is there something wrong with Portline?” I ask, reaching for my water.
“Nothing for you to worry about, son,” Father insists, waving a dismissive hand at me.
“But I can help. If you only let me—”
“No business at the dinner table, my loves,” Mother cuts in, her hand rubbing affectionately at the back of Atlas’s head as she speaks.
“Yes, dear,” Father concedes.
I huff. Clearly, something is up, and I want to help. Icanhelp. I’m desperate too.
Anything at all to distract me, to give me a purpose. I’ll fly to New York alone if it’s asked of me—if I’m allowed.
“Are you excited for your party, darling?” Mother asks Atlas, her kind blue eyes assessing him.
“Yes, thank you,” my brother responds softly. “I’m excited to meet Julian’s friends.”
“They’ll love you,” Julian tells him. “Susie was obsessed with you the moment you guys met. I wish she could come.”
Atlas gives him a small, private smile. “Me too.”
Abigail shifts in her seat next to me, frowning. I’m certain she won’t be allowed to stay in the estate with a bunch of strangers here drinking, so I assume this upsets her.
Right as I’m about to comfort her, I remember what I planned to do at dinner.
“Everyone,” I interject, projecting my voice enough to garner the gathered company’s attention. “Has anyone been in my quarters lately?”
