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Dare squeezes my hand briefly, and I let him. Because here, I’m alone.
Here, Dare and Finn are the only familiar things.
Here, they’re the only ones who know me.
Of course, maybe they always were.
Jones leads the way with our bags, and before we even reach the front doors, they open, and a small wrinkled woman stands in the doorway. She’s slightly bent, barely a wisp of a woman, with an olive complexion and her hair completely wrapped in a bright scarf twisted at the top. She looks like she might be a hundred years old.
“Sabine!” Dare greets the elderly woman. The little woman’s arm close around him, and her head barely reaches his chest.
“Welcome home, boy,” she says in a deep gravely voice. “I’ve missed you.”
Dare pulls away and glances at me, and I can see on his face that Sabine is important. At least to him. “This is Sabine. Sabine, this is Calla Price.”
Sabine stares at me, curiously, sadly.
“You’re the spitting image of your mother,” she tells me.
“I know,” I tell her, and my heart twinges because my mother is gone. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I offer her my hand, but she grasps it instead of shaking it. Stooping over, she examines it, her face mere inches from my palm. She grips me tight, unwilling to let me go, and I feel my pulse bounding wildly against her fingers.
Startled, I wait.
I don’t know what else to do.
The little woman is surprisingly strong, her grip holding me steady as she searches for something in my hand. She traces the veins and the ridges, her breath hot on my skin. Her face is so close to my palm that I can feel each time she exhales.
Finn coughs, and abruptly, Sabine drops my hand and straightens.
Her eyes meet mine and I see a thousand lifetimes in hers. They’re dark as obsidian, and unlike most elderly people, hers aren’t cloudy with age. She stares into me, and I feel like she’s literally sifting through my thoughts and looking into my soul.
It’s unsettling, and a chill runs up my spine, putting me on edge.
She glances at Dare, and nods ever so slightly.
If I didn’t know better, I would almost think he cringed.
What the hell?
But I don’t have time to ponder, because Sabine starts walking, leading us into the house.
“Come. Eleanor is waiting for you,” Sabine tells us solemnly over her shoulder as she uses much of her strength to open the heavy front doors.
Dare sighs. “I think we’d better freshen up first. It’s been a long flight, Sabby.”
The nanny looks sympathetic, but is unrelenting. “I’m sorry, Dare. She insists on seeing all three of you.”
Dare sighs again, but we obediently follow Sabine through lavish hallways. Over marble floors and lush rugs, through mahogany paneled halls and extravagant window dressings, beneath sparkling crystal chandeliers. My eyes are wide as we take it all in. I’ve never seen such a house in all my life, not even on TV.
But even as it is opulent, it’s silent.
It’s still.
It’s like living in a mausoleum.
We come to a stop in front of massive wooden doors, ornately carved. Sabine knocks on them twice, and a woman’s voice calls out from within.
