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Prologue
Daphne
Why won’t Mama let me share a bedroom with my sisters? I’m scared. Of this house and all the things alive inside of it. I’m only nine, but I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t scared. When it gets dark outside, and Mama makes us go to bed, it’s like the house comes to life—and tortures us.
Brielle sees the ghosts. They’re shadows to her, and they follow her around, tormenting her. Millie feels the spirits and can see some of them, too. It happens all the time for them, not just at night. But it’s worse in the dark—so much worse.
I can see the past when I touch things, feel how a person felt when they held whatever I am. I can see the spirits too, but only when I’m in direct contact with things. I try to be careful not to touch stuff, but it’s impossible. I have to sit. I need to walk on floors and open doors. Eat. Play.
Brielle says there are other people like us, those who might be able to help us, but Mama won’t let us talk about it. She beats us if she hears us whispering about it.
I wince when I turn over in bed. My arm still hurts from where Mama shook me this morning. I didn’t want to use the bowl she put in front of me because Daddy used to use it, and all I see is anger. Meanness. Hate.
I tried to tell her, but she just hurt me.
My bed hurts me, too. The springs are coming through the mattress even though I put a blanket down to try and make it softer. Brielle’s bed is better. And, sometimes, I sneak into her room so I can sleep with her.
I know he’s in here with me. He thinks it’s funny to watch me sleep, to make me scared. He did it when he was alive, too. I try to keep my eyes closed, to ignore him, but it’s hard.
I crack them open and let out a yelp before I slam my hand over my mouth to stop the sound.
His face is inches from mine. His eyes shine in the dark, and his teeth are dirty and crooked. He’s big and hairy and horrible.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
I fling the dirty blankets back and run for the door, easing it open and praying that Mama doesn’t hear me. And then I hurry as fast as I can down the hall into Brielle’s room.
“Come on,” she whispers and holds up her blankets for me. I slip in next to her and cling to her, shivering. “What happened?”
“He was in my face,” I whisper back and bury my nose in her neck. “He was smiling in that horrible way he does. It scares me.”
“I know.” She rubs my back. She’s only fourteen, but she’s an adult in all the ways that matter. She takes care of Millie and me. Someday, when she’s eighteen, she’s going to take us out of here so we never have to come back.
I wish that was today.
I wish it with all my heart.
“Millie’s coming,” Brielle whispers.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
The door opens again, and Millie hurries to the bed, joining us under the covers.
“Daddy?” I ask her.
“Why won’t he leave?” she whimpers. “Why won’t he just leave?”
“Because he’s mean,” Brielle replies softly. “Now, stay quiet. We don’t want Mama to find us in here together, remember?”
We go quiet, huddled together in the bed, listening to the house around us—all of its creaks and moans. Footsteps.
A door shuts down the hall.
“That’s not Mama,” Millie says and buries her face in my hair. “Not Daddy, either.”
“Who is it?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. Never seen this one before.”
I chew on my lip. “Why are there more? So many more.”
“I don’t know,” Brielle says. “Maybe Daddy’s bringing them here from the other side.”
My eyes fill with tears as we hear the footsteps growing closer.
“Make it stop.”
* * *
“I’m Jackson Pruitt.”
This boy, lean with dark hair and eyes, stands taller than me by at least half a foot. He has big hands. Men usually scare me. I don’t trust them.
But Jackson’s eyes are kind, and when I take the hand he offers to shake, I feel…warm.
“Daphne,” I reply softly. “Daphne Landry.”
“Millie’s younger sister,” he says with a smile, and I nod.
Since Brielle moved us out of Mama’s house, it’s safe to talk about our gifts. Millie found an actual coven to be a part of. Like, she’s a real witch! That’s still crazy to me. And she said that we’re all invited to come and meet the people she knows. Millie says they’re really nice.
And so far, she’s been right.
“Yeah, Millie’s my sister,” I reply. I hate that I’m so shy. I wish I could talk to people easily like Brielle can, but I always feel awkward.
