Eternity

wore, what jokes he made onset, if he talked to other girls—but another part of her was too proud to even mention his name, and too afraid that if she did, everything would come out.

Em felt a draft and turned to find its source. There, in the slightly open attic window, she saw a creepy porcelain doll. It was missing half its hair, and in the moonlight, it almost seemed as though the doll was watching her. “Here it is,” Skylar said, pointing to a wooden trunk with the name NORA inscribed on the top. “We were up here earlier this week looking for Greek robes, and Nora freaked when I tried to open the trunk. She practically jumped down my throat.” She added, “It’s locked, though.”

Em dug into her pocket for a bobby pin. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. But I have broken into a school locker using a library card. . . . She was becoming quite the cat burglar.

They kneeled down in front of the trunk.

At first, the pin did nothing. It twisted loosely, uselessly, in the keyhole. Em jabbed and jabbed, licking her lips with concentration, feeling her throat get hot with frustration.

“Here, want me to try?” Skylar asked. Em willingly gave up her tool in exchange for flashlight-holding duties. With pursed lips, Skylar bent down and jiggered with the latch for a few seconds. Then it snapped free. “My mom used to lose her keys a lot,” she said by way of explanation.

The trunk’s heavy lid creaked as they eased it up and open. The stream of light from the flashlight’s bulb illuminated, at the very top of the chest was a gold snake pendant lying on top of a lacy piece of white fabric. Without thinking, she reached out and touched it. Pain shot through her palm, all the way up to her shoulder. She gasped and shrunk backward, hand throbbing, as if from an electric shock.

“I’ve seen that before. . . . ” Skylar said, frowning, as though trying to remember. Then she nodded. “My aunt tried to give it to me. Or at least, something like it. I lost it in the woods the night of my bonfire party in the Haunted Woods.”

“Drea had one. . . . ” Em said, struggling to get the words through her strangled throat. “Sasha had one. I had one.”

Skylar picked up the pendant and twirled it in her hand. “What’s it for?”

“I think . . . I think some people believe it helps to ward off the Furies,” Em said. Her hand still stung, but it was worth the pain. This was a clue. Surely this was a sign that she was right, and that Nora did have information about the Furies. “I’m not sure how well it works. Let’s see what else is in here.” She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Skylar put the snake pin down.

They sifted through the next few layers in Nora’s trunk. Several antique books about flowers, and one about mythology—Em recognized it as a title she’d seen in her research. A few pieces of clothing, a shawl, a silvery top, a pair of ladies’ gloves. There was a stack of photographs wrapped in ribbon at the bottom of the chest.

“That’s my aunt,” Skylar said, directing the light onto the photo at the top of the pile. It was a picture of three women smiling.

Em peered closer. She definitely recognized Skylar’s aunt, but she also knew one of the women next to her: it was the angry librarian from the Antiquities Library at the University of Southern Maine. Em and Drea had had an unfortunate run-in with her; once she learned that they were researching the Furies, she had kicked them out unceremoniously.

“I know that woman,” Em said.

“That’s Hannah Markwell.” Skylar took the picture and held it near her face. “She’s a librarian, I think. She’s a friend of my aunt’s. They geek out over books together.” Skylar rolled her eyes and for a second, Mini-Me Gabby was back.

The third woman was also a brunette. A pretty smile, a strong nose, striking features, but there were worry lines around her eyes. She looked so familiar. Em turned over the picture to see if there was more information on the back. Just three names—Nora, Hannah, and Edie.

Edie. The name rang a faint bell. . . . Em sat there for a moment, puzzling over the photograph. Looking at it seemed to spark an inexplicable feeling of deja vu. She stared into the static eyes of the third woman, willing herself to remember. And then it came to her, so obvious that she was appalled that she hadn’t seen it immediately. This woman was the spitting image of Drea.

“Oh my god,” she said softly. “Give me that,” she said, grabbing for the flashlight.

Skylar looked up from a pile of yellowing papers and handed it over. “What is it?”

“This woman, Edie . . . She was Drea’s mom.” Em licked her lips. Her mouth felt suddenly dry. “Drea believed she was a victim of the Furies, years ago. And Nora knew her.” Em looked up. “I was right, see? Nora must know about them.” Her heartbeat picked up again. “We need to talk to her as soon as possible. When does she get home?”

“If she knew how to stop them, don’t you think she would have already?” Skylar asked softly. Her wig was slightly off-center, exposing her cheeks and her scars: fine and fissured, as though her skin had been covered in spiderwebs. Hearing the hurt and abandonment in Skylar’s voice, Em felt ashamed.

She reached out impulsively and squeezed Skylar’s hand. “She might not know how to stop them,” she said, “but any help is better than none.”

Skylar nodded. “Okay. I’ll call you when she gets back.”

Em slipped the black-and-white photo into her purse. She felt the impulse to keep it as a token. An unspoken promise to Drea that she would win this fight.

Em looked up as she got to her feet, panning the flashlight back and forth. As she did, the light fell on a doll’s face and Em swore she saw the doll blink at her—the eyelids lowering once over those dark, glassy eyes. There was a distant sound of silvery laughter and a gust of wind that came through—suddenly, violently—and made the doll propel forward and fall facefirst onto the floor. Em’s heart rate surged as the flashlight slipped from her hand and the light went out once it hit the floor. Her muscles turned to jelly. They were in complete darkness.

“Oh my god!” Skylar screamed, groping for the flashlight. “Where is it? Where’s the light? I can’t find it!”

Was the doll moving? It was hard for Em to tell in the pale moonlight. The slumped figure seemed to shift ever so slightly, causing Em to recoil. She backed up into the standing dress forms, all of which teetered on their bases from the impact. “Never mind the light,” Em said. “Find the door. Where’s the door?!”

Em tried to pull Skylar to her feet but she wrenched away from Em’s grip—reaching blindly into the dark spaces between boxes. “No, no, I see it!” Em watched Skylar’s tiny frame practically disappear behind a box, only to reappear with the flashlight in hand. But it wouldn’t turn on, and Skylar stood there, shaking it violently as if willing it to work. Em kept her eye trained on the lifeless doll, which seemed to inch closer every moment she wasn’t watching it

“Let’s go,” Em said, yanking on Skylar’s wrist and leading her through the makeshift aisle between boxes—many of which were knocked over in their panic. The attic was so cluttered. Em stopped short, approximating where the door should’ve been. Then another gust, even stronger than the first, followed by a splintering crash. Em screamed and dropped to the floor, running her hand over the wood planks.

“Skylar, is it here? How the hell do we open this?”

“There’s a round handle that looks like a knocker.”

“I need the light!” Em said. She couldn’t control her voice and could feel it rising.

“I know, but I can’t get it on!” Skylar yelped. The wind blew through again and Em’s hair whipped around her head—getting into her mouth and eyes. She grabbed the flashlight and shook it violently. Finally: a beam of light. She panned the floor and found the handle—wrought-iron and ornate. Skylar dropped to her knees and pulled, but it wouldn’t give.

“It’s stuck. Oh god. We’re trapped!”

“Let me try,” Em said, pushing her aside. With one hand she pulled and it sprang open with a thud. “Go!” she yelled at Skylar, who tumbled through and nearly fell rushing down the ladder. Em followed closely behind, glancing once more at the doll, whose head was cocked on the floor at an awkward angle, one eye wide open, staring at her.

* * *

Back at her house, Em forced down a few bites of late-night chicken and pasta with her father, struggling to