“Were you having nightmares?” my mom asked quietly.
I used to have nightmares a lot growing up. I think it had something to do with the bullying at school. I’d lie awake for a while thinking about the things they’d said and what I should have done differently and how I wished I looked like Portia Carson, and when I finally slipped off, I would dream of shadowy things attacking me or falling off cliffs or just waking up alone. I also had lots of dreams of losing Tom, which isn’t good for an overprotective sister. Needless to say I’d woken up screaming or crying a whole bunch of times in my life, and my mom or Stache would come in and wait with me until I went back to sleep.
“I was in the closet,” I pointed out.
She shrugged. “I thought maybe you went to hide in there.”
“I stopped doing that when I was ten,” I muttered. “I’m fine.”
She gently took my hand. “You know, Laura, I’m really proud of you.”
“What for?” I asked, frowning.
“You didn’t complain once about this move. And you went to school today and you were brave and you made new friends. You know your father wanted to renovate and I had a little…thing with Brenda, but that’s not the only reason we moved. We also moved because we wanted to give you a fresh start. A chance to make friends and get away from that awful Portia Carson. And here you are doing just what I had hoped for.”
I glanced at her. “You moved here for me?”
She nodded. “It was part of the reason, to be sure.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said quietly.
She leaned over and hugged me. “Well, now you do. Get some sleep, honey.”
“Will do.” I thought of something as she started for the door. “Mom?”
She looked back.
“Thanks,” I said.
She smiled and closed the door behind her. I thought about what she said for a moment, and then decided I had better try to get some sleep. I took a quick look out my window, saw nothing, and then plopped onto my bed, staring at the stucco ceiling. Monsters took shape in the pits and I turned on my side, pulling the blanket up to my eyes and huddling there like I used to when I was a kid. I knew one thing for sure.
Eighth grade was going to be even more interesting than I thought.
Chapter Eight
When I woke up the next morning, I rolled out of bed, blinking sleepily. It had been at least 5:30 a.m. when I finally drifted off, which meant I’d only slept for about an hour and a half. I was so tired that for just a second I forgot all about the secret door in my closet.
But it all came rushing back as soon as I looked over at my window and saw the thick canopy rustling in the wind, just visible through the opening in my new curtains.
It could have been a dream, I decided. As long as the secret door in my closet was gone, I would never have to think about monster crushing again. So I tiptoed across my room, fairly certain that the door would have vanished with the arrival of morning. I snuck a peek inside the closet and then knelt down beside the panel and felt for the little catch. The catch popped inward and the panel swung right open just like it had last night.
Once again I was staring into the elevator, the lever beckoning for me to pull it.
“Okay then,” I said, quickly closing the panel.
It’s not too late stared back at me as I shut it.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I muttered.
I grabbed a pair of faded old jeans and a blue T-shirt that would have inevitably led to some sort of blue whale reference at my old school and then hurried back out of the closet, shutting the door firmly behind me. After changing, I opened my newly installed brown curtains all the way to let some sunlight in. It was too fast to be sure, but I thought I saw big, yellow eyes instantly vanish in the woods. The same eyes that had emerged from the darkness in the mural in Arnwell Castle. Monster eyes.
I wanted to tell my parents about the secret door. Or at least Tom. But I remembered Eldon’s ominous warning, and the threat in his cold blue eyes, so I just went downstairs like everything was perfectly normal. I did not want to make enemies of Eldon and his scary hooded warriors. I just wanted them to leave me alone. I did tuck the dusty old book into my backpack on the way—just in case I had some time to read it at school. Something told me that it might be a good idea to read as much of that guide as possible.
And if the door did rattle, I was going through. I had to tell them they had the wrong girl.
Tom was already sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. He always ate the exact same thing: an English muffin with strawberry jam. Not sure where he got that, but I decided to join him today.
“Jam’s in the refrigerator door,” Tom said absently.
He freaked me out when he read my mind like that.
“Ready for day two?” I asked, grabbing the jam.
“Yeah,” he said casually. “Day one was pretty good. You?”
“Same,” I replied, loading an English muffin into the toaster. “I managed to make a couple of friends, so I can’t complain. Where’s Mom?”
“Getting ready,” Tom said. “She seems nervous.”
My mom was starting at a new salon today, and she didn’t always get along with other women, so it was sort of a recipe for disaster.
“I am not nervous,” my mom said, storming into the kitchen.
Her blond hair was meticulously combed and curled and complemented by two shimmering gold earrings. She tended to fake tan once
