Chapter 4

                                                                            The lock

Nell woke on her third day at Haven House with her palm itching.

Not burning. Not painful. Just a strange, persistent itch in the center of her right hand, like something was trying to wake up under her skin.

She looked at her palm. Nothing there. Just the same pale skin, same faint lines, same old calluses from years of scrubbing floors.

She rubbed it against her blanket. The itching didn't stop.

She rubbed harder. Nothing.

She gave up and went downstairs.

Breakfast was louder today.

Finn was telling a long story about a frog he'd found in the garden. Rue was pretending not to listen but kept asking questions. Caleb poured tea with the same tired movements as always.

Lena sat at the head of the table, eating toast, watching everyone.

Nell sat in her usual spot the far end, away from the others. She picked at her oatmeal and tried not to scratch her palm.

"You're quiet this morning," Lena said.

Nell looked up. "Just tired."

"You've been tired for three days."

"I've been tired for eight years."

Lena's smile softened. "Fair enough."

She reached across the table and touched Nell's hand. Just a brush of fingers. Just for a second.

The itching stopped.

Nell stared at her palm. Then at Lena.

"What did you just do?"

Lena tilted her head. "I didn't do anything, dear."

"You touched my hand and the itching stopped."

"Maybe it was in your head." Lena picked up her toast. "The mind is a powerful thing."

Nell didn't believe her.

But she didn't say anything.

After breakfast, Nell went to the garden.

Silas was there, carving another bird. He looked up when she approached and moved his bucket slightly  making room for her to sit.

Nell sat.

They stayed like that for a while. The only sounds were the scrape of his knife and the wind through the dead trees.

"My palm was itching this morning," Nell said.

Silas's hands stopped moving.

"Lena touched it and the itching stopped."

Silas looked at her. His gray eyes were unreadable.

"She said it was in my head."

Silas set down his knife. Picked up his stick. Wrote in the dirt.

What do you think?

"I think she's lying."

Silas nodded slowly.

"Why would she lie about something so small?"

He wrote. Because small lies become big ones.

Nell stared at the words. Then at her palm.

"There's something on my hand," she said. "I can't see it. But I can feel it."

Silas didn't write anything. He just looked at her.

Then he reached over and pressed his palm against hers.

His hand was warm. Rough. Callused.

He held it there for a long moment.

Then he pulled away and wrote.

Be careful.

That afternoon, Nell found the basement door again.

She didn't mean to. She was trying to find the kitchen. But the hallways kept curving, kept turning, kept leading her back to the same dark corner at the end of the east wing.

The same heavy oak door. The same iron bands. The same new lock.

Nell stood in front of it.

She pressed her ear to the wood.

Nothing.

She pressed her palm to the wood.

Cold.

She wrapped her fingers around the lock and pulled.

It didn't budge.

"Looking for something?"

Nell spun around.

Rue stood behind her, arms crossed, gold-flecked eyes narrowed.

"I got lost," Nell said.

Rue laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. "You got lost. Three days in a row. At the same door."

"It's a big house."

"It's a small house. And that door is off limits."

"I didn't know."

"You know now." Rue stepped closer. Her voice dropped. "Walk away, Nell. Whatever you think is down there  walk away."

"Why?"

Rue's jaw tightened. "Because some doors don't open. And some that do you wish they hadn't."

She walked away, leaving Nell alone in the dark hallway.

That night, Nell pressed her ear to the floorboards.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"I'm here," she whispered.

"You shouldn't be." The voice was weaker tonight. Thinner. Like it was running out of air.

"Who are you?"

Silence.

"You said you had a wife. What was her name?"

A long pause. The chains rattled.

"Elara," the voice whispered.

The name hit Nell like a punch to the chest. She didn't know why. She'd never heard it before.

"Elara," she repeated. "That's beautiful."

"She was beautiful." The voice cracked. "She was everything."

"What happened to her?"

Footsteps in the hallway.

Not fast this time. Slow. Deliberate. Coming closer.

"She's gone," the voice said. "And it's my fault."

"Wait …"

The door to Nell's room burst open.

Lena stood in the doorway. Her eyes weren't brown.

They were gold.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked.

Nell's blood went cold. "No one. I was just …"

"Just what?"

"Just thinking out loud."

Lena walked into the room. Slow. Steady. Her eyes never left Nell's face.

"You've been thinking out loud a lot lately."

"Bad dreams."

"Bad dreams." Lena stopped in front of her. "About what?"

Nell's mind raced. "About my parents. About the store. About …"

"About the basement?"

The room went silent.

Nell's heart pounded.

Lena knelt down so their faces were level. Her gold eyes burned.

"There's nothing in the basement," Lena said. "Old pipes. Old wiring. Old dust. That's all."

"Then why is it locked?"

"Because I don't want anyone getting hurt."

Nell held her gaze. "Who would get hurt?"

Lena smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"You," she said. "You would get hurt."

She stood up. Walked to the door. Paused.

"Stay out of the basement, Nell. I'm trying to protect you."

She left.

Nell lay in the dark, her heart racing, her palm itching again.

Elara.

The name echoed in her head.

She didn't know why it mattered.

But it did.