Chapter 5

                                                                             The Name

Nell didn't sleep after Lena left.

She lay in bed with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling, her palm itching and burning by turns. The name Elara kept circling through her head like a song she couldn't forget.

She whispered it to herself in the dark.

"Elara."

The word felt strange in her mouth. Familiar and foreign at the same time. Like something she'd known once and forgotten.

She didn't know anyone named Elara.

So why did it hurt to say?

The next morning, Nell went to the library.

She needed answers. Not about the basement not yet. About the name.

The library was small and dusty, with shelves that hadn't been touched in years. Books on every subject : history, geography, old wolf laws, something called The Code of the Moon. Nell pulled books at random, scanning pages, looking for any mention of Elara.

Nothing.

She pulled more books. Still nothing.

She was reaching for a book on the top shelf when a voice behind her said, "You're going to bring the whole thing down."

Nell turned.

Rue stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her.

"I'm looking for something," Nell said.

"Clearly."

"Have you ever heard the name Elara?"

Rue's face went still. Just for a second. Then her expression smoothed back into its usual mask of boredom.

"No," she said. "Should I have?"

"I don't know. I heard it somewhere. I thought maybe it was a wolf thing."

Rue shrugged. "Not every name is a wolf thing." She turned to leave, then paused. "Why are you really in here?"

Nell thought about lying. What was the point?

"Because I can't stop thinking about the basement," she said. "And no one will tell me what's down there."

Rue was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Maybe there's nothing down there."

"There's something."

"How do you know?"

Nell touched her chest. Right over her heart. "I can feel it."

Rue looked at her for a long moment. Something flickered in her gold-flecked eyes something that looked almost like fear.

"Feelings lie," Rue said.

She walked away.

Nell watched her go, then turned back to the books.

She didn't find Elara.

But she found something else.

A photograph, tucked between the pages of an old history book. Black and white. Worn at the edges. A woman with long dark hair and a tired smile, standing in front of a house that looked like Haven House.

On the back, in faded handwriting: Elara, 16 winters.

Nell's hands shook.

The woman in the photograph had her eyes.

She found Silas in the garden.

He was carving again : a bird with its wings spread, like it was about to fly. He looked up when she approached and must have seen something in her face, because he set down his knife immediately.

Nell sat on the ground beside him. Held out the photograph.

"Who is this?"

Silas looked at the picture. His gray eyes went wide.

He picked up his stick and wrote.

Where did you find this?

"In the library. Between the pages of an old book."

Silas stared at the photograph for a long time. His hands trembled.

Elara,he wrote.

"You know her?"

He nodded.

She lived here. Long ago.

"What happened to her?"

Silas looked at her. His eyes were wet.

She died.

"How?"

He didn't write anything. He just shook his head.

"Silas, please. I need to know."

He picked up his stick and wrote one word.

Lena.

Nell's blood went cold. "Lena killed her?"

Silas didn't answer. He didn't need to.

The photograph slipped from Nell's fingers and landed in the dirt.

Elara had her eyes.

Elara had died here.

And Lena was the reason.

That night, Nell didn't press her ear to the floorboards.

She sat on her bed with the photograph in her hands, staring at the woman with her eyes.

Elara, 16 winters.

She looked younger than Nell. Maybe fifteen. Maybe fourteen. Her smile was tired, like she'd already seen too much.

She lived here. Long ago.

She died.

Lena.

Nell's palm itched. She scratched it. The itching didn't stop.

She scratched harder. Still didn't stop.

She was about to wrap her hand in a cloth when she saw it.

A mark.

Small. Crescent-shaped. Right in the center of her palm.

She didn't remember getting it.

She rubbed at it. It didn't fade.

She washed her hands. It stayed.

She pressed her palm to the cold window glass. The mark pulsed once  warm, then cold  like a heartbeat that didn't belong to her.

Nell stared at it.

"What are you?" she whispered.

The mark didn't answer.

But somewhere below her, deep in the basement, chains rattled.