“It is scary to think of what could’ve happened,” I said, feeling anxious. “Like, what if you had fallen down the stairs and no one was there?”
“We could lock you inside your room, if you want.” Keira said. “There’s a key in the desk drawers.”
“Good to know. Hopefully it won’t get to that point.” Poppy jumped up. “I’d better get back to work. But thanks for the support, ladies!” She tugged my ponytail as she walked by. “And thanks for rescuing me, Alex. You’re the best.”
“Sure.” I watched her go, still feeling uneasy. I liked Poppy. Even though she and Wren were close, she’d never been anything other than friendly to me. It was even hard to imagine her telling Wren what I’d said that first day, when—according to Wren—I’d been “talking shit.” Then again, part of my initial problem had been naivete, putting my trust in people who would, at some point, betray me.
“Bizarre, huh.” Keira’s voice broke into my thoughts.
I followed her gaze to the doorway. “You mean Poppy?”
“Yeah.” She set down her toast. “She hasn’t sleepwalked since she was a kid, and now it starts up again?”
“It was pretty disturbing,” I said, “seeing her like that.”
“You were up that late? Writing?”
“Oh, no. I woke up. I’m a pretty light sleeper.”
“Any dreams?” Keira’s gaze was intense.
“Last night?”
“In general.” She sighed. “I’ve been sleeping terribly. And having nightmares.”
“About what?” I could only remember the sex dream, and I definitely wasn’t sharing that.
“I’m not quite sure.” She screwed up her eyes. “I just remember flashes. Being outside in the snow. I’m all wet and someone’s dragging me by the arms. Then… being in this dark place. It’s freezing. And there’s this smell…”
I waited for her to go on, but after trailing off she stared at her plate.
“You okay?” I touched her arm and she jumped.
“Yeah.” She smiled without teeth. “I’m fine. I’m just stressed-out, I think.”
“It’s a lot of pressure.” This was one of the few times Keira had opened up to me, one of the few times we’d even been alone together.
“It is.” She stood abruptly and went to the window. “There’s a storm coming this weekend. Chitra told me yesterday. It’s supposed to be pretty big.”
Just as quickly as Keira had started opening up to me, she’d closed again. I felt a small tug of disappointment.
“A storm over Valentine’s Day, huh?” I turned and looked out the window too. Snow had fallen the night before, and suddenly a branch shook and released a load onto the ground. “You think Roza will want to celebrate? Maybe she’ll get us chocolates or something.”
“Maybe.” Keira looked back at me with a humorless smirk. “Just watch out for razor blades.”
* * *
The next three days melted into each other, interchangeable and Groundhog Day–like. Write, eat, meet, repeat. The only parts that stood out were our evenings in the parlor. Roza had given up on the games and let us talk. Rather, she talked, sharing tales of her extensive travels, including exploring the Odessa Catacombs in the Ukraine and the Island of the Dolls in Mexico City. Wren and I tolerated each other like two haughty cats, staying out of each other’s way. After Roza, Taylor and Wren were the most loquacious, and even I found myself chuckling at some of Wren’s more recent travel and work stories. The flickering candlelight and the wine got everyone into a relaxed, almost loopy state. I kept an eye on Keira, but though she remained somewhat reserved, she also seemed serene. I didn’t want to ask about her nightmares in front of everyone, but I wondered if they’d stopped.
The day before Valentine’s Day, it started to snow harder. At my desk, I watched the swirls of flakes fling themselves against the window. Daphne was about to meet Lamia. For some reason I felt nervous about writing the scene. I didn’t want to mess it up.
“Hey!” Taylor leaned in my open door. “You busy?”
“I could use a break.” I turned my chair around. “Come on in.”
“Chitra just made oatmeal raisin cookies.” She strolled in and handed me one wrapped in a paper towel. “I had a feeling you might want a snack.”
“I absolutely do. Thanks.” I took it gratefully, my stomach rumbling at the buttery scent. I wondered why Taylor had really stopped by; it was the first time she’d sought me out.
“Almost halfway through the trip.” Taylor settled on the floor, her back against the bed. “Can you believe it?”
“Not at all.” I took a bite. “It’s just flying by.”
“How’s the writing going?” She pushed back her blond hair. By now the vestiges of the green dye had disappeared.
“Good.” I smiled. “Daphne’s going to meet Lamia today.”
“Oooh. The demoness?”
“Yup.”
“Lucky.” Taylor grinned.
“I don’t know about that.” I chuckled.
Taylor played with her gold necklace. She’d continued wearing it every day like a good-luck charm. “So what’s your take on Daphne?”
I crossed my legs, leaning sideways against the seat back. “How do you mean?”
“Well.” Taylor shrugged. “All the channeling stuff. Was she making it up? Or did she really believe it?”
“It was real. I mean, to Daphne.”
“So she was delusional? Or do you believe in Lamia too?”
I laughed. “That’s a good question. In the book I play it straight: that Lamia is real, that she exists. That she’s not just some figment of Daphne’s imagination. And you know, Lamia is real in a sense. She was in the Greek myths, this woman who turned into a monster after Hera forced her to eat her own children.”
“That’s dark,” Taylor said.
“Yeah. One of the books I looked at theorized that Daphne must’ve read about Lamia and connected with her because they were both childless and ostracized. When Daphne channeled Lamia, she was actually tapping into an unconscious and unacceptable part of her own self.”
“That’s an interesting theory.” Taylor tilted her head.
“It is. But… I’m not sure if it’s the full story. Part of me’s satisfied with that explanation, and part of me’s not. I don’t know if I believe in female demons, necessarily. But you heard what happened to me in the woods. That thing—whatever it is—was there.”
“So you think there may have been something supernatural going on.”
“Maybe.” I felt a tinge of embarrassment admitting this.
“Fair enough.” Taylor nodded. “I was curious because I’ve heard that old-timey spiritualism was all just a way for women to gain power. Which is pretty fucked-up. That in order to have a voice they had to pretend to channel someone else’s.”
“I know.” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t imagine living back then.”