Em pounced. “But what?”
“There are a few things in the attic,” she said. “Like, an old box . . . I dunno. Do you know what you’re looking for?”
She didn’t, of course. She had no clue what she was looking for. But her heart leaped. Because she had a feeling she’d know it when she saw it. Em envisioned a velvet diary with a tiny padlock, or an old-fashioned safe hidden behind an Impressionist painting. Something in which to hide dangerous, black secrets.
“This is crazy,” ?Skylar added, “but Nora was always really weird around Meg. Like, even worse than she was around you . . . It did almost seem like Nora knew Meg was . . . bad. I guess it’s possible she knew something about all this. It wouldn’t surprise me. . . . ”
Skylar stood and Em followed her into the kitchen, where they got a flashlight from a drawer, and then up two flights of stairs to the third floor, and helped her pull on a string that hung from the ceiling in the hallway. ?Down came a short, creaky ladder that led up to a drafty attic. Em watched Skylar ascend, then push up a trapdoor and disappear in the darkness. Em followed once it was clear, testing out her weight. The ladder was old but seemed reliable enough. When she got to the top and heaved herself onto the wood floor, the trapdoor sprang down and closed behind it.
“Freaky,” Em said in the darkness.
“Yeah, me and Nora couldn’t find the rod that’s supposed to keep it propped open.”
“So there aren’t there any lights up here?”
“That’s what the flashlight is for,” Skylar said, clicking hers on.
Em found herself squeezing in between headless dress forms and boxes of old clothing. There were hatboxes on every surface, and an empty baby carriage sat in a corner. A row of masks was hung along one wall. The effect was freaky—Em felt like there were a dozen sets of eyes boring into her no matter where she turned. When her shoulder brushed against one of the dress forms, she involuntarily jumped.
“My aunt used to be a costume designer,” Skylar offered as explanation. “That’s why she has all this theater stuff. She’s going to do the costumes for Ned’s play.”
“I heard you were in that,” Em said, relieved to speak about something normal, everyday, even if only for a minute. It helped distract her from the creeping anxiety she felt, and from the weirdness of all those pale masks mounted on the wall.
She was tempted to add that she’d also heard that JD was doing the lights for the show. She felt a fluttering in her chest when she imagined him stringing lights, sleeves rolled up, brow slightly furrowed, as it always was when he worked on his car. She loved that about him—that he knew how to do things with his hands, that he was so smart but also such a guy. Part of her was dying to ask Skylar for any crumb of a detail—what JD 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.”