Ruth looked at my mother for a cue.
Mom waved at us. “Go on.”
Noah handed the wriggling dog off to Ruth. “I’ll give you the tour,” she said, and led my mother away.
I had no idea how long the tour or their conversation or this meeting would last, so I urged Noah up the wide, curving staircase and raced behind him to his room, taking no time to enjoy the view.
Once we arrived, though, I couldn’t help but stare. At his low, simple modern bed, an island in the middle of a neat sea of books. At the floor-to-ceiling windows that splashed amber sunlight onto the shelves that lined his room. It felt like forever since I was last in here, and I missed it.
“What?” Noah asked, when he noticed I hadn’t moved.
I stepped inside. “I wish I could live here,” I said. I wished I could stay.
“No, you don’t.”
“Fine,” I said, my eyes drawn to all the spines. “I wish I had your room.”
“It’s not a terrible consolation prize, I’ll admit.”
“I wish we could make out in your bed.”
Noah sighed. “As do I, but I’m afraid we have a ritual burning to conduct.”
“It’s always something.”
“Isn’t it though?” Noah retrieved the doll from his desk in the alcove, and I finally tore my eyes from the books, ready to get this show on the road. Noah led me to one of probably a dozen unused sitting rooms; the walls were mint green and dotted with ornate brass sconces; there was some furniture, but it was all covered in sheets.
Noah handed me the doll and began to search the room. I immediately set it down on the arm of what appeared to be a chair. I didn’t want to touch it.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“I am preparing to start a fire.” He was opening and closing drawers.
“Don’t you still smoke?”
“Not around your parents,” Noah said, still rummaging. “But yes.”
“You don’t have matches on you?”
“A lighter, usually.” Then Noah looked up, mid-crouch. “My father had the fireplaces rewired for gas. I’m looking for the remote.”
The statement dashed my fantasy of throwing a match onto the crude doll and watching it burn. Until I approached the fireplace, that is. The logs looked awfully real.
“Um, Noah?”
“What?”
“You sure it’s gas?”
He walked to the fireplace then and removed the screen. “Apparently not. Shit.”
“What?”
“They might smell an actual fire all the way down there. I don’t know.”
I didn’t care. I wanted this over with. “We’ll think of something.” I picked up the doll from the chair with two fingers, pinching its wrist. I held it out in front of me. “Light it up.”
Noah considered it for a moment, but shook his head and turned to leave. “Wait here.”
I dropped the doll on the floor. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long; Noah returned in short order with lighter fluid and kitchen matches in arm. He approached the fireplace and struck a match. The smell of sulfur filled the air.
“Go on,” he said, once the fire was set.
Showtime. I picked the doll up off the floor and threw it into the flames, swelling with relief as they consumed it. But then the air filled with a bitter, familiar smell.
Noah made a face. “What is that?”
“It smells like . . .” It took me a few seconds to finally place it. “Like burning hair,” I finally said.
We were both quiet after that. We watched the fire and waited until the doll’s arms melted into nothing and the head blackened and fell off. But then I noticed something curl up in the flames. Something that didn’t look like cloth.
“Noah . . .”
“I see it.” His voice was resigned.
I took a step closer. “Is that—”
“It’s paper,” Noah said, confirming my fear.
I swore. “We have to put it out!”
Noah shrugged languidly. “It’ll be gone by the time I bring back water.”
“Go anyway! Jesus.”
Noah turned on his heel and left as I crouched over the fireplace, trying to see more clearly. The paper inside the doll was still burning. I leaned in even closer; the heat lit my skin, bringing color to my cheeks as I moved closer— “Move,” Noah said. I drew back and Noah doused the flames. Steam rose and hissed from the logs.
I immediately reached toward the dying embers, hopeful that maybe some part of the paper escaped unscathed, but Noah placed a firm hand on my waist. “Careful,” he said, drawing me back.
“But—”
“Whatever it was,” he said firmly, “it’s gone now.”
I was stung by regret. What if it was something important? Something from my grandmother?
What if it had something to do with me?
I closed my eyes and tried to stop punishing myself. There was nothing I could do about the paper now, but at least the doll was gone. I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore and Jude wouldn’t be able to scare me with it anymore. That was worth something.
That was worth a lot.