“Welcome home, boy,” she says in a deep gravely voice. “I’ve missed you.”
Dare pulls away and glances at me, and I can see on his face that Sabine is important. At least to him. “This is Sabine. She was my nanny growing up. And your mother’s nanny, too. Sabine, this is Calla Price.”
Sabine stares at me, curiously, sadly.
“You’re the spitting image of your mother,” she tells me.
“I know,” I tell her, and my heart twinges because my mother is gone. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I offer her my hand, but she grasps it instead of shaking it. Stooping over, she examines it, her face mere inches from my palm. She grips me tight, unwilling to let me go, and I feel my pulse bounding wildly against her fingers.
Startled, I wait.
I don’t know what else to do.
The little woman is surprisingly strong, her grip holding me steady as she searches for something in my hand. She traces the veins and the ridges, her breath hot on my skin. Her face is so close to my palm that I can feel each time she exhales.
If Finn were here, he’d be laughing so hard right now.
But he’s not, and so there’s no one to share this hilarity with, because even though he wishes it weren’t true, Dare fits in here. He’s one of them and I’m not.
Abruptly, Sabine drops my hand and straightens.
Her eyes meet mine and I see a thousand lifetimes in hers. They’re dark as obsidian, and unlike most elderly people, hers aren’t cloudy with age. She stares into me, and I feel like she’s literally sifting through my thoughts and looking into my soul.
It’s unsettling, and a chill runs up my spine, putting me on edge.
She glances at Dare, and nods ever so slightly.
If I didn’t know better, I would almost think he cringed.
What the hell?
But I don’t have time to ponder, because Sabine starts walking, leading us into the house.
“Come. Eleanor is waiting for you,” Sabine tells us solemnly over her shoulder as she uses much of her strength to open the heavy front doors.
Dare sighs. “I think we’d better freshen up first. It’s been a long flight, Sabby.”
The nanny looks sympathetic, but is unrelenting. “I’m sorry, Dare. She insists on seeing you both.”
Dare sighs again, but we obediently follow Sabine through lavish hallways. Over marble floors and lush rugs, through mahogany paneled halls and extravagant window dressings, beneath sparkling crystal chandeliers. My eyes are wide as we take it all in. I’ve never seen such a house in all my life, not even on TV.
But even as it is opulent, it’s silent.
It’s still.
It’s like living in a mausoleum.
We come to a stop in front of massive wooden doors, ornately carved. Sabine knocks on them twice, and a woman’s voice calls out from within.
“Enter.”
How eerily formal.
Sabine opens the doors, and we are immediately enveloped by an overwhelmingly large study, painted in rich colors and patinas, encircled with wooden shelves filled by hundreds and hundreds of leather-bound books.
A woman sits at the heavy cherry desk, facing us with her back to the windows.
Her face is stern, her hair is faded, but I can see that it used to be red. It’s pulled into a severe chignon, not one strand out of place. Her cashmere sweater is buttoned all the way to the top, decorated by one single strand of pearls. Her unadorned hands are folded in front of her and she’s waiting.
Waiting for us.
How long has she been waiting? Months? Years?
For a reason that I can’t explain, I feel suffocated. The room seems to close in on me, and I’m frozen. Dare has to literally pull me, then pull me harder, just to make me move.
I feel like I can’t breathe, like if I approach her, something bad will happen.
Something terrible.
It’s a ridiculous thought, and Dare glances at me out of the corner of his eye.
We come to a stop in front of the desk.
“Eleanor,” he says tightly.