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I whirled around. Simon stood behind me, watching me with curiosity. “Hi,” I said. “I was just... I needed to get away.”

“I get it,” Simon said. “Communing with the wall?”

“I think there’s a room on the other side,” I said.

Simon nodded slowly. “You think there might be a secret door along here?” He stepped up close to me, examining the same spot.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s in a different part of the hall. I don’t know.” Simon shouldn’t be wrapped up in this. I needed him to be looking after Mom.

“That’s why I’m here,” he assured me, and I realized I must have said that last bit aloud.

Except, no, I hadn’t. Like I hadn’t called for him the night Leopold died, but he came rushing out to help anyway. And the night in the hall with the Folded, when he should have been miles away. I stared at him. “Simon, is there something you need to tell me?”

He put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug. “The only thing I have to tell you is that I love you, and you’re going to be okay. You’re stronger than you know, Scout. I’m here for you. And for your mom.”

I believed him. I knew in my bones that Simon would do anything for us. The tiny splinter of distrust that had begun to work its way under my skin dissolved, and I leaned into him. “I don’t know what to do,” I said.

“I know. But you will. You’ll figure it out. I believe in you,” he said. “Now let’s get back to dinner. You have a toast to give.”

I wanted to stay and work out the secrets of this hidden corridor. But Simon was right. I had a toast to give, and appearances to maintain. It wasn’t just this house that was against me. It was the people in it—and I didn’t know which ones. I marched back up the hall, leaving its secrets intact—for now.

19

I MADE ITthrough the toast this time. And dessert. After that, blessedly, I was able to flee back to my room. I was too keyed up to rest, so I worked on the fox skull. I wired the jaw open so that it rested gape-mouthed on the desk. I knew there needed to be something inside its mouth, but I wasn’t sure what yet.

My head was starting to hurt again, and I still felt loose and achy. I made my way down to the kitchens and brewed myself a cup of tea, trying not to jump at every little noise in the cavernous space. You could feed an army out of the kitchen. I knew from photos that Harrowstone Hall used to host grand parties and all sorts of impressive guests, but it seemed like in the last decade or so the practice had fallen off.

I carried my tea back to my room, cupping my hands around its warmth. When I opened the door, I saw right away that there was something between the fox’s teeth, filling its mouth: dried foxgloves, positioned as if they had grown through its jaw and out between those sharp fangs.

I walked over slowly and touched one of the bell-shaped flowers. It was papery and delicate under my touch. Real, not a figment. And exactly what belonged there.

It was like the Other was begging me to understand what had happened—showing me Jessamine, showing me the flowers.

“I know,” I murmured. “I know what they did to her. I’m trying to stop them, I am.” But there were pieces I still didn’t know. Exactly what purpose did the girls’ death serve? Was there some kind of ritual? Or was it only that the beast was hungry, and they kept it fed?

Jessamine had asked me to find her. Or the Other had, using her form. Was I supposed to find Jessamine, or find the Other? Jessamine must have been buried.Buried where, though?I wondered. And if the shadows were digging up human bones, whose bones?

A light moved between the trees outside the window. A flashlight—someone was out there again. Who was breaking curfew? I thought of Roman out in the forest the night at the folly. Was he going out again?

My phone buzzed. A text from Desmond with a photo of a translated page attached.This is messed up, his text said. I pulled up the photo and squinted, reading Nicholas Vaughan’s now-familiar arch writing. There were two entries. The first was short but ominous:

With the observations Annalise has collected, I am confident she will be able to guide Mary to the black stars where the god dwells. But this will be useless unless the mind of the traveler is sufficiently altered; a human being in its raw state will not be able to properly comprehend the god. Further study is required.

The god of the vast dark. They wanted to see it and understand it. And somehow, this pursuit had brought them to the Other. Or brought it to them. I read the next entry, feeling sickening dread with each word.

Dr.Raymond is confident in his procedure: he has discovered a bundle of nerves within the brain, the severing of which will level utterly the solid wall of sense that keeps the human mind from stretching beyond its earthly confines. The surgery required is a delicate one, if comparatively minor—a few incisions into the brain are all that is necessary, but they must be precise. Mary has agreed to the procedure, more or less. At the least, I have not heard her object.

A few incisions to the brain? He was talking about a lobotomy.WTF???I sent Desmond.

Poor Mary.

Did they do it?I asked.

Working on it. But I think so.

My headache had turned into an ice pick through my eye. Running through the corridors had been a terrible idea.

A lobotomy.A procedure to divide, I thought. It was easy to imagine a knife cutting through my brain with my headache throbbing like this.