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“I know it’s always been hard for you to make friends,” she said carefully.

I made a choked sound, halfway to a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.” I’d never had a friend. Not since I left school. I hadn’t needed to learn that lesson more than once. “They don’t look at me like other people do. Like they know there’s something wrong with me.”

“That’s because there’s nothing wrong with you,” Mom said fiercely.

“You know that isn’t true,” I replied. “It has something to do with Harrow, doesn’t it? The reason I’m like this. It’s why we left.”

“We left because it wasn’t safe,” she said, staring straight out ahead.

“What wasn’t?” I pressed.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. She spoke slowly, each word considered. “Harrow is not like other places. Our family is not like other families. But it’s different with you. It’s always been different. I don’t know why. Like the house was... more awake, maybe.”

“You make it sound like it’s haunted,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“No,” she replied, soft and distant. “There are no ghosts at Harrow.”

I slowed to a halt. She stopped as well, turning toward me.

“Something happened to me here, didn’t it?” I asked. “And we left, but it wasn’t enough.”

“I don’tknow,” Mom repeated. She shook her head in frustration. “Helen, I don’tremember.” She put her hands to her face. “I never should have come today. It was selfish and stupid.”

“It’s not selfish to go to your own father’s funeral,” I told her, my voice cracking.

“Well, I’m fixing my mistake. We’re leaving. Now,” Mom said.

“Already?” I asked, surprised.

“Don’t you want to leave?” she asked.

I hesitated. All day I’d felt that push and pull—fear of this place pitted against the hope that, by coming here, I would finally find some answers. “I don’t want to stay,” I said. “But I’m afraid that if I leave, I will never know what’s wrong with me. Or how to fix it.”

This time, she didn’t tell me that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. She pulled me in tight instead, her hand on my hair, my cheek pressed against her sternum. “I’m so afraid, Helen. I don’t know why. I just have this sense, like—like this place will devour you, if it can,” she whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I could hear her heart beating, fast and frantic. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, and felt her sag with relief.

We went back in through the ballroom and made our way to the foyer, where everyone was shedding their coats and chatting among themselves. Caleb, Iris, and Victoria stood apart from the others.

“It’s time for us to go,” Mom said as we approached them.

“He’s barely in the ground. You could stay for dinner, at least,” Victoria said. She was like a softer, shorter version of Mom, with less color in her hair and less light in her eyes.

“I’ve done what I came here to do,” Mom said. She started toward the door.

“Wait,” Iris said. She stepped into our path, her cane clicking once on the marble tile.

“What, Mother?” Mom asked, sounding exasperated. “Are you going to order me not to go? I’m not a child anymore.”

“You never did what you were told when you were a child, either,” Iris said, and I was surprised at the amusement and affection that came through the words. “I can’t force you to remain, Rachel, but there is something that you need to hear before you leave. You and your daughter.”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say it right here and now,” Mom said.

“It’s a matter I think we would all prefer to discuss in private,” Iris replied.

“Please, Rachel,” Caleb said with an imploring look. “It’s important.”

She hesitated, looking between them. I saw the moment she surrendered, like a small vital piece of her had crumbled away. Her shoulders slumped. “Fine,” she said, voice brittle.