April woke up because of the thunder. Or maybe the wind. She wasn’t really sure what had pulled her from her dream, except the windows were rattling and a storm was howling, and a little body was shivering beside her, even though the bed was snug and warm.
By April’s way of thinking, the big house had been okay since 1812. Not even April’s luck was bad enough to make it collapse her first night there. But when the lightning cracked outside and a tree limb blew against the window, the little girl whimpered and snuggled closer, and April said, “Shhh. It’s okay, Violet. Go to sleep.”
But April didn’t even try to do the same. How could she when the Winterborne crest was on the canopy overhead, mocking her? Tempting her. So when Violet’s breathing became deep and steady, April slipped out of bed and headed for the door.
The key was heavy around her neck, and she had a lock to find. Also, Smithers might have brought them a tray with sandwiches and lemonade earlier, but April had a strong suspicion there might be ice cream in the kitchen.
And April had a policy of never, ever missing ice cream.
The house that had been slightly creepy in the broad light of day was downright eerie in the middle of the night. In the middle of a storm. On the side of a cliff at the edge of the world. At least that’s the way April felt as she crept out the door, stepping over Sadie’s “alarm clock” (which was really just an hourglass, a Slinky, a cowbell, and an overstuffed sock filled with marbles).
So April was extra double careful as she eased out into the deserted hall. She wished she’d thought to put on some shoes, but cold feet were nothing compared to an empty stomach, and April liked the idea of getting the lay of the land at a time when there would be no kids, no butlers, and no women who never got dirty.
Soon, the rain was falling so hard against the windows it was like the whole building was being sprayed with a firehose. Lightning crashed and thunder boomed and April had the feeling that the ocean was angry.
But April wasn’t afraid.
After all, houses can’t hurt you. People can, but only if you let them, and April wasn’t going to make that mistake again, so she wasn’t afraid—even when the little hairs on the back of her neck started to stand on end, telling her that she wasn’t alone.
“Who’s there?” she called into the darkness, but the darkness didn’t answer.
“It’s April,” she called again, but only the wind replied.
When April reached the stairs, lightning crashed, too bright, through the windows. The wind roared like sirens, and April watched the shadows dance, knowing she’d seen it all before. She’d felt it all before. And there was only one word on April’s mind as she made it to the first floor: Sentinel.
She remembered what the kids at the museum had said—that The Sentinel was real, and now April had no doubt.
The Sentinel was down there.
She spun as she felt the air move at her back. She whirled when the floors creaked on the far side of the hall. She almost flew back up the stairs when the lightning struck, sending a wave of white light through the big windows. Then a crash sounded behind her—like the lightning was coming from inside the house—and she spun again, staring through the darkness.
Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Maybe the Sentinel wasn’t there. But she definitely wasn’t alone. She wanted to run away or scream for help. But someone had carried her out of the fire and put her mother’s key back around her neck.
Maybe some urban legends wanted to be friends?
“Hello?” she asked the darkness.
She didn’t actually think the darkness would talk back.
“There you are.”
“What are you doing here?”
Tim’s voice was low, and April understood why that mean woman had called him Violet’s guard dog, because April half expected him to growl as he stood on the stairs, looking down at April and her bare feet.
“I live here?” She didn’t need Tim’s permission for walking around. She didn’t need anyone’s permission.
And she was just starting to tell him so when he snapped, “Violet woke up screaming, and you weren’t there.”
Just as he finished, there was a crash of thunder and a bright burst of lightning, and the mansion felt like maybe it actually was going to fall into the sea, but April had other problems at that moment, thank you very much.
“She was sound asleep when I left. She was fine.”
“She’s not fine!” Tim didn’t look twelve. He looked twenty. And like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, like they couldn’t possibly grow fast enough to keep up.
“But she’s okay now, right? Or else you wouldn’t be here?”
It seemed like a valid point, but Tim doubled down.
“She was terrified.”
April wanted to tell him that everyone was terrified sometimes. That not having anyone who cares when you wake up screaming is really just life and everyone has to handle it eventually. But for some reason, she asked, “So how sick is she?”
“She’s fine,” he snapped.
“She was in the hospital, though, right? Is that why you’re down here yelling at me?”
“She . . . she has trouble breathing sometimes. I don’t expect you to care or anything, but—”
“I care,” April said, and she watched his face shift from anger to something that looked a lot like guilt.
“Yeah. Well, you’d be the first.”
“You care,” April reminded him. “How long has she been sick?”
“I don’t know.” Tim shook his head. “She was like that when she came to the last house. I came home from school one day, and there was this little girl I’d never seen before, lying on the bathroom floor, trying to breathe.”
“How many homes has she been in? What happened to her parents? Where—”
“I don’t know!” he snapped, then looked like he felt bad about it. He looked like he felt bad about everything. “I’m not her real brother. I’m just all she has.”
Tim didn’t say the rest of it—that Violet was all he had, too.
April thought about what Ms. Nelson had said in the car, about how some families are the ones you choose. No one had ever chosen April, but she was okay with that. After all, April’s mom would be back soon.
“Look, the thing about me is that I’m not going to be here forever. I want to help Violet, but my mom is coming back for me.” April said it like it was a secret, like she didn’t want it getting out because then all the other kids would feel bad, and kids like Tim and Violet had enough things making them feel bad already.
“Oh. Is that right?” Tim crossed his arms and looked down at her.
“Yeah,” April said. “So I don’t want her getting attached . . . okay? I don’t want her to be hurt when my mom comes to get me.”
“Yeah. Right. Okay,” Tim said. “So, when is your mom coming, exactly?”
“Soon.” April didn’t sound defensive. She didn’t have to. She was just telling the truth.
“And how long have you been saying that?”
The lightning struck again, and a fresh wave of rain pounded against the windows, and April didn’t let herself think about the answer.
“Look,” Tim said, “I’m not going to get dependent on you. And neither is Violet. Vi and me, we’re okay. We’d run away if we had to. But we don’t have to, and I know you’re not going to be in the system long because your mom is coming back and all, but this is the best place I’ve ever been. It’s the best place Violet could ever be. So Violet and me, we’re gonna stick around here. And we’re not getting kicked out because of you.”
April didn’t want to get anyone kicked out. She just wanted to track down the lock and find her mother and maybe grab some ice cream. She didn’t ask for Tim to come yell at her. She didn’t ask for anything! So she snapped, “Then by all means, go back to bed. Don’t let me stop you!”
“I won’t!” Tim shouted. “And don’t worry. Violet won’t be bothering you anymore. People who don’t talk a lot listen. And Violet’s smart enough to know who she can count on.”
He didn’t even look back as he started up the stairs, disappearing like . . .
“The Sentinel.” April remembered the movement in the darkness and the sinking suspicion that she wasn’t alone. She whirled around and studied the shadows. But surely she was wrong, she thought. Surely—
“Ow!” April took a step and felt a piercing stab at the bottom of her big toe. Then another. When she dropped into a chair, she saw blood covering the bottom of her foot and a tiny shard sticking out from the soft skin. April winced as she pulled it free. Then she realized the floor was littered with more pieces—hundreds of them. Larger shards of a broken vase lay in the center, and April remembered the crash she’d heard just before Tim appeared at the top of the stairs.
Sure, ghosts and urban legends might wander around museums and creepy old houses, but they didn’t break things, April knew.
People break things.
In April’s experience, people break everything.