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AMILLE OPENED HER eyes and rubbed her aching head. She was more angry than surprised to find herself alone and lying on the floor of the attic. Scrambling to her feet, she looked around for the box, but it was gone. Rubbing her forehead with her eyes squeezed shut, she wondered if there was something wrong with her—that she’d imagined the whole thing. It seemed the only explanation that made any sense. Yet when she opened her eyes, she noticed the shelf against the wall, the end closest to her not quite flush. She hurried toward it and this time had no trouble pulling it away from the wall.
She knelt down before the wall and tried to remember the panel she’d seen Mena locate. When she thought she had the right one, she placed her hands on either side and gently pushed. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she heard the click, and the panel slid backward. This panel she slid to the side and peered into the space beyond, certain she was proving her own sanity. The cavity was there, but it was empty. There was no sign of the box, or anything else.
With a sigh Camille sat back on the floor, leaning against the shelf with her head in her hands. Hot tears stung her eyes as frustration threatened to overcome her. Fiercely wiping them away with the back of her hand, she reminded herself that her friends had also witnessed the insanity of the manor, so it couldn’t be her imagination. She wasn’t seeing things. Still, she couldn’t continue without some answers as to why she was being targeted, why she was having strange dreams and waking up to find herself somewhere other than her bed.
Lifting her head, she found the memories of her dream in the woods coming back to her. She definitely didn’t think it a coincidence that she’d had this dream after discovering the cottage at the end of the tunnel. Getting to her feet, Camille felt a new resolve and determination. While she wasn’t exactly keen to return to the cottage, she now believed that the answers to everything happening to her at the manor had to be there. It was the only place left to look.
Camille left the shelf where it stood and hurried out of the attic, taking the stairs two at a time, ignoring the claustrophobia and vertigo clawing at her as she descended. She all but ran down the hall and down the stairs to the ground floor. She briefly had a look around for her parents or the McAllister’s before sneaking into the kitchen to rummage through drawers and cupboards. Once she found a torch, she then walked past the kitchen bench and grabbed a knife from the knife block, just in case. She kept it discreetly at her side as she made her way back up the stairs and to her bedroom.
Closing the door quietly behind her, Camille went straight to the wardrobe, hesitating as she grabbed a hold of the handle. She couldn’t recall much about her journey through the tunnel, but she did recall feeling sick to her stomach. Trying to relocate the cottage through the woods was too risky without knowing where she was going; the last thing she needed was to get herself lost. Though now that she stood in front of the wardrobe, part of her really didn’t want to revisit. As she stood there, arguing with herself, her curiosity and need for answers won out. So, she opened the doors.
Her clothes were still shoved to either side of the rack, and the opening to the tunnel remained open, gaping at her like a demonic mouth waiting to devour her. With a deep breath, she turned on the torch and walked inside.
Camille fought back the first waves of nausea as she started the descent into the tunnel. She willed herself to stay focused and alert, but despite her best intentions, the farther she went, the worse she felt. Only this time, Camille felt sluggish; every movement took concentration and effort, as though something were physically trying to stop her. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing through the next wave of nausea. The light from her torch momentarily flickered, but she saw the faint glow of the salt walls farther down. Using the wall as support, she put one foot in front of the other when all she really wanted to do was curl up on the cold floor.
Whispers fluttered through the air, and Camille waved the voices away. The woman’s whispers were too soft to make out the words. Camille opened her eyes and was shocked to find that she’d stopped walking and fallen asleep—or passed out—against the wall. The thought of someone finding her remains lost in the tunnel terrified her, and she blinked furiously, forcing alertness. Then she pushed herself off the wall and stumbled forward.
Within a few metres, she found herself surrounded by the glowing hue of the salt. Camille stumbled as the dizziness threatened to overcome her, and her heart skipped a beat with the fear that she would pass out again. She reached out in attempt to steady herself and was instantly blinded by a flash of light.
ALLYSHA OPENED CAMILLE’S door as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake her daughter if she was asleep. Stepping into the room, she frowned at the empty bed. She left and hurried down to the kitchen, where she’d just left Miss McAllister to unpack the groceries. “Have you seen Camille?” she asked.
Miss McAllister didn’t look up as she stacked fruit into the bowl in front of her. “No, ma’am, I haven’t. Though I have spent most of the morning in the laundry.”
“I’d asked you to keep an eye on her while I was out,” Allysha replied.
“Babysitting is not one of my duties, nor has it ever been. Not that your daughter would listen to me if it were.”
Allysha stared at her, eyebrows raised and her mouth open, unsure how to respond in her anger. Instead, she turned on her heel and stormed through the house, going from room to room and looking for her daughter until she came to the room that was halfway to becoming a study. Her husband looked up from his work, smiled, and turned the volume down on his phone. The voices of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald reduced to a mellow murmur.
“Hi, sweetheart. How was town? What do you think so far?” He stepped back from the wooden trellis where his sketches for the room were spread out.
Allysha disregarded his questions and grabbed her husband by the arm. “Have you seen Camille since I left?”
He looked at his wife in concern. “No, I haven’t. I assumed she was still in bed upstairs. You’ve only been gone an hour or so.”
“She’s not there. She wasn’t in the bathroom, either. Miss McAllister says she hasn’t seen her, and I haven’t found her in any of the rooms I’ve looked in.” Allysha heard the rising panic in her own voice and tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Phillipe turned from the table, grabbed his wife’s shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “The manor is a big place. Maybe she just couldn’t sleep, or she got bored and decided to explore a little. Has she mentioned anywhere that she’s taken an interest in? You might look there.”
Allysha chewed her bottom lip and tried to ignore the inner voice screaming at her to hurry. She didn’t know if it was a mother’s instinct, or a sixth sense, or just the manor, but she knew she wouldn’t find her daughter unless she could think rationally. “The attic. She was interested in some of the old things stored up there.”
“There you go. That’s probably where she is. I’ll come with you. You’ll see. She’ll be fine.” Phillipe grabbed his wife’s hand and led her out of the room, weaving through the manor without a word until they reached the attic door. It stood ajar, and Allysha ducked in front of her husband to yank it fully open. Then she rushed as quickly as she could up the steep staircase.
“Camille?” she called, stepping up onto the attic floor. She exchanged a worried look with Phillipe as he stepped up beside her.
“I’ll check over that side,” he said, and they split up, walking through the sheeted objects around the room.
Allysha grew more and more frantic as she looked behind one thing after another. She knew her daughter wasn’t there; Camille would have answered them if she were. The girl’s mother didn’t know what else to do or where else to look.
“This is weird,” Phillipe called out.
Allysha weaved her way to the other side of the attic and found her husband kneeling beside a shelf that had been pulled away from the wall. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure. I just thought it was strange this shelf was standing here like this, but when I got down to have a look, there’s an open section in the wall.”
“Is there anything in it?” Allysha peered over her husband’s shoulder.
“No, doesn’t appear to be. That’s not to say that there wasn’t.”
“Do you think Camille found this and took whatever was inside?”
Phillipe signed as he used the shelf to get back to his feet. “Who knows? But I can say she isn’t up here. And I’m starting to feel as worried about her as you are.”
“So, what now? Where else could she be?” Allysha leaned into her husband’s chest.
He was silent for a moment, stroking her back and thinking. “What about her phone? Was that still in her room?”
Allysha pulled back and looked up at him. “I didn’t even check.”
“Well there we go. She’s a teenager. She’d never leave the house without her phone. If it’s gone, then we call her and find out where the hell she is. If it’s there, then I suggest we call her friends and see if they know what’s going on.”
Allysha grabbed her husband’s hand and led him from the attic and back into Camille’s room. She didn’t know whether she felt relieved or dismayed when she saw Camille’s phone on the bedside table, plugged into the charger. Unplugging it, she activated the screen, grateful her daughter had ignored her advice on password protection.
“Six missed calls,” she stated.
“Who from?” Phillipe asked as he stopped next to his wife and stared at the screen.
“Looks like two are from Grace and four are from Lachlan.”
“That seems a little persistent to me. Like maybe they’re worried.”
“That’s not very reassuring...” Allysha whispered.
“Start with Lachlan. He’s called the most. Maybe he can tell us something.”
His wife hit the speaker-phone button with a shaking hand. Lachlan answered on the first ring.
“Camille? Are you okay? I’ve been worried—”
“Lachlan, it’s Allysha. We think Camille’s gone somewhere, but she hasn’t taken her phone. She’s not well, and we’re worried about her.”
“Uh, Allysha...” The boy didn’t say anything else.
“Please, Lachlan,” Phillipe added. “If you know anything that will help us find her...”
Lachlan cleared his throat.
