“Okay?” He raised a brow as he backed away, giving me a low wave as he disappeared into the sea of blue blazers.
As the last of the stragglers rushed off to class, I followed the trail of blood to the library, which used to be the chapel when the school was a monastery.
My bag vibrated, making me jump.
I dug the phone out. It was my mom. I knew I should pick up, but I had the strangest feeling . . . like everything I needed to know was on the other side of that door.
A chill swept over my skin as I pressed down on the heavy iron door handle. It was unlocked.
I turned off the phone and stepped inside.
4
BLACK SILK RIBBON
“HELLO?” I CALLED OUT, my voice reverberating around the vast space.
I didn’t expect an answer. The library was closed on Fridays. No one really came in here anyway—they got what they needed from bookstores or Amazon. It was a beautiful library, as long as you didn’t look at the giant stained-glass window of a bleeding Jesus glaring down from the cross. Normally, I liked the library; the scent of old books with millions of fingerprints on them. Some had coffee stains; others had stains you didn’t even want to think about, but they all had history.
It was harder to see the blood against the dark hardwood floors, but I could just make out the glistening streak that led into the stacks.
A faint creaking sound penetrated the silence. My body went rigid. Anyone else would think it was the ancient floorboards, but that particular sound was etched into my consciousness. Rope. Not just any rope—the dead girl was bound by a papery material that crinkled like old skin.
But it wasn’t the thought of seeing the dead girl that made me catch my breath. There was a hush of footsteps—and a slow and metered breath, not my own—accompanied by a light dragging sound, as if someone were skimming a finger along the spines of the books in the next aisle.
Carefully, I shimmied a few books from the shelf and peeked through.
That’s when I saw her.
Long, lustrous black hair grazing the waist of a simple white sundress. High cheekbones, wide-set eyes. Her only adornment was a long black silk ribbon tied around her throat. Her feet were bare.
She moved in a feline way, with a fluidity that seemed to have no beginning and no end, but I knew she was real. Alive. I could even smell her perfume . . . it was heady and sweet.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, glancing up at me as she passed my hiding spot.
My skin exploded in goose bumps. Pressing my back against the shelf, I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could make myself disappear. My heart was beating so hard, I was sure she could hear it. I held my hands over the top of the bandage as if I could dampen the sound of my heart thrumming in the tattoo.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to open my eyes. There were probably less than twenty steps to the door, but I couldn’t make myself move. It felt like there was an invisible thread connecting us—every beat of my heart drawing me closer—as if I’d been waiting for her, too.
I stepped out from the safety of the stacks to face her. She was so arresting, I hardly noticed the dead girl swinging gently behind her.
The mysterious woman took in a tiny gasp of air, as if she was just as stunned to see me up close as I was to see her. Her eyes grazed the length of my body, lingering on the exposed skin of my neckline.
Self-consciously, I buttoned my blouse all the way to the top.
“You’ve become a very beautiful young woman.” Her voice had a gravelly edge that didn’t match her dewy face and bright gaze.
What did she mean I’d become? “Do I know you?” My voice was so faint I hardly recognized it. I had the distinct feeling that I’d seen her before, but I couldn’t imagine where. Maybe in a dream.
“You’re strong, too. It’s all in the eyes. We have the same eyes, you see. The color of the Sargasso Sea, with the black ring. Quite unusual.” She was right. She had a thick black ring around the deep blue iris—just like mine.
My mother said Katia and I had the same eyes. Could it be possible?
“You’re Katia.” I exhaled a shaky breath.
She gave a nearly imperceptible nod as she stepped toward me.
“Your mother, Nina, will be fulfilling her destiny soon. It’s time to come home . . . to Quivira. You and your brother will be welcomed. I can protect you there.”
The hanging girl’s naked body twisted behind Katia to reveal her face . . . my face, contorted in agony.
Katia stepped into my line of sight. “What is it? What do you see?”
“There’s a dead girl hanging behind you,” I whispered. “She looks like you and exactly like me.”
Katia’s jaw clenched. A shroud of sorrow seemed to wash over her face, but she never looked behind her. “Of course,” she murmured softly. “You’re tied to her. Because of your gift.”