“No, it’s not,” Jack insisted.
I opened my mouth to argue but shut it as memories and impressions began to shift in my head, of all the times I’d spotted the cat on the property, and who I’d been with. My mother and I saw the cat, and so did Rich Kobylt. Even General Lee. But Sophie and the other workmen hadn’t seen it, and neither had Jack. But Jayne did. Every time I’d been here, and seen the cat, she’d seen it, too.
My mother’s eyes met mine, but before she could say anything, the cat took off, pausing at the door as if to make sure we were following, then ran toward the attic door, neatly disappearing through the wood just as we reached it.
I pounded on the attic door with the flat of my hand. “Jayne? Are you in there?” I turned to Jack, frantic. “We’ve got to get her out of there. If Anna knows who she is, she’s in terrible danger.”
Ginette pulled on my arm. “What do you mean? Who is Jayne?”
I banged on the door, searching for some reassurance that Jayne was in the attic, and that we weren’t too late. “Jayne? Are you in there?”
My mother jerked harder on my arm, pulling me to face her. “Mellie, who is Jayne?”
Jack placed a hand on her shoulder. “She’s your daughter, Ginette. The one you gave birth to at the lake house, and believed died.”
She paced her gloved hand over her mouth. “How did you . . . ?”
Jack spoke quickly. “I’ll tell you more later, but it’s all in the album. The pictures of you pregnant, and then the pictures of the baby. The housekeeper told me everything.”
I held her elbow as she began to sink, but she straightened on her own. “She can’t be alone with Anna. Not if she knows that Jayne is Sumter’s daughter.” She pushed forward and began hammering on the door. “Open the door, Anna. Open the door!” She tried the doorknob, then pushed on the door several more times before stopping.
“I’ll go see if I can open the hidden door from the butler’s pantry—Rich Kobylt showed me the little button in the wainscoting,” Jack said. “I couldn’t open it before, but that might not mean anything. You two stay here. You’re stronger together. And if Anna is distracted, that might give you the chance to get through this door and find Jayne.”
“And if we have Jayne, we’ll be unbeatable,” my mother said as she grasped my hand.
Four loud crashes vibrated the attic floor above us as my mother tightened her grasp. “Snow globes,” I whispered.
My mother nodded. “Hasell’s up there. She must know they’re half sisters.” Her voice held an edge of surprise. “She’ll protect Jayne, but she’s not as strong as Anna. Hurry—we must hurry!”
I handed Jack my phone so he’d have a flashlight, then gave him a fast kiss before he ran down the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the stairway long after his shadow disappeared.
The storm continued to batter the roof and structure of the old mansion, matching the barometric pressure dropping inside, the walls creaking and swelling with the stress. An unholy tremor shook the foundation, shoving me into my mother’s side. I pretended it was an accident so she wouldn’t know how petrified I was.
I swallowed, trying to gain control of my voice. “I hope that means Jack managed to open the door. Let’s trust he was right about the diversion.” I turned the knob and watched with surprise as the attic door easily opened inward, but I resisted moving forward. “Why can’t ghosts hide out in bright sunrooms in the middle of the day?”
Ginette tugged on my hand and, with her phone flashlight guiding the way, led us up the stairs.
The frigid air blew into my lungs, stinging my eyes and skin, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. “Anna’s here,” I whispered, mostly to make sure my voice still worked.
“Jayne?” Ginette called out.
A groan came from the bed. Ginette aimed the beam in that direction, illuminating the figure of a woman curled into the fetal position. We took a step toward the bed, stopping when we hit a wall of frigid air.
My mother’s hand trembled. “That’s from Jayne—she’s blocking everything now, to protect us. But she’s growing weak.”
An odd yet familiar fluttering rose from the hidden stairs, overwhelming the noise of the storm. It was flies, hundreds and hundreds of flies, hurtling their small, rigid bodies at the walls, swarming in the small space. “Jack?” I yelled into the opening.
“I’m here,” he shouted, but it sounded as if he was out of breath. “I can’t get out—something’s holding me down.” He coughed, and I thought of the flies blocking his airways, slowly suffocating him. “The flies are . . . everywhere.”
I pulled on my mother’s hand to drag her with me to Jack, but she pulled me back. “No. It’s a trap. We need to make sure Jayne’s all right first.” She squeezed my hand. “And then we fight.”