Twenty Six

Afternoon light woke Samantha up, a beam of pale brightness that laid itself directly over her face, lighting the insides of her eyelids to hot pink. She stirred restlessly and warily opened her eyes.

The fever was gone, and so was the sense that her bones were melting and breaking inside her as a result of Drake not returning last night. She sat up and glanced around with curious eyes. She was in her room—white-painted, the bed covered with a brightly woven rag blanket. Lace curtains were drawn back over round windows, letting in circles of light. She sat up slowly, waiting for dizziness to wash over her.

Nothing happened. She felt entirely healthy, even well rested.

She went to one of the circular windows and peered out. This side of the house faced away from the canal, onto a narrow side garden turning brown and gold with autumn. A trellis crawled up the side of the house; a single last rose hung on it, drooping browning petals.

The doorknob rattled, a young woman entered, hol