The Lost Sister. Megan Kelley Hall

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      As the train moved through the beautiful New England landscape, Maddie knew that she’d never be able to focus on the books or magazines she’d packed for this trip.

      “Would you like something to drink?” A woman’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. She had a rolling tray of canned sodas and bottled water. Maddie reached into her travel bag, digging around for some money to get a Diet Coke, when she felt something cool, round, and smooth at the bottom of the bag.

      Maddie pulled out the Wyrd rune stone. She didn’t remember packing it. And she still couldn’t remember the meaning.

      “Ahem.” The woman coughed to get her attention. “Whaddya want, hon?”

      “Oh, sorry,” Maddie stammered. “I guess I’m all set, thanks.”

      The woman made a sighing noise as she lumbered past and Maddie closed her eyes, trying to remember the meaning.

      She stared out the window, her vision growing blurry as the trees whizzed by. Oh, never mind, Maddie thought. There were more important things to think about. Like what she was in for when she returned home to Hawthorne. Everything she’d been able to avoid for the past year.

      Maddie realized she had been squeezing the rune in her hand so tightly that it left a deep red indentation inside her palm. She traced the red line with her free hand, as if it held a deeper memory. Something that was familiar in the darkness of that night…

      The Wyrd stone—the meaning suddenly jumped into her mind—was something that could not be known or controlled. Something that could only be determined by fate.

       Ironic, Maddie thought as she looked out the window, contemplating her trip home as the outside world deepened to a purple under the darkening sky.

      She shoved the stone into her backpack and got a paper cut on her hand. The delicate inner part of her finger had scraped across an envelope that had been left at her door right before she left for Christmas break. She hadn’t had time to read the corny card that was obviously from Luke, so she stuck it into her bag to read on the train.

      The thin line of blood ran quickly across her finger and she shoved it in her mouth as she fished the envelope out of the backpack. She was sure it was going to be a hokey Christmas card or a picturesque postcard of some exotic location with a comment from Luke saying, Look what you’re missing.

      But it wasn’t any of those things. She pulled the card out of the envelope and immediately she felt sick. It wasn’t a holiday card or a postcard or a silly letter from Luke. It couldn’t have been from Luke at all.

      It was a tarot card. A picture of the Grim Reaper adorned the front of it and underneath it was a single word.

      Death.

       Chapter 3

       QUEEN OF SWORDS

       One who is austere, stern, unforgiving, and vindictive. Grief, sorrow, and loss can make us wise and insightful, or it can make us emotionally barren, clinging to the rules of what is “right and wrong” without tempering our judgment with compassion.

       A s she waited for her daughter to arrive home from prep school, Abigail Crane peered into the mahogany mirror hanging in the hallway of the old Victorian on Mariner’s Way, trying to imagine herself bald. She pulled her graying hair back severely, away from her forehead. Cupping the top of her head, she squinted in an attempt to make her hand blend into the rest of her skin.

       This will never do , she thought bitterly.

      Abigail wasn’t so concerned with her health, but rather, how she’d be viewed by the other women in town. Bald women made people feel uncomfortable, guilty even. She was already getting the odd stares at the farmers’ market or when she went into local shops. She heard the whispers, she could feel the stares. Everyone wanted to know what had happened that night in Ravenswood. So once she started the cancer treatments, people would stare at her because of not only what they had heard about her, but also what they saw. It was bad enough that Cordelia had turned their family into a freakish side show, but Rebecca’s suicide attempt and institutionalization had pushed her to the limit. No wonder Maddie transferred out of town and now she was forced to return on her mother’s behalf.

      Chemotherapy would have to wait, at least until the Misery Island Gala—the last event of the season. She envisioned her mother, Tess, rolling her eyes, scolding Abigail for being a ridiculous vain fool. Even though Tess had passed away many months ago, her presence was still very palpable within the walls of the house.

      Getting rid of the cancer was more important than the way people saw you, Tess would have insisted. At least, before the dementia had taken over her mind. Once that happened, it was like living with a little girl. Two girls, including Maddie.

       Foolish girl, Tess would have snapped at her if she were still alive. She could almost hear her wise voice in the groans and shudders of the house, in the lapping of the ocean at the base of the street. You’ll never understand what’s important in life. And when you finally do, it will be too late.

      Abigail sneered at the imagined voice. She furrowed her brow and abruptly turned from the mirror in disgust. Yet just before she had turned completely away, something in the reflection captured her attention. It was only a wisp of movement by the cellar door, quick as a minnow, but she caught it at the edge of her vision just the same. The door had been nudged open again. No matter how many times she locked it up, barricading the blasted portal, it seemed to find a way to open itself up again. The objects she placed in front of the aging door were always neatly moved to the side, allowing it to swing freely once more. Someone or something didn’t want to forget what had happened down there in the early hours of the morning last Halloween. The time she had told Cordelia the truth about her father. The last time she had ever laid eyes on the girl. Something just wouldn’t let her forget her sins.

      Abigail narrowed her eyes, making a mental note to get someone from town in to fix the thing, maybe even hire someone to plaster over it—board it up once and for all. That’s what she’d do. Abigail Crane was too sick to battle any more demons, too tired to quiet restless spirits.

      It was time for her to end it once and for all. But with Maddie back in the house, that would at least make the time she had left bearable. But at what cost? Abigail contemplated this as she reached into her pocket and felt the well-worn tarot card she’d received a month ago. It was the Death card and it was slid under the front door in the middle of the night. There were only two people who would have left that card for her, and one of them had been locked up in a psychiatric ward. The other one was a mystery.