For the next couple days, I spend most of my time cleaning, helping Loki out, and trying to do an online search of The Unveiling. I don’t find anything substantial, other than a couple of photos of old warehouses where, according to some very short article, an organization used to make illegal, experimental drugs. But none of the articles ever mention The Unveiling, so the connection is a mystery.

That’s not my only problem, either. Forgotten memories have begun to stir inside my head, ones I can’t ever make sense of, yet they make me sick every time they surface. It’s as if my brain wants to remember, but it’s too weak to see the actual truth.

Exhaustion clouds over me as I head upstairs to our parents’ bedroom to do some cleaning and distract myself from trying to remember. Loki won’t be home from the bookstore for a couple hours, so I figure I’ll pack up some boxes before he shows up. Maybe it will show him that I can handle more than he thinks. When I step over the threshold, however, I damn near collapse as memories hit me, slamming my heart against my chest.

The framed photos on the wall, the jewelry box on the dresser, the clothes in their closet, the shoes on the floor—every single inch of space reminds me of them. My brain begins to pulsate.

Remember.

Remember.

Remember.

Who you are?

“I’m Jessamine Madelyn Baker,” I whisper through a shaky breath.

I wait for the voice in my head to quiet. Then, summoning a deep breath, I inch into the room, trailing my fingers over the cologne bottles on the vanity. Memories trickle through my mind, causing my fingers to tremble.

“You can do this,” I try to convince myself as I inch into the closet.

I pick up a box from off the floor and check the contents. Photos. Lots and lots of photos. I start sifting through them, smiling at the memories each one carries. Then I notice a pattern. None of the photos are from when me and my siblings were babies.

So strange.

I stumble across a photo of when I was younger that I don’t remember ever being taken. In it, I’m standing in front of an old warehouse that reminds me of the photos I found on the internet when I searched The Unveiling. In the photo, I’m dressed in strange, plain, grey pants and a T-shirt. My eyes are wide, my cheeks sunken in. I look sickly. And horrified.

“I don’t remember this,” I whisper as I flip over the back. “Why do I look so sick?”

On the back, it’s dated fifteen years ago, and written in my mom’s handwriting are the words: Madelyn Jessamine, a little girl.

“Huh? Madelyn Jessamine? But my name’s Jessamine Madelyn .”

Pulling out my phone, I look the photos up of the warehouses to see if any of them match. One of them does, but I can’t find a listed address for the warehouse anywhere.

“Why the hell was I at one of those places?” I mutter as I stuff the photo into my pocket.

I start digging through more boxes, unsure of what I’m even searching for, but wanting to find something that will explain the strange photo in my pocket.

By the time Loki returns home with takeout for dinner, I still haven’t found anything and am starting to get worked up. But I collect myself before I head downstairs, not wanting to worry Loki or anyone else.

“I don’t want you to have to cook all the time,” Loki tells me as he sets the bags on the counter.

“I don’t mind cooking.” I grab some forks and paper plates, putting them on the kitchen island, figuring we can go buffet style tonight. “It actually relaxes me.”

He peers up from digging around in one of the bags. “Really?”

I shoot him a duh look. “Um, hello, I was going to culinary school.”

“Yeah, I know, but …” He loosens his tie and unbuttons the sleeves. “Some of the stuff you said in the hospital … I thought … Well, I thought maybe one of the problems was that you were tired of school.”

I shake my head. “Not necessarily of school. Just of … I don’t know, school in London.”

Indecisiveness crosses Loki’s face as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. “You know Mom and Dad wouldn’t care if you changed your mind about stuff. I mean, they wouldn’t be angry with you if you decide you don’t want to go to school and cook anymore, or live in London.”

Sighing, I look him straight in the eye. “Loki, I swear I still want to cook. That’s probably the one thing I am sure of.” It’s everything else that’s complicated.

He bobs his head up and down as he reaches into one of the bags. “Okay. But even with other stuff, like living in London, they wouldn’t care. You don’t have to stay the same person you were when they were alive. If they were here, they’d tell you to do what makes you happy.”

“I know,” I whisper.

I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, for everything.

I just wish they were here so I could tell them. And maybe so they could answer some questions.

Better yet, I wish none of it ever happened.

But it did. And now you have to deal with the consequences.

Sighing, I help Loki take the food out of the bags. The photo in my pocket feels as though it weighs a hundred pounds. I want to know more about it, like why I can’t remember that day, and why I look so sick. Loki is older than me; perhaps I can ask him. He might remember something.

My lips part—

Don’t tell a soul.

Don’t tell a soul or you die.

A chill slithers up my spine as the voice in my head and the words trigger a memory locked deep inside my brain.

“Don’t tell a soul, Madelyn , about what you can do,” he whispers. “If you do, I’ll kill you.”

I decide to keep my lips sealed about the photo. Under my own free will or not, I’m not sure. It’s probably better, anyway. Asking Loki could lead to a whole set of other questions I’m not ready to answer, like why on earth was I looking at old warehouses on the internet.

Once I’m done helping Loki empty the bags, I sneak back up to our parents’ room before he notices I’m on the brink of losing my shit.

As I’m rearranging some of the boxes, I discover a small, metal trunk covered in cobwebs and a padlock.

What on earth could my parents have locked up in there?

I try to pick the lock with a hairpin, but I’ve never been that great with that sort of shit. I give up when my other siblings start wandering home, figuring I should spend some time with them.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. I want to know what’s in that trunk. The real mystery is why.