EverWorld (Book 3 of the Down World Series)

Chapter Eighteen

"Amalia?" I called out when we stepped through the front door. It had been locked, but she'd given me and Piper the entry code when we were setting up the wedding. The name echoed back toward me through the cavernous foyer.

Stairways ascended on either side, but I had a feeling I should check the sitting room where she usually hosted her afternoon teas. I could feel Adam walking behind me as though keeping his distance somehow. We hadn't really resolved our fight back at the house, and the awkward weight of Sage's ring on my finger seemed to be a constant reminder of that. But finding Amalia couldn't wait.

I didn't really start to panic, however, until we passed into the a clear view of the sitting room. All the furniture had been draped in white sheets, including that mauve-colored sofa where I'd spent so many hours with her. I scanned the room for any sign of life, and my eyes landed on the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard.

I crossed to them quickly. The yard was completely empty, and all the magical elements that had made Robbie's wedding into a fairytale had vanished, as though they'd turned into a pumpkin late that night.

"I'll check upstairs," Adam said behind me.

"Yeah," I nodded. Then I headed towards the kitchen. "Amalia, are you home?" A voice in my head was already chastising me for asking such a stupid question. The answer was obviously no.

The sour feeling in my stomach grew exponentially when I saw the kitchen. The large dining table had been pushed against the wall, with the chairs overturned on top of it. But I knew, even then, that there was one more thing I had to check.

I approached the walk-in pantry like it was the gallows, hearing echoes of my mother's voice from when we visited as kids: Marina, what did your aunt say? Stay out of there! I swear, you never listen!

I listen, mama, said the voice in my head. I'm always listening.

"She's not upstairs," Adam said behind me.

"I know."

I reached out a shaking hand for the pantry door and swung it open.

The pantry was empty.

All that expensive food, all those delicacies from around the world, vanished, as though eaten by goblins in the night. All except one thing—the Corn Flakes box that I now knew was just a decoy.

"Why would she leave that one thing?" he asked, standing over my shoulder.

Rather than answer, I pushed it in to expose the hidden closet behind the false shelves. But one glance into that little room revealed that someone had been in there too. The old costumes on the rack had been pushed to either side, and someone had been rifling through the old play scripts and headshots. They were scattered like confetti all over the floor.

I stepped gingerly into the soft yellow light of the room, feeling Adam looming over me—his body too big for this confined and oddly feminine space.

In the center of the floor, something had been left behind. Or rather, it had been placed, very carefully, almost like an offering. It was an old, weathered copy of the play Steel Magnolias, splayed open, its pages pinned down by two old theater anthologies. I didn't need to bend down to know which pages had been selected for this display. My eyes quickly scanned the text: "I'd rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special."

Amalia had left this here for someone to find.

"Look over there," Adam said, shuffling around me and finding one more object of note. On top of a pedestal it had been placed as carefully as the old script. It was very delicate. A small silver disc, almost like a watch battery, connected to some wires with receivers at the ends. "What is it?" he asked.