The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,82

a few wrong turns in their huge Victorian home, the house appears to be empty. I poke my head into room after room but don’t find anyone in them. I set my things on a chair at a round kitchen table. The table is nestled into a nook lined with windows with views of their patio, inground pool and fenced-in, vibrant green yard.

I’m still staring out the window, watching a hummingbird flutter around a shiny ball in the garden, when I hear Niall’s voice in the distance. It’s coming from somewhere down the hall behind a closed door. Maybe his office?

Joey’s voice turns me around. “You’re not driving Lily’s car back, so don’t even think about it.” He and Lance enter through a door off the kitchen. Joey holds out his hand while Lance dangles a key above his head. “You’re lucky Dad didn’t take away any of your campus privileges when he found out you drove it all the way here.”

“Hey, thought you were sleeping,” Lance says. Joey snatches the key from him while he’s distracted. “Dude! I’m an excellent driver!”

“Without a license,” Joey reminds him.

Lance huffs and mutters, “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Having been a passenger once during some of his illegal driving, I’m grateful Joey has the key.

“When are you leaving for Blackwood?” I ask as Lance digs around in the fridge.

“We were just loading the car. I’m moving into Printz-Lee this weekend for soccer conditioning,” Joey tells me. “I still have a few more things left to pack.”

“When do you think you’ll be done?”

“Not too much longer.” He eyes me curiously. “I thought we were leaving after you visited your mother?”

“Uh, no, I’m not going back to the hospital. I’ll ask your mom to bring the bag to her. So I’m ready to get out of here whenever you are.”

“Are you …” Joey stops himself, knowing I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes?”

“I call shotgun!” Lance announces loudly.

“Don’t be a dick,” Joey says, elbowing him.

Rubbing his ribs, Lance retorts, “What? It’s just Lana.” He looks to me apologetically. “I mean, you’re basically family.”

I smile. “It’s all good. I’ll probably sleep the entire way anyway.”

“You know what that means, right?” he taunts Joey. “We get to listen to my music.”

“Great,” Joey grumbles, walking through the kitchen. “Lana, help yourself to anything. I’ll let you know when we’re set to go.”

I explore the living room and another room with really expensive—and old—furniture, taking in frame after frame of pictures. They’re of the family, mostly the boys, at different ages. And they’re placed everywhere—on the walls, the fireplace mantels, the side tables and bookcases. I think my house has one of me, my yearly school photo. But that hasn’t changed since seventh grade, the year my grandmother died.

I smile at a photo of the three brothers laughing while grappling and holding one another in headlocks. Parker looks in his early teens. There are pictures of naked babies in bathtubs filled with bubbles. Camping in tents. Hiking in the woods. I spot Isaac in many, easily distinguishable in his glasses. He and Parker appear to have been close when they were young, before Isaac’s teen years. There’s an adorable image of Isaac sitting behind a toddler Parker on a slide at the park. And …

I pick up the silver-framed photo of a chubby, dark-haired toddler digging in the sand with a pale, white-haired girl—both wearing bathing suits. They’re crouched while holding shovels stuck in the beach sand, looking up at the camera with cheesy smiles.

“Guess they’re not all in the attic, huh?” I muse when I sense someone enter the room.

“How do you know we have pictures of you in the attic?” Niall asks. Not the someone I was expecting.

“Joey found them. He asked if I remembered coming here,” I confess, setting the photo back on the shelf.

“You were young, too young to remember.”

“Why’d I stop visiting?” I turn to face him, hoping he’ll provide answers his wife wouldn’t. He doesn’t respond. I’m not surprised. “Then tell me this, who’s paying for me to attend Blackwood? Whose will am I in that is now being challenged? Why don’t I know about it?”

“Who’s been talking to you?”

For the first time, I note suspicion reflected in his bright blue eyes.

I’ve finally hit a nerve.

“Not you. Not my mother. I told you, I’m going to find out. And you may not like how.”

Niall narrows his eyes, his jaw set. “Does this have anything to do with what happened