out that morning. Scarlett smiled, always enchanted by her girl’s penchant for dresses, the frillier the better, clothing that seemed so at odds with her almost . . . somber personality. To see the way pink satin or white eyelet—or in today’s case, blue gingham—made her daughter’s green eyes widen with delight never ceased to bring forth a grin from Scarlett. She smiled now, watching as Haddie moved forward, stepping slowly into the trees. Her smile faded and she raised her hand to knock on the glass, to attempt to get her daughter’s attention, to call her home, when she saw Haddie bend down and pluck something from the ground. A yellow flower. Haddie was being a little girl, collecting wildflowers. She’d never had a yard before. To Haddie, this must feel like one giant park.
Scarlett bit at her lip for a moment, conflicted as she stared at her child through the glass, watching her from afar. In some ways, it felt like a metaphor for her relationship with Haddie. She knew most mothers had a hard time letting go, but Scarlett had always had this vague sense that she couldn't hold on to Haddie even if she tried. It would be a useless attempt. In some way she couldn't explain, not even to herself, she knew Haddie existed on a plane all her own. She could walk beside her daughter through a mist she had no name for, she could love her fiercely—and she did, oh she did—but there was too much inexplicable distance between them to ever truly grasp the whole of her.
It worried her. On some level it broke her heart because she suspected she wasn’t enough for Haddie. Her very deepest fear was that she wasn’t the mother her child needed.
Haddie turned her head slightly and Scarlett drank in the angelic perfection of her. Even from this distance, Haddie was beautiful. Otherworldly. Not like Scarlett, who was pretty enough in an ordinary sort of way, but not stunning like her child. A beloved little alien girl who had somehow come through her but was not of her.
She brought her knuckle to the window, hesitating again just as her skin touched the cool glass. And yet . . . Haddie had always been a cautious child—overly cautious if anything. It wasn’t her physical safety Scarlett obsessed over. So then . . . why not let her explore their new property a little? Haddie wasn’t perfect, no seven-year-old was, but she’d always understood boundaries. She wouldn’t venture far—it wasn’t in her nature—and she’d likely be back in ten minutes, her fist full of flowers, a rare look of carefree happiness on her lovely face. At that thought, Scarlett’s lips turned up. Slowly, she dropped her hand as her daughter slipped into the darkness of the trees.
CHAPTER TWO
A prickly bush caught on Haddie’s pretty dress and she stopped, using her hand not holding the yellow flowers to pull out the thorn. The branch fell away as she continued on through the trees of the forest that stretched out behind the house.
Lilith House. Mommy had said they could change its name, but that felt wrong to Haddie. The house already knew its name. And anyway, even if someone changed her name—if they called her Emma or Sarah or something else—she’d still be who she was. Changing a name couldn’t change anything else about a person or a thing. Haddie was very sure of that.
Mommy had funny feelings about the house, but Haddie didn’t think her mommy knew why. Maybe it had to do with her friend who ran away from there, and the fire that happened afterward. She’d heard Mommy talking to Aunt Merrilee about the girl named Kandace when she thought Haddie was sleeping. Haddie wasn’t sure if the house was bad or not, but she got a heavy feeling in her bones when she looked at the doors at the end of the second-floor hallway. She didn’t know if the house was mad or sad. She couldn’t tell what the house was saying because it was still only waking up. Lilith House was confused, the same way Haddie sometimes felt when she blinked her eyes open after a dream and didn’t know where she was.
The same feeling hung in the forest, but something else had pulled Haddie here. The shadow of the thing she’d seen darting through the trees as she’d stood in the window of her room. The thing that kept drawing closer and closer as if