no longer urgency in the word. She shook her head at Claire, breath regained. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s fine. There was … a bat.”
Claire was staring blankly at Eileen, like she’d spoken in Russian.
“A bat?” she repeated.
Murphy sat up and cleared her throat, ready to give the performance this moment deserved: “It was a big bat. In the turret. It was attacking us!”
Claire looked at Murphy. Murphy looked at Eileen.
“Good to know we’re armed, though.” Eileen pointed at the pot. “If that was Mark Enright, you could have souped him to death.”
Claire looked at Eileen. Looked at Murphy. She dropped the pot to the ground. It rolled across the floor, hit the wall, and clattered to a stop.
Claire was going to yell, telling them how impossible they were. She was going to say they should’ve listened to her and left this place when they’d had a chance. Murphy was ready for that.
Only, Claire didn’t yell.
She laughed.
And when she did, Murphy knew for sure that the ghost laughter from before had been hers.
Claire’s giggles were shallow. She was pressing a hand to her forehead, and tears leaked from her eyes. She laughed and laughed, and Murphy was starting to freak out about it, but then something weirder happened: Eileen began laughing too. She stayed stooped, hands on her knees, producing a big, brassy howl.
Murphy stared at them like they’d both gone mad. Then she noticed her heart, back at Indy 500 speed. There was energy building inside her—so much it could snap her bones, or bust through her arteries. Then it was rushing out her mouth, and she was laughing. It happened involuntarily, like a sneeze.
The three of them laughed, and then Murphy was laughing because they were laughing, and she thought they might keep going for hours, maybe until the end of the world. It was happening, just as Murphy had hoped it would: They were making a memory.
That’s when the lights went out.
TWO YEARS BEFORE
CAYENNE CASTLE
In its fifth year the castle had neither towers nor parapets. In fact, it had lost most of its walls.
“You aren’t putting your backs into it,” Murphy complained. She was struggling to hoist a bedsheet above her head and secure one of its ends on a floor lamp. This would’ve been easier if someone tall was helping. Like Eileen.
But Murphy’s oldest sister sat in the corner of the room, crossarmed, in the La-Z-Boy.
“It’s good enough, Murph,” she muttered. “Leave it alone.”
Eileen had been doing a lot of muttering lately, as well as sullen staring. Murphy thought the new bedroom was to blame. Why had Eileen needed to clear out the garage? She and Claire had always lived together happily. Murphy knew the story of how, when Murphy was born, Eileen had begged Mom to let her and Claire keep sharing their room, rather than moving Murphy in with Claire.
“I don’t want oldest kid privileges!” she’d shouted when Mom had tried to change her mind.
Murphy had thought the story was cute, and she’d definitely liked the result: a room to herself. But she’d seen why sharing worked for Eileen and Claire. They were basically best friends.
That’s what she’d thought, anyway. Then, two months ago, out of the blue, Eileen had moved out.
Why the heck resort to a cold, drafty garage? The only explanation, Murphy decided, was that Claire had to be a really bad snorer. It made more sense than the idea that Eileen and Claire weren’t getting along. That was impossible.
But on this twenty-first of December, all Eileen and Claire had done was fight.
“If she wants to make the castle, or whatever, let her,” said Claire, who was stretched on the couch, eyes glued to her phone. Claire was always on her phone.
“What’s the point?” Eileen shot back. “She’s gonna break that lamp, and we’ll get the heat from Mom.”
Another something that had been happening lately: Murphy’s sisters talking about her like she wasn’t in the room. She this, and she that, and none of it nice stuff, either. About how Murphy was too young and naive, while they were older and infinitely wise. Like, what was the point of Murphy being around?
Well, she was going to impress them today. She’d been working on this act for weeks, with Cayenne Castle in mind.
Murphy had long known she was destined for the stage, but until recently she’d been half-hearted in her magical pursuit—trying to learn new tricks and abandoning them after a few days. Now, she’d become a scholar. She was getting good at the