I stared at the book, willing words to appear. As I waited, I took the quill and ink bottle outside to the balcony that surveyed the courtyard. Music and laughter and the clanking of dishes rang in my ears. I sat on the edge of a wicker chair and read the letters again. Minutes went by and nothing. I'd almost given up, was about to shut the book when it happened. Lit by moonlight, letters formed on the page.
Who are you?
Someone was writing to me—someone with horrible penmanship—but someone was writing to me! I grabbed the quill and spilled the ink. Dipping the pen in the puddle on the floor, I wrote back.
My name is Claire Amadeus. This book belongs to my father. What's your name?
I waited. A moment later:
Evan Burl.
I slammed the book shut. This can't really be happening. Can it? I opened it, slowly, squinting, afraid I might scare the letters away. New words were waiting.
Terillium is my father too. Is it possible, I mean, do you think you're my sister?
My chest thumped as I replied.
I want to help you. I'm trying to stop Papa from hurting you.
Feeling eyes watching, I looked up. All I could see from my chair was the wall Papa built to protect us from the jungle. Invisible ants crawled up my leg. The jungles were growing more dangerous every year, especially at night. I wondered what prowled out there at this very moment. I wondered what was watching me.
Something grim moved across the courtyard toward me. I leaned forward. Orbs appeared, two of them. A pair of eyes. They saw me too; I swear they measured me, then blinked and were gone. The shadow faded through a door into our house.