Page 50 of The Unknown

“Are you sure Brad’s problem was his appendix?” Julianne says, speaking slowly, the words shy on her tongue.

“Not a hundred percent,” Heather says. “But the symptoms were there. And something was clearly wrong with him.”

“What if it was something else?”

Heather arches one of her finely penciled brows. “Such as?”

“I don’t know,” Julianne says, though she clearly has an idea in mind. “It’s just, after the séance—”

“Which wasn’t real,” I reiterate, sounding just like my father as he exasperatedly told me the same thing for the umpteenth time.It’s not real, Mare. There’s nothing there. It’s just a figment of your imagination.

“But what if it was? What if we really contacted…” Julianne’s voice fades, and I realize she’s afraid to say the name.

Azra.

“We didn’t,” Heather says. “That was just your imagination.”

“And even if we did,” I say, “that’s not why Brad got sick. He didn’t even take part in the séance.”

“But he was there,” Julianne says. “And he was here on this island. Now he’s not. And I just can’t stop thinking there’s a reason for that.”

She doesn’t say the rest. There’s no need. It’s clear from the worry writ large on her face what she’s thinking.

Brad is gone because Azra wanted him out of the way.

June 10, 1926—Later

Mrs. Semple has been acting strangely ever since we realized our boat is gone. At first, I didn’t find it unusual when she retreated upstairs to her bedroom afterward. I assumed she was upset about the boat, as we all were. But when she didn’t come down in the evening, leaving it up to me to prepare dinner, I began to worry.

I decided to carry a plate up to her, along with the sketchbook she’d dropped this afternoon. At the top of the stairs, I saw that the door to Mrs. Semple’s bedroom was partway open. I peered inside, finding her resting atop her bed.

“Mrs. Semple?” I said through the cracked door. “I brought you dinner.”

She stirred in bed and said, “How kind of you, my dear. Please bring it in and set it on the desk.”

I went to the desk, which had a book open upon it. It looked to be a journal, very similar to this one. When I pushed it aside to make room for the plate and sketchbook, my gaze landed on an unfinished passage at the top of the page.

Dear God, what have I caused? I knew Daisy was powerful. But it seems I underestimated just how strong she really is. As aresult, I’m not prepared for this. Not this soon. I fear we’ve opened a Pandora’s box, and that there is no way to—

Quickly, I turned away, not wanting to appear like I was prying. Even if I did, I doubt Mrs. Semple would have noticed. She remained on the bed, her eyes half closed, murmuring her thanks as I left the room but making no motion to return to her desk.

I suppose it was worry that gripped her. I understood because I was too concerned to eat much myself. Instead, I sat in the kitchen, pushing food back and forth across my plate as Katrina, Jonquil, and Mrs. Minafer said nothing.

“Whoever set the boat adrift should just admit it,” Jonquil eventually said. “No one else is on this island, so it had to have been one of us.”

“I think we already know who the culprit is,” Katrina piped up, a mean glint in her eyes. “Isn’t that right, Daisy?”

I knew exactly what she was implying, and it made me furious. “I think it was you,” I said. “Just like you came into my cottage last night, moved my things around, and wrote in my diary.”

Katrina gasped in mock shock, as if she hadn’t been behind it all. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“What reason would I have to rid the island of its only boat?”

“To prevent anyone from leaving,” Katrina said. “Especially you.”

“But I have no intention of leaving,” I said.

Katrina flashed a tight, cruel smile. “That’s not up to you, is it? Who stays and who leaves is up to Mrs. Semple. But you’re well aware of that. That’s why you’re always trying to keep her attention.”