I don’t yet know what his favorite ice cream is or
if he ever had braces or
what he named his stuffed harbor seal.
I don’t know the happy stories about his childhood,
or the embarrassing ones,
or what he has nightmares about.
I’m very very upset. He’s still part of this terrible conspiracy. But I can’t deny his pull on me.
I text him back.
We can talk later.
—
The castle isquiet. Few lights are on.
Through the kitchen window, I can see Tatum washing dishes. My heart lurches in my chest, but I don’t go to him.
I am here for my father.
I enter the living room quietly through a sliding door. With a low click, I unlock Kingsley’s tower with the keys that are in my pocket.
If June is up there somewhere, I’ll deal with it. Confront her, I don’t know what.
But I’m lucky, and the ground-floor rooms are empty.
On the second floor, I step into June’s studio full of yarn.
I steal a pair of scissors.
60
“Dad,” I whisper.“It’s me. Matilda.”
The heat in the upstairs room of the studio is intense, with the windows locked shut. It smells like before, of paint thinner, sweat, and unwashed hair. The IV bag glows blue in the triangle of light from the bathroom, its cord coming down to the port in Kingsley’s chest.
My father lies still in the foldout bed. He’s on top of his blankets and wears a button-down shirt and shorts. His legs are thin and pale, his toenails bumpy.
He doesn’t open his eyes until I touch his shoulder. Then, sharply, like he was never asleep, he becomes fury and decrepitude, genius and malice.
“Witchling. You return.”
“No, Dad. It’s me, Matilda.”
“Were you always a witch, or did she make you one, I wonder?”
“I’ve come to help you. Are you okay? Can you stand up?”
“Has she educated you on her spell work and tinctures?” he asks. “She sends her other witchlings to wrangle me, to force me. They confine me to this bed, doing her bidding. And now she sends you, for what fresh horror?”
“That’s not why I am here.”
He sits up suddenly. “Princess,” he says grandly. “Why have you journeyed to Hidden Beach and climbed to the top of my tower? Do you have a plan for rescue, though I have no golden hair to let down? Have you a horse outside?” He started out sounding kind and almost playful, but now he’s mocking me. “Do you fancy yourself a warrior? Do you wield a sword, and can you slay the others in the castle?”
