Chapter 23I touched Wimahl and my vision faded to white. When it cleared, we stood in front of my parents’ house in weak yellow light. Not my house. Not the real house, either. This one had no snow and no broken window.
The roses and trees had lost their leaves without gaining the gray of winter hibernation. Shriveled brown leaves littered the ground. Paint hung in ragged peels from the walls. Instead of standing upright, the juniper at the corner, the one I’d used to escape, hung limp with mottled brown needles.
This version of the house smelled wrong. I didn’t often notice the scent of the front yard, and I couldn’t say what counted as normal. Rot and brimstone, though, wasn’t right. Likewise, the windows had a strange oily sheen and grimy crust.
Turning on the spot, I had no idea why
