CHAPTER EIGHT
Elektra stood outside the gate, willing herself to push the button on the intercom, but the energy in her arms was already draining through her feet to the Terrazzo pavers that extended from beneath her sandals, under the gate, up to the portico and to the mahogany front door. It wasn’t because she found Eugénie’s parents intimidating—few people could claim that title—but more that she was afraid that Eugénie would not be there, or perhaps even worse, that she was and would refuse to see her. Elektra still had not formulated in her mind what it was she would say; words seemed inadequate. There was just too much at stake.
With effort, she raised her arm as she shuffled her backpack behind her and pressed. Almost immediately, Marielle opened the heavy front door. Elektra was
