“You didn’t hear him on the phone,” says Philip. “He remembered—I don’t know what. Enough to know someone had been working him.”
Something crunches under one of their feet. Considering all the stuff scattered on the floor, it could be anything. “He’s a smart-a*s. You’re just being paranoid.”
Lila’s breath is hot on my neck.
Footfalls on the stairs tell me they’re going to look for me up there.
We’re so close that it’s impossible not to touch her. And that makes me recall that she must have been touching me to make me dream.
“That night, at Wallingford—were you in the room with me?” I whisper.
“They needed me to get you,” she says. “To make you sleepwalk out to them. I made lots of people sleepwalk right into their hands.”
I picture a white shape on the steps, the hall master’s dog s
