“I’ll see you for breakfast, yeah?” Manali said. “And call for me if anyone gives you a hard time again.” Then Jane wandered out one of the many, many side doors at the back of the room to look for a bathroom. It opened to a corridor of white-veined black marble. Bobbin masks—Jane thought they looked like wax casts—were mounted on either side, flickering with yellow-orange candlelight. But there were no candles behind them. No doors either, and the corridor grew dark in the distance. Wrong way, Jane thought, but when she turned to go, some one cleared his throat. Thomas was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “I’m sorry,” Jane stammered. “I shouldn’t…” “Be here?” Thomas said, and he stepped closer. “Who was it in your family? Who was so special?” When Jane went for the door, he said, “Are you afraid? It’s a simple question: Who in your—?” “My grandmother,” Jane said.
