Chapter Two

Alone.

Taking in a deep breath felt like she was dusting cobwebs off a shelf. Her body felt achy, like it needed oil to combat the rust. Her eyes saw the room as first too dark, then too bright, and then seemed to settle on understanding it was nighttime. She licked her lips that seemed dry and cracked—not that her tongue helped much, as it seemed just as parched.

Tilting her head showed an empty fireplace and a couple of comfortable chairs set around the hearth. All empty, though. The rest of the room looked eerily the same: the four-poster bed, the armoires, and the vanity. It even… smelled the same. Like him.

Evie lifted her head, everything feeling stiff, with cracking sounds coming from her bones and her joints at the movement. She was able to push herself to a sitting position, although she immediately felt winded. Taking a couple deep breaths felt like blowing up a rubber balloon. Her vision swam, lightheadedness blooming. She closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to readjust to the world. Outside looked as though it was in a transition. Fall perhaps? Which was odd, since the last thing she remembered was the oncoming spring.

She must have fallen asleep after theTitanic sank last night. Why did she feel so horrible?

Her eyes landed on the windows, the ones she had blown out when…

Well, that gave her body some heat.

She tilted her head from side to side, some more cracking sounds coming from the back of her neck. Looking down, steadying herself with her hands, she noticed she was wearing a nightgown. And one she recognized. She’d worn it before. Here. Although closing her eyes and trying to think back to when that was felt like running up a mountain. It was quite sheer, white lace with a waist cinch. Looking down, her hair fell in front of her face, and it was, oh my God, so long. It bunched on the bed, a bit past her bottom now.How had that happened overnight? And yet, as she lifted up the ends, the part that had been singed from the train wreck was gone—replaced with a steady cut, as if it had been manicured recently.

Just as she took a deep breath, preparing herself to stand, the door to the bedroom opened.

Standing in the doorway was Betelgeuse. Or Betsy, although she had once thought she was a prostitute named Catherine. Surprise. Her face was the same, her with her cheeky grin, but her clothing and her hair were completely different. She was clad in a pajama set, a top, and… pants? Her hair was much shorter, stopping at her shoulders.

“I felt you wake,” she said lightly as she came further into the room. Evie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

She tried again, putting a hand up to her neck in confusion.

Betsy nodded. “Hold on,” she said, leaving briefly.