Free Untold by Sarah Rees Brennan

of her friends seeing the inside of her house. Not that that was looking too likely.
    Angie and Kami would probably already have drifted away from her if it hadn’t been for the sorcerers. And how sick was it to be almost glad there were murderers in town? Holly tried to swallow, but the food was bitter, as if she had picked up a handful of ash from the grate and shoved it in her mouth. She forced it down and pushed her plate away.
    “Just not hungry, I’m sorry,” Holly said to the scarred surface of the kitchen table. She got up from the table and collected everyone’s plates, which was a trick she’d learned years ago. Nobody would stop her if she was doing work they didn’t want to do. She kept her head down, bent over the sink. The cold water turned her hands red and raw, and they kept stinging even when she went to her and Mary’s bedroom. She changed into her pajamas just so she could climb into bed and stick her hands under her pillow.
    There was a little spotted mirror on the wall. Holly could see her reflection in it.
    Don’t want to lose your looks, Mum had said. As if Holly could keep them: she could already look at Mum and see how fluffy hair could get thin and pink cheeks turn sunken and pale. Holly wasn’t beautiful like Angie. She was just pretty.
    It was stupid to think that way. Holly liked the way she looked, mostly: she had fun with it.
    Holly thought, suddenly, about calling Jared to take her mind off things. She couldn’t call Angie or Kami, didn’t have the first idea what to say, and Jared apparently didn’t have anyone to talk to either. Holly could sympathize with the urge to leave home.
    She doubted that Jared was going to make her feel better. Her hands warmed under her pillow, and eventually she drifted off to sleep.
    When Holly woke, she had the disorienting feeling that came from having slept too long or not long enough. It was still night, so she assumed it had only been a couple of hours. She had turned over in her sleep: the first thing her eyes caught on was not the mirror but her sister’s bare pillow, a dented silver hollow in the moonlight.
    “Mary?” Holly called her sister’s name softly, and swung her legs out of bed. The spot in the bedroom floor where the carpet had worn clean away scraped the soles of her feet. She walked to the door, opened it, and looked down the hall, vaguely thinking that Mary must be in the bathroom.
    Her brothers’ bedroom door stood open, a square of paler shadow cast inside the room. Holly could see both their beds, Ben’s neatly made and Daniel’s mattress naked, the sheet a ghost draped over the bolster.
    Holly spun and ran down the hall, feet slapping against the tile outside her parents’ room. She shoved the door open, words already on her lips about to spill forth, about needing help, needing search parties, needing someone to take over.
    Her parents’ room was deserted as well, the blankets and sheets tumbled together. One pillow lay pale and lonely on the floor.
    Holly went still, her hand pressed against the door. The realization went through her like a stone sinking through cold water: she had been deserted.
    Lillian Lynburn had said the Prescotts could not be trusted. Her father had called someone “sir” on the phone during dinner, and promised he would be at Hallow’s Field tonight.
    Rob Lynburn had called his sorcerers together.
    Holly ran back down to her bedroom and knelt on the worn floor, fumbling through her clothes from the day before. When her phone finally slid into her palm, cool against her sweaty skin, she almost sobbed.
    “I don’t care, Kami, tell me about it in the morning,” Angie’s voice said in her ear a moment later, husky with sleep. Angie would know what to do.
    “Angie,” Holly said. “It’s me.” There was a beat of silence where Holly wondered if Angela might hang up.
    “What’s wrong?” Angela said, her voice much sharper and more awake.
    “My whole family isn’t in their beds,”