Free The Star Child (The Star Child Series) by Stephanie Keyes Page A

out of many of the rooms on the second floor. However, there was no evidence of my mother in any of these rooms. Every room here was empty, completely cleared out. Upon reaching the third floor, I found the exact same thing: nothing.
    From the outside, I could tell that there were at least four floors. However, I couldn't find the door that would take me up a level. I walked the length of the third floor again and again, searching for the steps, an elevator shaft, anything. The fourth floor could even be a façade. No, her room was round; she’d said so. I had to figure out how to get up there.
    Where is her room? I was about to give up when I finally noticed the old mattress that was shoved against one of the corners on the third floor. Propelling the mattress to the floor, I found a very narrow doorway. Without pausing, I pushed through the opening.
    Taking to the stairs, I counted each step as I walked. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. The sun was starting to come out again and its rays illuminated the entire chamber before me when I reached the eighth and final step.
    My breath hitched and I fought back the tears that were trying to force their way out of me. Frozen, I’d stopped in my tracks, only able to look around at the chamber in which I stood. It was incredible; there were no walls anywhere. There were probably walls at one time, but now it was more like one big mural covering every square inch of where a wall would be.
    There was a tall ladder that stood at the foot of the bed; it stretched up to the top of the ten-foot ceiling. The circular room had three small but bright windows that looked out over the rolling hills and shimmering lakes.
    Who could have painted this? However, my thought was answered when I saw my own childhood likeness painted in one of the murals, sitting in a field of flowers. A likeness of Roger sat in a tree, laughing.
    This was my mother’s room, I had no doubt. I remembered her painting periodically during my childhood, but I’d no idea of the depth of her abilities. It was clear that they were beyond anything that I’d remembered from my youth.
    My mother lived in this room, was trapped in this room, but she painted. My mother had a gift for finding happiness in almost any situation. It would be so like her to find peace in the middle of hell. Now, however, the room was empty, and I stood alone with the realization that she was no longer in the world.
    ***
    My eyes popped open. Transported back to Gran’s, I awoke with a start and fell out of the chair. Sunlight was streaming in through the ivory lace curtains on the windows while birds chirped loudly. It was early morning and the air was freezing; the breeze blew strongly. I’d left the window open all night. Apparently, I’d spent the night in the attic chair.
    Placing my head in my hands, I pushed my fingers through my tangled mass of hair as I stood up, pressing my eyes tightly shut. My stomach growled and I knew that I should’ve gone downstairs to get something to eat, but my legs wouldn’t move. I tried to get past the oncoming rush of emotion, but to no avail.
    Then my legs buckled and I sat back down again and opened my eyes. The tears came then and I hated them. They made me feel weak, a prisoner of my own grief. Yet I knew there would be no stopping them, so I leaned back in the chair and let them fall.
    When the moment passed, I wiped at my face casually with my shirtsleeve. In the morning, the room was bright, with rainbow-colored dots of light glancing off every surface in the room. That was when I noticed the rainbow pattern on the ceiling. It was bright and enchanting. I identified the source as a single crystal that hung by the window. My mother loved crystals and so did Gran. Both of them claimed that crystals were magical.
    My gaze returned to the rainbow and this time I followed its path along the ceiling. It ran in a thin line down the wall, where it intersected with a small framed letter. The