During her previous incursion into the room, on that night when she’d found the Ouija board and the candles, Minerva had been too busy talking to the security guard accompanying her to give the space a proper look. If she had been alone, perhaps she would have realized that this room was the same one she often stared at, her eye reflexively drawn to that particular window in Joyce House. The house had been interested in Minerva long before she had become interested in it. Now it welcomed her: a crackling, almost electric shock spread down her spine as she stepped farther into the room. It was
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