“Get back, Sybil,” Reeze warns. “You’re driving him mad.”
I shift back a step or two. “What happened to him? Why didn’t any of you return last night? Did you see Herron?”
A figure emerges from the back of the group. It’s Henry Partridge, and he’s holding a red scarf.
When the search party entered the woods, I didn’t notice Henry among them, and I don’t believe Anne did, either. He’s wearing a dark, hooded cloak—perhaps his head was covered. My esteem for him rises, knowing that he took time to search for the missing man.
It takes me a moment to recognize the scarf Henry Partridge is clutching. Herron was wearing it when I saw him.
“Is he…” My voice fades before I finish the question.
“He’s gone,” says Marduc dully. “We found this by the edge of a bog. He must have fallen in.”
“You didn’t find his body?”
“We looked. Nothing,” Henry Partridge replies.
“I’m so sorry, Marduc,” I say faintly. He doesn’t look as devastated as a father should be. Maybe he knew what a pervert his son really was, or maybe some other emotion has stifled the grief inside him. Fear, maybe? All of them look stricken or bewildered.
“Did you stop by Grandmother Riquet’s cottage?” I venture. It’s probably rude to redirect the conversation from Herron’s death, but I need to know how Grandmother is functioning.
“Yeah, we stopped there,” says Reeze. “The door to the cottage was wide open, leaves and dirt blown inside. It looks abandoned, like she doesn’t live there anymore.”
“What?” I exclaim. “Where did she go?”
“How should we know?” Marduc snaps. “She’s an old woman. Probably wandered off and fell in a pit like Herron did. We didn’t poke around her place much. The clearing was full of those demons of yours. They kept snarling and hissing at us, like they were going to attack.” His voice drips with scorn and suspicion.
“They’re notmydemons,” I retort. “I don’t create or control them.”
“So you say.” His face is red with suppressed fury. “This region used to be decent, before—”
“Marduc,” says Reeze in a reproachful tone.
“I don’t care anymore,” Marduc shouts. “That forest is full of her monsters. They killed my son and they hurt Gavarne. Dire magic is at work, and she’s the only one with any kind of supernatural power in these parts.” He shakes a finger at me. “All night the forest kept whispering. All night the path kept changing, doubling back, forcing us to walk in circles. All night we heard the sounds of something bigger than a house, something slavering and growling in the dark. And you’re saying we should believe you had nothing to do with it?”
“I’ve been in our sitting room on the couch,” I counter. “I have a sprained ankle. How could I have been wandering in the woods?”
“You could be faking it. Think you’re fucking smart, do you?” snarls Marduc, and he charges toward me.
But Henry Partridge steps forward. “Leave her alone,” he says quietly.
“Just because you want to fuck her sister—” Marduc begins, but the blacksmith interrupts.
“That’s enough,” he says. “We all need a hearty meal, a stiff drink, and some rest. Then we’ll talk about the questions we need answered.” He shoots me a look like a blade, letting me know that even though he’s interfering to quell the conflict, I’m not out of the woods yet. Suspicion still lies over me like a scarlet cloak.
The blacksmith’s expression chills me, and impulsively I say, “Mr. Partridge, would you like to turn aside here and have some tea? Anne would be glad to see you.”
I half expect him to refuse, but after a blink of surprise, Henry nods. “I would like that.”
The invitation was a calculated move on my part. A mild show of power perhaps, as I pulled him away from them to my side. A subtle way to show these men that I’m still part of this community. I’m still the girl they’ve known since birth, someone with whom a respectable neighbor can share a cup of tea.
I didn’t want to go inside alone, with my back exposed to their malevolent glares. Having Henry as an escort feels safer. But he won’t always be around.
As the blacksmith said, maybe a meal, a drink, and a night of sleep will ease the men’s fears and restore their sanity.
Henry and I pass through the gate to our property, while the search party continues down the lane.
“Sorry about that,” he mutters as he escorts me toward the house. “But you have to understand how it was out there. The confusion, the darkness, the terror—the noises. And then Gavarne wandered off and got hurt.” He shudders. “I’ve been in forests at night, and this was different. Itfeltdifferent.”
