I’m a shivering mess by the time I go pounding through the front door, drenched and tingling from the cold.
I’m so disoriented I don’t notice it at first.
The pantry door half-open.
The small, slightly hunched shadow moving out of it.
I only realize Viola Babin is in the house when I smell the smoke.
She stops by the wall in front of me, a glowing cigarette in one hand and a thick wooden club in the other.
Her hair is dry.
She must’ve got here before the sky split, and there’s a hard darkness in her eyes so much worse than the restless night.
Distant, yet determined.
A little sad.
A lot cruel.
“Awful night for some justice, don’t ya think?” she hisses.
I make a strangled sound, scrambling back into the hallway until I hit the wall in the mudroom.
“Stay back!” I throw out my hands, doing my best to sound scary as I look around desperately for somewhere to run—or at least for a weapon.
What did she say?
Justice?
There’s a nasty smirk on her lips, like she hates the taste of the smoke she’s inhaling, but she needs it anyway like a vampire needs blood.
And I’d guess she needs something darker and thicker than nicotine tonight.
My lungs stop working.
Even worse, she’s blocking me from the kitchen, reducing my chances of grabbing anything useful.
Not good.
Oh, sure, I could make a run for it and try to sprint around her, but there’s no guarantee I’ll get past before she starts swinging that club at my head.
Also, I doubt she’s alone.
If she’s here, odds are Joseph Babin isn’t far behind.
She shifts the club in her hand, smacking it against her palm as I stare at her.
If she hits me with that thing, it’s going to break bones. A head strike could kill me.
She’s not a large woman, but she’s wiry and lean from years working the blueberry fields.
One good hit and it’s lights out. Or at least so much blistering pain I’ll wish I was unconscious.
Crap, crap.
Last I checked, Kane has at least thirty minutes until he’s home. Maybe more in this mess outside.
