He extended his hand, palm up, and I dropped the bottle into it. Silas lifted it to his eyes and inspected it, humming. “Looks like…black salt, a chunk of quartz, touch o’ rosemary. And…a feather? For protection.”
I huffed a laugh. “Even working with Delilah back in New Orleans, I can’t say I’ve ever been given…what, witch soup?”
Silas chuckled. “Better than moonshine.”
“Barely.”
He handed it back to me with care, closing my fingers over it. “Keep it on you, baby. Pocket, bra, boot…don’t matter. I’ll feel better with you havin’ it.”
“Okay,” I said. “And…Silas, she said something else.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “Flora told me ‘she won’t let anything happen to us.’ Not Flora, I mean…I think she meant Amelia.”
Silas blew out a breath. “So…we’re not the only ones who can see her.”
I shook my head. “Guess not.”
We both went silent for a moment, looking toward the sanctuary threshold like Amelia might appear any second. Then I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head again.
“Your town is weird, Silas,” I said, looking up at him.
Silas smiled.
“I think you meanour town,” he said. “And yeah…it really is.”
CHAPTER 28
Silas
I’d have rather faceda hundred ghosts than willingly walk into that tent…but June had asked me to, and I could never say no to June Fontenot.
We were parked off a dirt road just past the county line, the headlights cut, the radio silent. You could hear the music from here—those same revival chords I’d grown up hearing on cassette tapes and late-night broadcasts. It was all tambourines and shouted hallelujahs, more a war cry than a prayer.
June sat beside me in the passenger seat, her skirt smoothed over her thighs, her fingers twisting the rosary around her wrist. She hadn’t said much since we left Willow Grove—just reached across the center console and kept her hand on my knee like she knew I’d bolt if she let go.
“You ready?” she asked.
No. Not even close.
But I looked toward her and found her blue eyes…found the sapphire ring on her left hand. This wasn’t the end of anything; it was the beginning.
I had to have faith that was true.
“Yeah,” I said, voice soft. “Let’s do it.
We both climbed out of the truck into the late summer humidity, dewy grass staining dark patches onto my boots. It had been raining almost non-stop ever since the night Abel—or at least, someone we thought was Abel—had snuck into the church. There’d been a brief reprieve, but all it had done was warm things up and make it muggy again, and I was already sweating when I rounded the front of the truck to take June’s arm.
She looked gorgeous—in a plain white linen dress, that silver cross at her neck hanging just below the hexafoil medallion. Her lips curved at the sight of me.
“You clean up nice, Mr. Ward,” she said.
“So do you, Miss Fontenot,” I replied—but there wasn’t any conviction in the teasing.
June patted my forearm. “We don’t have to do this,” she said.
I thought about Whit and Delilah—just a few minutes behind us, parking somewhere in the woods like the hooligans they were—and shook my head.
