Julian wrapped his fingers around my throat, his thumb resting under the base of my chin. I closed my eyes. He pulled me forward. A cool breath fanned across my lips. Then my lips quivered.
Julian’s forehead fell to mine, and he tilted his head. “Don’t look at me,” he whispered into my mouth, clutching the side of my face, his lips coasting over my parted ones. “Whatever you do, don’t look at me.”
As soon as he’d said the words, my eyes blinked open.
All oxygen sucked from my lungs, and darkness devoured me whole. Terror cut me open, slicing through wounds that had been scabbed over, but always there. A scream ripped through my throat as I clawed at the walls that suddenly circled me. “Julian!”
The well. I was no longer in the woods. Julian was gone. My eyes darted around me in a panic.
Trapped, trapped, trapped.
My palms hit brick. All around me was brick. This panic exploded within me, and I clawed frantically at the walls on every side. The full moon beamed through the small opening at the top. Water sloshed around at my knees. I continued to claw and scratch at the walls, trying to climb my way out. My nails broke as tears rushed down my face. My throat was hoarse. My fingertips were raw and bloody. But I had to get out.
“HELP ME!”
My teeth chattered, my limbs convulsed, my entire being desperate to escape the hot well in the dreadful heat of the summer night.
“JULIAN!”I screamed again, my throat on fire as if shards of glass lodged in my windpipe.
“… an emergency Town Hall meeting will be held at eight a.m. As always, all are welcome. Except you, Jasper Abbott. You are not welcome.”—Freddy paused to chuckle—“And these are your Hollow Headlines with Freddy in the Mournin’. Let’s kick Thursday off with some good music, and remember, witches, no one is safe after 3 a.m. …”
I startled from my bed, shaking and terrorized. A cold dew covered my slick skin, the bedsheets tossed at the end, halfway to the floor. Blood-orange swirled and smeared across the sky over the blue waters with the rising sun. Casper pounced over the bed from the armoire and laid beside me at my hip.
My head hit the pillow. “It was only a dream,” I convinced myself, one hand protecting my racing heart. “It was all a dream.”
Chapter 9
Fallon
Town hall wasthe biggest building in Town Square, situated at the opposite end of the entrance behind the gazebo. It was like a miniature version of the White House, with large white pillars, black plantation shutters, and a curved door off to the side of the main entrance that opened into a spacious room where folding chairs lined up in front of a podium.
The town’s people filed in, one after the other, filling the room with some familiar faces, such as Mina Mae, Dr. Morley, Agatha Blackwell, and those I haven’t met yet, seen only in passing.
I took a seat with Jonah and Monday.
Jonah had said it was mandatory to come. The three of us sat at the end of the row in the center of the room. Chatter echoed off the low ceilings, and I turned in my seat and noticed the Hollow Heathens standing against the back wall with their arms clasped firmly in front of them. Julian’s eyes never faltered and stayed pinned ahead, but the veins in his arms popped as he tensed with my gaze as if he struggled to remain still and focused.
Each time I closed my eyes, the dream would come back to me. The ghost—Julian. The color of black ice and currant—Julian. Death omens and trees—Julian. Blood and black feathered wings sticking to our skin in the dark and wicked woods—Julian, Julian, Julian.
It had been as real as real could be in a dream—or as real as a dream could be. And as the nonsense crossed my mind, it somehow all made sense to me. I could still feel his cold fingertips against my neck, his breath against my lips, and the horrifying terror that had ripped me away from him. There was no stopping it, no ridding myself of the memory. Julian lived there now, in my malefic imagination, and he had no idea. Whatever had walked in my mind, I’d walked with it alone.
A distinctbang!of a gavel against the wood caused my head to jerk forward. Standing in front of the podium was an older man with a chestnut-colored toupee combed perfectly to the side.
“We will begin,” he announced with blinding authority. The chatter ceased at once before him. “This meeting will be handled maturely and with respect. I will not have a repeat of last month.”
Jonah dropped his mouth to my ear. “That’s Augustine Pruitt, one of the four in the Order, which governs the town. Think of them as the regulators.”
Nodding, I kept my eyes forward on Mr. Pruitt as he continued, speaking of upcoming events, news within Weeping Hollow, and the aftermath of the storm. A collection of groans and oohs and aahs see-sawed in the room, reacting to his every word, whether the people agreed or disagreed. The man stood with unfathomable posture and wore a sweater vest under his navy-blue blazer. He was a handsome man with wise lines crinkling in the corners of his mouth and eyes.
Off to Mr. Pruitt’s side stood Agatha Blackwell, a lady I’d never seen before and a man who wore a plastic white mime mask with black diamonds over the eyes and a thin painted-on mustache over the black lips. His stringy blond hair hit his bony shoulders that poked out from inside the long black trench coat.
“Who is that?” I whispered to Jonah, nodding to the odd creature beside Mr. Pruitt.
“That’s Clarence Goody. He’s also in the Order, along with Agatha Blackwell and Viola Cantini.”
The conversation had changed to smaller issues between townies, and the owner of Hobb’s Grocery stood from the crowd after being called upon by Mr. Pruitt.
“What ar-yah gonna do about my shop window?” he called out angrily with a fist in the air. “It should come outta the town’s expense! That storm blasted through my window and soaked a quartah of my inventory! What yah gonna do about that, Pruitt?”
