“Please,” Julie begs. “Let us go.” I realize she’s talking to me, not my father. “Spare us. We did nothing wrong.”
The fire encroaches, eating up the pews. Soon it will block the path to the door. Even worse is the thickening smoke, which poisons the air. Mrs. Autin won’t stop coughing.
I know they’re scared and hurting, but I need these people to stay. They’re my witnesses. Without them, I have little leverage. Besides, I’mthe villain, aren’t I? The beast, the Low Man. Their discomfort should mean little to me. They’re collateral damage.
But I can’t do it that way.
I growl and sweep down the aisle past the growing flames, scalded by the heat licking my arms and legs. I can smell my hair burning, but I push through to the doors, grip the large branch wedged in the handles, and tug with all my might. It wrenches free and I tumble back. “Leave!” I yell, and race for the stairs to the balcony.
I’m not even halfway up them before I hear the doors to the nave swing open and crack against the wall. Everyone has escaped—except my mother.
She’s climbing over the pews toward me.
I leap up the rest of the stairs and run down the narrow path to the balcony. My father has sequestered himself in the corner farthest from me. He holds up a gold cross, as if I am truly a demon. “Back, beast!”
“One last question,” I say, breathing heavily, and pull my last and greatest weapon from my dress: the papers Ever stole from my father’s safe while everyone was chanting. The document Sam Landry counseled us on, in exchange for a long-ago kindness. The last will and testament of Augustus Lear Blanchard.
The look on my father’s face when he see what I hold… He transforms. “Ruth.” So much fear packed into the word. “Please.” He lowers the cross. From king to beggar.
My mother rushes up behind us, but before she gets close, my father shouts, “Don’t touch her! She has the will.”
My mother halts. “How?”
“Everett,” my father answers grimly. “I was right. He’s the one who stole money from my safe.”
I hold the will tantalizingly close to the flame. My parents’ eyes track it. “I’m sure you know this, Dad, but if you destroy the only copy of a will, it’slike it never existed. Samuel Landry told us that. You remember Sam, don’t you? The boy who got into Duke, who you told everyone not to support? Well, he says without this, lawyers will have to rely on earlier versions of Augustus’s will, which I’m guessing name Herman as his heir. But Herman’s not alive anymore, so…I guess the state will be in charge of all that money. Maybe there are some distant Blanchard cousins they can track down.”
He shivers despite the heat from the fire below. “This has gone beyond rebellion. Give me the will.”
“Like I said. One more question.” I look at him. At my mother. I’d planned to ask how he’d convinced Augustus to name him as his heir, thinking to expose his machinations to our witnesses. But they’re gone now. It’s just the three of us. So I take a deep breath and ask something different. “When you struck me as a child. Or when I tried to get you to hug me and you wouldn’t. When you locked me in my room for days and told me not to talk. Did you know what you were doing?” I swallow. “Did you mean for it to hurt?”
My father’s eyes flick from the will to my face, weighing.
“Yes,” my mother says, gripping the balustrade. “I knew.”
Slowly, my father nods.
I read it in their eyes: with the will on the line, they’re finally telling the truth.
“Thank you,” I say, and light the will on fire.
“No,” my father roars, lunging at me. I twist away, bending over the balustrade to hold the will out of his reach. He knocks the torch from my hand and it rolls to my mother, who stomps the flame. My father wraps a massive hand around my throat.
“Stop,” I wheeze, but he’s squeezing my neck too tight. I can barely get the word out.
“James,enough.” My mother claws at his hand, trying to pull it away, but he elbows her.
“Give me the will,” he seethes, our faces inches apart. Heat radiates from him, as blistering as any fire. “You haveno ideawhat I’ve done for it. This is my life’s work. Quick, girl.”
“No,” I manage to rasp, before he squeezes my neck so tight that my vision goes black and the whole church disappears. I’m back on a warm June day in the swamp with the birds singing, frogs croaking. Renard’s hands are around my throat, his body crushing mine.
Panic clutches me. I need Ever—I need saving.
You will be saved. You must be good.
But there’s no one out there making sure people get mercy or justice. It’s just us.
It’s just me on this ledge. In this world.
