“I’m fine,” Violet managed.
Dodie was shivering. “It grabbed me.”
“I felt it,” I said.
“She’s down here,” Violet added, pushing her soaked hair back from her face. “I saw her.”
I waded toward my floating bat, then the golf club, then the shovel. We regrouped, shivering. A splash of water came from one of the dark corners of the room. “Not good enough, coward!” I barked at the thing that was in the basement with us. “Try again!”
I waded farther out. Lisette’s light moved in my path. Dodie and Violet, armed again, followed behind.
There was a hiss of breath in the darkness.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “We’re coming for you.”
“Vail, you’re making her mad,” Violet warned, her teeth chattering.
“So what?” I took another step. The water got colder the farther we got from the stairs. “I’ve been mad for twenty years.”
The floor became uneven, and my toe hit something hard. A piece of metal. A remnant of old furniture, maybe. Had someone tried to put a furnace down here? They must have been insane.
Something bumped my leg. “Watch out,” I warned the others. “She’s under the water again.”
Dodie jabbed into the water with her club. Water dripped from the ends of her long hair, making circles on the surface. “She pinches the backs of your knees and hits your ankle. Puts your feet out from under you. She’s fast.”
As if on cue, something gripped my ankle—cold, hard fingers made of bone. I kicked hard, then stomped down with my other foot. If it was bone, I could break it.
I thought I felt something beneath my boot, but my feet were numb. A soft clicking sound came from the darkness, then another hiss.
“I felt her that time,” Violet said. “Circle up.”
We moved back-to-back again, keeping still, holding our weapons ready.
“Mom?” Lisette called from the stairs.
“Hold on, honey,” Violet called back. “We’re almost done.”
“Wake up,” a voice said, coming from everywhere and nowhere, making my nerves seize in instinctive terror. “Wake up, Edward. Get out of bed.”
Lisette shrieked.
We waited for Sister to say something else. My rage burned, replacing the fear, hot and healthy, cleansing. I would never let it go. I would hate Sister until I died.
The Whittens were tragic. Whatever had happened to Anne Whitten to get her pregnant at fourteen was lost to time, and it was sad. Her whole life story was sad.
I was going to kill her anyway.
The silence was cold, tense. The water lapped around my waist. I couldn’t feel my legs.
“Violet?” I said when the silence had stretched too long.
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you something.”
I heard her let out a shaky breath. It plumed in the cold air.
“That time Dad gave you five dollars for your tenth birthday? I stole it.”
