This is why I hate going outside. At least when I lived on the street, the drugs numbed the sting of dicks like that.
A few minutes later, the bus pulled out of the station, heading for the Cotswolds. I’d never been before. On TV, it was all picturesque rolling hills and medieval thatched villages, the kind of place where an earth witch like me would be happiest.
Corbin shoved his earbuds into his ears. Loud metal music blared from the tiny speakers. He stared out the window.
My heart hammered against my chest. I knew why Corbin was acting so cold, why he didn’t want me to come with him. Well, I didn’t really know, since I’d never had any family of my own, except for Corbin.
The thought of disappointing him in any way made my body clammy with sweat.
I knew what it was like to not feel in control, to have something burrowing inside you that altered you so completely that all it left behind was a shadow of yourself.
I tried to read my book but all the words blurred together on the page. The sour look on Corbin’s face didn’t change for the whole bus ride. If anything, he grew more nervous, shifting in his seat and sighing under his breath.
I wanted to do something to calm him, to show him it would be okay. But I didn’t know what that thing was, or how to say it. I hated myself for being so weak. If the situation was reversed – as it had been so many times – Corbin would know just how to calm me down.
We got off the bus in one of those postcard perfect thatched-roof villages, and Corbin grabbed his bag and started stalking off down the high street. I raced after him, not stopping to relish the lightness in the air or the way the earth hummed beneath my feet, the soil surprisingly restless, apprehensive.
Corbin turned down a side street. Here, the houses were less picturesque, more Victorian industrial. He stopped in front of a brick townhouse, identical to every other house on the street except for the bright red front door.
Two kids’ bikes were chained up beside the front door, and there was a dying tomato plant in a yellow and pink polka-dot terra-cotta pot. I bent down and touched my fingers to the plant. Within moments the leaves unfurled again, bending toward the grey light. Tiny green cherry tomatoes popped out of the flowers.
Corbin stood in front of the red front door, sucking in deep breaths. “Stay behind me,” he ordered.
I reached out a hand to touch his arm, to show him that I was here for him, but he shrugged it away.
Corbin took a heaving breath.
He knocked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MAEVE
Jane’s eyes narrowed at the door, her body stiff as she leaned over the handles of the stroller, as if it was the only thing stopping her from kicking the door in. My stomach twisted.That’s sick. Who would do that to a woman who just went through hell?
THE WHORE WILL BURN.
I placed my hand on Jane’s shoulder, but she jerked away.
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Jane whirled around and stormed back down the front path. She jerked the stroller so hard that Connor woke up and started crying.
“Jane.” I jogged after her, but her legs were longer than mine and she didn’t slow down. “Jane, wait, please.”
Jane yanked the stroller to a stop and bent down to unbuckle Connor. She lifted him into her arms and jiggled him up and down, a little more violently than I’d seen her do before.
“I hate this stupid village,” she growled, gripping Connor’s head so tight he growled.
“Who would do that to your house?”
“One of the local bitter old biddies, no doubt.” Connor started wailing, and Jane had to yell over his cries. “They can’t stand the idea of their old fashioned values being challenged. They’ve had it out for me ever since—” she snapped her mouth shut.
“Since what?”
Jane bent her head to Connor, kissing his head as his cries simmered down into sniffles. She didn’t answer.
I decided to press on. If people were tagging her cottage, she could be in danger. “Jane, when the police were questioning me, they said that you’d been arrested before…” I squeezed her shoulder. “For street solicitation. Is this something to do with that?”
