“My parents’ church could be lovely, sometimes. I’m not a believer, but it was beautiful to see the whole community together and how faith could motivate people for good. I think this calls for a celebration.” I pawed around in my purse,searching for Rowan’s cookies. “In three days, Connor will be safe from Daigh, and we can get to this other woman and?—”
The words flew out of my mouth as someone barreled around the corner of the steps and slammed into me.
“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice croaked. “Allow me to he?—”
The voice stopped mid-word as the figure backed up, and I recoiled as its face transformed from concern to venom.
It was Dora.
“You,” she spat at me. “How dare you step foot inside the house of our Lord?”
I bit my lip. My heart thudded against my chest. We hadn’t had a chance to figure out what to do about Dora, about the fact that she would remember the fae in her head, moving her limbs without her consent, wielding that knife on her behalf. Now she was staring at me, a glob of spittle on the edge of her brown lipsticked mouth, waiting for me to respond.
“What are you talking about?” Jane demanded, hand on her hip. “Maeve has as much right to be here as anyone else.”
No, Jane. Don’t make it worse.
“Fine words from aharlot,” Dora’s penetrating gaze swiveled to Jane. She raised a finger and jabbed it at Jane’s chest. I noticed her wrinkled skin was speckled with red.Red paint, like the paint on Jane’s front door.“You dare to profane these walls with your presence, nursing a bastard on your breast while your dear mother prays for your eternal salvation. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re colluding with thiswitch.”
“Dora,” I said softly. “You know witches don’t exist. What happened the other day has a rational explanation.” The sentence was so ridiculous coming from my lips – the scientist who demanded a rational explanation for everything but had been forced to embrace the occult – that I almost burst out laughing. But Dora’s stormy face was nothing to laugh about.
“I know you placed a demon inside me,” she snarled. “I could hear it inside my head, moving my mouth and body, forcing me to hurt my boys. Those boys are like sons to me, and you made me hate them. You made me try to hurt them. I’m here to see if the vicar will pray over me, lest my mortal soul be in danger from your foul, demonic touch.”
“I thought Christians were supposed to be accepting of all people,” Jane’s eyes flashed. She shoved Connor’s stroller forward, forcing Dora to leap out of the way. “Maeve owns the castle now, and those boys care about her. She’s a part of this village so you should get used to seeing her around, and me. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Crookshollow will not suffer witches and Jezebels,” Dora yelled after us as we wheeled our way down the path. “You’ll pay for your sins!”
“What’s her problem?” Jane fumed as we rushed down the street, just as Arthur pulled up in his ridiculous car and waved at us.
“Us, I guess.” My hands trembled. I remembered the words written on Jane’s door and the paint splattered on Dora’s hands. I had a horrible feeling that Dora wasn’t going to stop until she’d run us both out of Crookshollow for good.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CORBIN
The door swung open, and a face I hadn’t seen since the Christmas-before-last appeared in the gap, her features drab in the pale sky, her hollow eyes lighting up a little at the corners as she recognized me.
“Hi, Mum.”
She’d cut her wild afro since I last saw her into a short, sensible bob. It made her look older, or maybe that was the sagging skin around the edges of her mouth and the haunted look in her eyes.
“Corbin,” she said, not unkindly, but not with the longing of a mother who hadn’t seen her son in nearly two years. “This is a surprise.”
“It is. Can we come in?”
“We?” Mum peered around me, and her lips pursed as she took in Rowan. “You broughthim?”
Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “Rowan’s my friend. He’s changed since you last met him. He’s completely clean now.”
“He doesn’t look clean.” She wrinkled her nose. “The girls will be home any minute. Is he safe in the house?”
“I wouldn’t have brought him otherwise.”
I watched the cogs turn in her brain, holding my breath for her decision. Finally, she stepped back and held the door open. I slid my boots off and placed them in the haphazard pile of shoes that always littered the entrance. My chest panged to see the girls’ school shoes and sparkly sneakers alongside Dad’s Oxfords and wellies. Their feet were so much bigger than I remembered.
Mum led us down a hall that should have been crowded with family pictures but instead housed dull department store artwork. She bypassed the sitting room and gestured for us to sit at the dining room table. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said, shuffling into the kitchen.
“How are things?” The question sounded so forced andwrongin this house.
