“Yup. It’s not his fault. I’m working on it.”
I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her head against my shoulder. My chest tightened. I stroked Maeve’s short hair, expecting her to cry. She didn’t, but she stared at that front door in silence for a long time before she pulled back and said, “Drive back to the main street.”
I parked up under the shade of a desert willow and rolled up the roof. Even though evening approached rapidly, the sun still beat down on us – hot and oppressive. Tongues of violent orange and fuchsia streaked across the horizon. I’d forgotten how hot and dry it was here and how much the sun dominated the landscape. English sun never scalded your insides like this.
Maeve took my hand and dragged me up and down the street. At every corner or landmark, she would stop and tell some story about her parents or her sister. She was stalling and we both knew it, but I was happy to amble through her memories with her.
“This is the school field where Dad taught us to ride our bikes. It was just supposed to be me because I was older, but Kelly couldn’t stand not doing something that I was doing, so he asked around the congregation and someone had a tiny tricycle they could lend us. So every time I fell off my bike, there was Kelly right behind me ringing the bell on her trike and telling the whole world how much better she could ride.”
We picked up milkshakes from a diner called Ruby’s and sipped them on a rickety deck overlooking the sprawling desert, now lit by pale moonlight. Maeve told me a story about coming here with Kelly and her friends from school once. The girlsstarted a conversation about their movie star crushes and Maeve launched into a rant about all the waysStar Trekdisobeyed the laws of physics. One by one all the girls moved to another table and in the end, Maeve was just sitting in the corner by herself reading a book.
“I was such a dork,” she said, slurping her milkshake with that faraway, determined look in her eyes. The desert heat had eased now the sun had disappeared, which was good because I was starting to die in my long-sleeved Blood Lust tee, but no way was I taking it off and letting Maeve see the bandage on my arm.
We finished our milkshakes and got back in the car. Maeve wriggled in her seat, and I knew that we’d reached the real reason why we’d come back to Coopersville. Maeve directed me to a dirt road leading out of town. I followed her instructions, wondering what memory we’d be visiting next.
We stopped by the gate of a grand old ranchhouse, the exterior immaculate and the windows gleaming even with the desert dust settling on the path. Four American flags were lined up along the front fence.
Maeve got out of the car and slammed the door. She shoved the gate open and stalked up the path. My gut swirled with apprehension.
What are we doing here? This is something to do with Kelly, but I have no idea what. Is Maeve going to do something illegal?
I was halfway up the path by the time Maeve pounded on the door. It flew open and a short, pale-faced woman in a floor-length cotton dress with long lace sleeves answered the door. I half expected her to put on a white bonnet.
“Maeve?” she gasped. “What are you?—”
“Where is he?” Maeve demanded. “I want to see himnow.”
“Bob’s in his study, but I can’t disturb him after dinner—” The woman shrieked as Maeve elbowed her way past and disappeared into the house.
Shite.
I broke into a run. The woman leapt back, terror in her eyes. I barreled past her, following that streak of pink hair and that determined glare. Maeve turned a corner in the hall and charged through a door. I stormed after her, my heart hammering in my chest.
“What is the meaning of this?” A deep voice bellowed.
I reached the door. Maeve stood on one side of a large dark wood desk, squaring off against the enormous man behind it. He had at least a head’s height on her and several heads of girth. His hand gripped a thick Bible so hard the knuckles glowed white, and the shaft of moonlight through the window illuminated the malevolence in his eyes. “How dare you barge in here and interrupt the Lord’s work?”
The woman behind me cowered at his booming voice, but Maeve didn’t flinch. “Hello, Uncle Bob. You look very busy so I won’t keep you. I just came to tell you that it’s over.”
“What’s over? What are you doing in my house? I hope you didn’t come here expecting a handout, because I have nothing to give you. Just because my brother got taken in by some British harlot’s sob story doesn’t mean I’m responsible for his mistakes?—”
“You hit Kelly.” Maeve’s eyes flashed. Her whole body shook with rage.
Double shite.
In those three words, I understood everything.
I was staring at the cause of Maeve’s sister’s attempt on her life. I was staring at the woman I loved protecting her own.
She was so much like Corbin, flying in to save the day.
Except that Corbin would never confront a person who hurt someone he loved. He would try to give his friends the tools to heal their own wounds.
But Maeve Moore – who looked every inch the High Priestess with her feet planted wide and her hands balled into fists and her eyes not giving an inch to this towering giant – she was here forvengeance.
“Your sister lives under my roof, and she needs to learn to obey my rules. I am her elder. I know what’s best for her, and she needs to learn a little respect.” He gestured at Maeve as though she was a fly he was trying to swat away. “It’s easy to see where she got her disobedient attitude from. My brother was not forceful enough with his women?—”
“YouhitKelly,” Maeve repeated, the words slow and hard and dangerous.
