Oliver tries to push her away. His arms are like sticks. ‘That’s your demon talking,’ he says. ‘Your demon wants you to disobey Cousin all the time. Anyway.’ He sniffs. ‘Where would we go? Not back to the home.’ Oliver shivers and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Not there.’
‘No.’ Riley is thinking hard. She holds a tissue against Oliver’s nose and he blows. She strokes his hair. ‘I’ll figure it out.’
She goes to the cupboard and pours the pink grains of poison into the little plastic trays.
Riley fries chicken for Cousin’s supper. She also makes biscuits and gravy. He likes all these things. She makes him a strawberry pie. Riley sits with him at the table, eating her crackers and her apple in small bites. Cousin likes company and he says it’s good for her to watch him eat. It gives her the gifts of humility and gratitude.
The scent of sugar and pastry fill the air as Cousin cuts himself a slice of the warm pie. It’s perfect, the pastry crisp and golden. The gleaming strawberry insides spill out red.
Riley wakes Oliver at midnight.
He always sleeps with his head under the sheets like a covered corpse. She pulls the sheets down to show his small face, tousled dark hair.
He scrubs his eyes. ‘Go away, Riley.’ Sisters never get any respect.
‘Pants on,’ she says. ‘Right now.’
‘Why? It’s night?’
Oliver’s legs are so thin. She pulls his pants on with a stab in her heart.
‘Why are you inhaling like that?’ Riley taught Oliver to spell ‘inhale’ the other day.
‘The demon is coming,’ she whispers. ‘We have to get out of Boulder.’
He looks very little all of a sudden, way smaller than his seven years.
‘My demon?’ he whispers.
‘Ours. But we can get away from it.’
He doesn’t argue anymore.
She pulls Oliver’s socks over his feet. They’re his favourite; they have a goofy kind of dog on them, from some cartoon he used to watch. The dog has big lunatic eyes. It is called Banana, Nana for short. To Riley, Nana seems frightening or maybe frightened but Oliver loves her and he really loves these socks.
‘Shoes.’
Riley shoves Oliver’s sneakers on. She pulls a sweater over one bony shoulder then the other. ‘It’ll be cold out there. And we have to carry what we’re not wearing.’ Riley can’t feel his arm anymore through all the wool. It’s like he’s vanished. Sometimes she gets this, the breathless panicked feeling that Oliver has gone. Evaporated into air. She touches his head quickly, warm and real. ‘I packed everything we need,’ Riley says. ‘We have to go quiet or the demon will hear.’ She can’t be sure about Cousin.
Oliver is still only half awake and he weaves and falls against the wall as they go down the stairs. Riley listens for stirring but nothing comes.
‘Hurry,’ she says. ‘It’s right behind us.’ She almost feels the colour drain from him. Riley feels a hot rush of hatred for herself. It hurts to use Cousin’s words to get Oliver away from him. But they have to get away. She’s nothing like Cousin, Riley reminds herself. She’s doing this for the right reasons.
They’re by the door and Riley’s about to ease the bolt back when she stops. She nearly forgot it.
‘We have to go, Riley!’ Oliver whispers. ‘Demon!’ She has done her job too well, maybe.
‘Just a second, Oliver Olive.’
Riley creeps on light feet to the potpourri box on the mantlepiece. It stinks sweet of fake roses. She hates that smell.
She puts a hand into the box. The dried stuff feels nasty, like dead bugs. It’s at the bottom but her fingers find it. Cousin can’t hide anything from Riley. She has been watching everything he does, ever since they came here. She knows where he keeps it.
The locket settles around Riley’s neck, onto her breastbone, the silver cool on her skin.
‘That’s Mom’s locket,’ Oliver whispers.
‘It’s mine now,’ she says.
