Sybil’s sobbing starts up again when The Witch grabs my little sister’s face. With a practiced motion, she pinches into Sybil’s cheeks, forcing the child’s lips apart.
My chest closes up, breath trapped in my throat as my stomach clenches painfully. But I stand there, hands behind my back, and I watch.
Because that’s what Evelyn expects.
And doing what she expects means—mostly—that I don’t get punished.
My eyes shift of their own, trying to look across the room, to where the dark had hidden the Bad Place.
Sybil’s howl drags them back.
And I don’t know what’s worse in this moment.
Watching as Evelyn, the woman who birthed me thirteen years ago but whom I shall never, ever call Mother in my head, forces that pretty blue butterfly inside my sister’s mouth and makes her chew…
…or the two chairs bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.
I can smell the leather straps attached to the arms and feet of the chair. Can feel the smooth, worn surface of the wood against my pants. The splinters at the tips of the arms where my fingers fold over the edge.
But those chairs aren’t the worst.
Not even when I hear acrunchand Sybil gags.
What’s worse of all down here in the Bad Place, is the Wall of Death.
The one the bolted-down chairs face.
The one covered with the neatly positioned corpses of nearly a hundred small, furry creatures.
Some dried out like beef jerky.
Some crawling with maggots.
Some still fresh enough that blood glistens from the fatal blow that ended their brief lives.
Chapter 28
Haven
“I was about to start a candlelight vigil in your honor.”
Melissa’s voice forces my eyes open. Which sucks, because I just,justabout to fall asleep.
Fuck, who am I kidding? I’ve been lying here for half an hour trying to forget how it felt to be trapped between Bastian and Kai’s bodies. Trying to forget how much I liked it.
Trying to just fuckingsleep.
Exhausted as I was, I didn’t want to go to bed when I got to my room. I wanted to tackle some homework, or think about the shit show I’ll have to deal with come Monday. Whether I should even attempt to drag the shattered remains of my life back together and patch them up, or just leave town and try to make a living at a diner three or four towns over.
Instead, I showered, changed into dry clothes, crawled into bed, and begged for the numbness of sleep.
Which never came.
I roll onto my back, throwing a hand onto my forehead to make my groan that much more dramatic.
Melissa isn’t buying it. She stands in the doorway, still dressed in her pajamas, one fluffy bunny slipper propped against her ankle, her hip leaning against the jamb. Her hair is half-hidden under a wide velvet headband with bunny ears, a glossy pink face mask coating her skin. She’s holding two mugs in her hands, and I have a sneaking suspicion one of them is for me.
“Guess I should call off the search party. You owe me like a hundred donuts,” she says, closing the door behind her before flopping over to my bed and handing me a mug. “This tea had better scald me.”
