I raise my pounding head and look him straight in the eye. “Arson? First off, I didn’t start no fire. And I didn’t have nothin’ to do with Harlan, neither.”
There’s a rumble from the crowd of men. Some of them start cussing.
Murphy frowns. “Harlan Northrup?”
It takes me a minute, in my state, to realize my mistake. Goddamn this fever and my addled brain. The only reason I’d known anything about Harlan was because Bellflower told me he was dead in my vision.
A vision no one else saw.
“How’d you know about Harlan?” Sheriff Murphy takes two steps toward me. I see the metallic glint of handcuffs in his fist. “We just found him dead in Hosea Ray’s field about half an hour ago.”
All the air leaves my lungs, like somebody’s kicked me in the gut. I’ve just incriminated myself.
Abby wails and the sound cuts through me like a knife.
My mouth has gone dry, but I swallow hard. “You’re accusing me of murderin’ Harlan now, too? That’s what this is about? How’d you get a judge to sign that warrant so soon? There ain’t even been time for an investigation.”
This is all Bellflower’s doing. I can see his hand in all of it. Folks need a good reason to kill a witch in these times—saying she casts spells ain’t enough. Murder and arson would be.
“Several witnesses came forward. Saw what you did. Now you can go willingly, ma’am, or you can go at gunpoint. Those are your choices.” He reaches for me, and I jerk backward, but then realize if I resist, it just makes me look guiltier.
“All right. I’ll go willingly. But I want a lawyer. I ain’t answering any questions until I have a lawyer.” I offer my wrists and the cold metal slides over them as the handcuffs click into place. I turn back to look at Abby and Ebba. “I want y’all to bear witness. You tell the world if anything happens to me, you hear? Y’all stick together. Take good care of Granny, Ebba.”
Sheriff Murphy jerks on my cuffs hard enough to make me stumble. The crowd of masked men jeer. Caro breaks free of Val and runs to me. I try to push back the tears as I lean down and whisper in her ear. “Now, you go on up to Ebba and let her take care of you. Stay away from your mama, you hear? No matter what she says. She’s not right in the head these days. And you stayfaraway from that Josiah Bellflower. Promise me. He’s rotten to the core.”
“I will, Gracie, I promise.”
“I love you, kid.”
The sheriff jerks my arm, pulls me away.
“Gracie!” Caro hollers again, and the sound of her little voice is almost enough to do me in.
Murphy leads me right past Val on the way to the patrol car. She won’t look me in the eye, but I speak to her anyway. “I hope you’re happy, whorin’ yourself out for that devil,” I hiss. “Because that’s what he is, Val. He don’t care a lick about you.”
Val smirks at me, then starts twisting and yelping, pulling at her dress. “Oh, Lord, she’s burning me up! Just like she burned Harlan!”
And then it’s on. They’re all shouting and carrying on. Somebody throws a handful of pea gravel, and it glances off my forehead. Blood trickles into my eye, but I can’t wipe it away, so it just flows like water from a tap until it turns my vision red and runs over my lips. Sheriff Murphy pushes my head down and shoves me into the back of his car. The seats still smell like Aunt Val’s cheap rose perfume. It makes me gag, and I vomit on the floorboards.
Their ways may have changed, but everything else is the same.
They’ll find a way to burn me, just like Anneliese.
Just like Bellflower wants them to.
I swim up from sleep, my back aching from the razor-thin scrap of mattress. I smell fresh-baked biscuits. My belly claws with hunger. The vomiting has passed, but they ain’t given me hardly anything to eat in four days, only a few crackers and tiny sips of tepid water from a ladle shoved through the bars. Sheriff Murphy’s deputy, Jimmy Adams, sits at his desk, eating biscuits and gravy, staring at me as I go to the corner of the cell and piss in the coffee can they’ve given me as a chamber pot. I’ve seen circus animals treated better than this.
“You gonna feed me today?” I ask, wiping myself with a scrap of newsprint. “Can’t have your accused dying of starvation before you get the satisfaction of your hillbilly trial. Skinny as I am, it won’t take much longer.”
The deputy stops chewing and squares me up with his eyes. “You hush your mouth, girl. You’ll eat when the sheriff says you can eat.”
I shake my head and stalk back and forth. The scent of ashes and smoke comes through the tiny, barred window above my head along with the oppressive, relentless heat. “They finally get that fire out?”
“Not ’fore it got to town. Barely spared the Bledsoe place.”
My trial is in two days. I’m imagining most of the witnesses will be against me, and Bellflower will be judge, jury, and prosecution.
The door to the jailhouse swings open. I blink at the sudden intrusion of light. Abby steps into the jail, dressed in black. She never wears black. She smiles at me sadly, then approaches the desk.
