By night, St.Louis was silent, the city hunching over the river and its barges. Deirdre stepped from the paddle steamer. Ebba followed, carrying Valerie. “The orphanage is around that corner, next to the cathedral. I can see the spire from here,” Deirdre whispered, low enough that the few people on the pier wouldn’t hear her. “St.Mary’s.”
They walked solemnly, in silence, until the cathedral loomed in front of them. Next to it was a three-story brick building, with a statue of the Virgin Mary behind its gates. A single light shone through one of the downstairs windows. They went up the steps. At their knock, a world-weary sister answered, blinking at them with tired eyes.
“May I help you?”
Deirdre motioned toward Ebba. “I’ve brought my sister’s child, and my own. As neither of us are married, we are destitute and cannot afford to raise them properly.”
The nun raised a suspicious brow. With Ebba being only twelve, the lie was a little far-fetched. “We’ve only room for one infant, not two. With the winter being as harsh as it was, we’ve too many orphans and not enough beds.”
“No.” A wave of panic flew through Deirdre. To her great shame, she began to cry. “Please. Can’t you take them both? They’re good babies.”
The elderly sister sighed, her eyes softening “I cannot. I can sense your desperation, my child. But please know that the baby you choose to give up will be cared for and loved. Infants are easily placed in good homes.”
Deirdre looked down at the child of her own flesh and blood. In fifty years, Ambrose Gentry would return to collect on her foolish debt. To collect her only daughter and the promise she’d made out of desperation.
She only hoped the ritual from the grimoire had worked. Hoped it would hold. She supposed she would know in fifty years’ time.
Deirdre took one long last look at her daughter. She was sleeping, breathing calmly in and out. She’d never know the difference. She’d grow up far from Tin Mountain. Safe from curses and oaths and vengeful demonic preachers. She kissed the baby softly and handed her to the nun. “Please take care of her. Her name is Ophelia.”
THIRTY-THREE
DEIRDRE
1931
Deirdre woke, shrugging off the heavy mantle of time and the trance she’d fallen under. Old memories taunted her. A tear traced the line of her cheekbone and slipped into her ear. Esme. Mama. Ophelia.
She’d dreamt of her daughter most of all—willowy and tall, with fair hair and clever blue eyes. It had been foolish, giving up Ophelia. It hadn’t done a damn thing to undo the oath she’d made. Ebba had been right. Things hidden always had a way of turning up.
Deirdre had suspected Gracie might be her own from the moment she’d arrived on Tin Mountain, skinny and underfed, with that tangle of blonde hair and those blue eyes—the Werner eyes. And now she knew the full measure of the folly she had created. She’d protected Ophelia with her ritual and her words. But she hadn’t thought far enough ahead—that Ophelia might have a daughter of her own.
Buthehad, and he’d tricked her.
She had to protect Gracie.
“Deirdre, are you awake?”
Deirdre turned her head. Ebba floated into focus. Her oldest friend. Her truest friend. “I need water, Eb.”
Ebba brought a glass and Deirdre drank it down, chasing the dryness away. She sat up, her head swimming. “How long was I asleep?”
“Over a week. Where did you go, Deirdre?”
“The past, mostly. Spirit walking. Remembering what I’ve done. But it’s time now, Ebba. Time for me to set things right and give Anneliese her reckoning and cast that demon out for good.” Deirdre stood, steadying herself against the bed frame. “He said he’d come back to reap what he’d sown. And he has.” Deirdre shook her head. “I’ve been watching from the spirit realm. Tried to intervene, at the church. I bought Gracie some time, but we have to hurry.”
Ebba sprang up and rushed to her side. “You are too weak, Deirdre. You must rest first. Eat.”
“Dammit, I’m a mountain girl, Ebba. I’veneverbeen weak. Now get me my grimoire.”
Deirdre knelt on the ground, the heavy, wet wind lashing her hair. All her regrets crowded around her—her grief over giving up Ophelia, her selfishness, how easily she’d fallen into that demon’s cunning hands.
Even if it took every last breath, every last drop of her blood to make things right, she would.
For Gracie.
Deirdre opened the grimoire. The flaming tree stretched across its pages. She gently ran her hands over it. Heat bloomed beneath her fingertips.
“I’m sorry, Anneliese. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry I disappointed you. But I need you to help me now. I need you to show me what to do so that this spell won’t be in vain and I might undo the mistakes I’ve made, for once and for all.”
