Myrtle smiles, lips curving like a sickle. “Did you think there was only one angry, vengeful woman in history? Only one fée in the world, disguising herself as a hag, a woman of no consequence? Haven’t you learned anything since you came here, dear? Look around. The world is not what you think it is. It never was. There are more things hidden among the spheres than you or I could ever name. Start getting used to it.”
IHEAR HERon the phone with Donna, Bella’s daughter, the next morning. “Do you think I wanted to do it? I didn’t know it was him until the final moments. I did what I had to—what my magic was calling me to do.”
She is silent for a moment, listening. Her face scrunches up, prickly with irritation. “Oh, don’t give me that, Donna. We’ve been over this. I know mercy killings aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I don’t make the magic. I didn’t create the cycle. We don’t set the rules, we just follow them. Remember? Take it up with our creatrix if you’re so sore about it.”
After a pause, her mouth drops. “Of course I realize it was a risk! You think I’m stupid? What choice did I have? I’d been feeding for days. And heaven knows he’s the last man alive I’d want to take. He meant something to me. But the magic already knew. It determined who my mark was, whether you or I or anyone else likes it.”
She nods as she listens, her face falling a little. “I couldn’t add to his suffering. I made a snap decision. Maybe it was the wrong one, but it’s done now. And it won’t happen again. You can be assured of that.”
Her eyes roll and her hand flops. “No, Piers had nothing to do with it. She wasn’t even here. Her hunt has begun. She was chasing her own mark.”
She nods impatiently. “Yes, yes. The one I told you about. It’s as we thought. Fitting, I suppose. But it will be tricky, even with her power. He’s no small fish—he’s dangerous—and she has so little proper experience yet.”
A pause followed by an audible inhale. “Well, of course they’re all dangerous. Don’t you think I know what we do? I just meant that he’sunique.Her class will be challenging. She’ll need support. That’s why I was calling you, in fact.”
She waits, pulls the phone away from her ear a minute. “We’ll need a hand delivery. We can’t rely on mushrooms with that sheriff breathing down our necks. It’s about as obvious as a fingerprint at this point. I don’t even want to get into our stores. If it grows on this continent, that sheriff will trace it back to us somehow. We need something from farther afield. Something they wouldn’t even know to look for.”
Deep breath in, slow breath out. “I don’t know what I’m going to do later. Let’s just focus on what’s right in front of us. The deadline wasn’t my idea, so don’t get testy with me. She couldn’t possibly meet it like this without one.”
Finally, the sag of relief washes over her. “No, I think Barcelona. It’s as good a place to start as any. Paris is so rigid. And those arum leaves Bryony brought us from Venice a few years back were old. Misty had to eat gobs of them. Of course, some manchineel would do nicely. But do you still have a contact for Venezuela?”
She nods emphatically. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay, keep me posted. I’d send her on a scouting holiday, but I think he’d notice and then where would we be?”
She takes a deep cleansing breath. “Thank you, Donna. Hunt well.”
She hangs up the phone and stares into space, lost in a mesh of thoughts, eyes watering as the seconds tick by without a blink.Finally, she says, “Piers, stop hiding. If you have a question, come ask it.”
I step gingerly into the room. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“It’s okay,” she tells me. “There are no secrets in the venery. You can eavesdrop all you want.” Her eyes meet mine. “You’re beautiful; do you know that? So like your mother. She positively glowed when she was younger, all that soft yellow hair and flawless skin. Her eyes were big and round as headlights. Once she locked Patrick in them, he didn’t stand a chance, poor man. I know you’re well over thirty, but you look like a child standing there. At least to me.”
I don’t feel like a child, I feel like a crone in a fawn’s body. But it’s nice to be regarded as one, to be the recipient of maternal affection. Myrtle would have made an incredible mother. What a shame that she couldn’t raise her own son.
“It’ll all be fine,” she declares. “Donna is reaching out to our international contacts now to get something potent carried in for you. She understands what’s at stake.”
“Okay.”
It’s bright out this morning. Frost laces the windowpanes, and the chill air seeps into the room, drying out the cabin. Regis said the fall colors will be upon us in a week or two, autumn leaves littering the forest floor like confetti. I hope I have the Strangler by then. Once the snow and ice set in, my chances will wane to nothing. If I didn’t have the venery riding me, I could wait out the freeze, get him in the thaw. But they won’t wait that long. And neither will he. He will be gone by the first true snowfall, if his survival instincts override my allure. Off to find a place where he can stalk and kill without the natural elements getting in his way. Everything is riding on the next few weeks.
We walk over to the café together to open it up. Myrtle plugs in the waffle iron and pours our coffee, while I straighten the tables. We’ve barely had a chance to set the cereal boxes out when Terry bursts through the front door.
“Did you hear?” he asks, his gaze bouncing between us.
“Hear?” Myrtle lowers the dish towel she’s holding to the counter. “Hear what?”
“It’s the Saranac Strangler,” he says, breathless as if he ran the whole way. “He’s killed again.”
Myrtle turns to me, a look of betrayal in her eyes. Can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. Neither can I. Killing Ed must have interrupted my connection to the Strangler, crossed marks so to speak, because I never felt or saw this looming. I thought I had more time. That, or else he’s just that good. Either way, this is bad.
“Who?” she asks Terry.
He gulps air and sidles up to the bar. “Kathy Miller—Bill’s daughter.”
“Yeah, I know her,” Myrtle confirms. Her eyes slide over me, a nervous calculation in them.
“Daughter?” I ask, eyes narrowing on Terry. “How old was she?”
He peers at me as if he’s taking his first real good look. “Not so young. About your age in fact. Your height, too. Same hair color. Same build. Same fair skin. Could almost pass for you come to think of it. Heck, you probably even wear the same shoe size!”
