“Explain.” Frustration edges her tone. “You’re so cryptic and silent.”
“As opposed to Edgar, who talks plenty. About himself.”
“At least he has something to say. You’re just…a lot of nothing.”
“I have things to say. I’m just not sure how to say it in a way you’ll believe.”
“Try me.”
“Fine.” I blow out a breath. “You and I live in the same area. Wicklow and Kinsale aren’t that many miles apart—two little towns, not much by way of population. But you’ve never met a Lockwood before me, right? Not from Coosaw or from Kinsale. You and I went to different schools growing up, and we never crossed paths. Doesn’tthat seem weird to you?”
“I guess…maybe…”
“There’s a spell in place. A barrier that keeps Lockwoods from coming into Wicklow. Keeps out a couple other families, too—the LeGares and the Byrnes. They can’t get near your chapel or Old Sheldon Church. That’s why I took care of the delivery to your aunt’s store for my brother, Hindley. He can’t physically go there. I couldn’t cross the barrier either until I turned twenty-one. Even though I’m adopted, I counted as one of the Lockwoods until I became a legal adult in every sense. Whoever set up that barrier did some high-level magical shit to keep us out.”
She nods, seeming to accept what I’ve told her. “Why, though? I mean…I know the barrier is there to keep your family from resurrecting the god, but why would you evenwantto raise him?”
“Are you kidding? The raising of a god means a power boost for supernaturals, for anyone with inherited gifts, like yours.” I delve into memories of Meemaw’s stories, uprooting facts I’d nearly forgotten until now. “If you raise one or two gods, they’ll eventually fade without the worship of humans and the support of a pantheon. But if you can raise three of them…well, that shit can change the world as we know it.”
Cathy pulls on her sweater again and shuts the window. “So the Lockwoods and those other families you mentioned, they want a power boost. Which means they’re supernaturals. They have gifts?”
I glance over at her. She’s staring at me, her brown eyes wide.
“They are, aren’t they?” she breathes. “Heathcliff. Are you…some kind of supernatural?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh god.” She covers her mouth. “What are you?”
“Can’t tell you that, Earnshaw. Family secret.”
“But you’re adopted.”
“They’re still my family. We have the same gift.” I take a corner faster than I should, and Cathy gasps. “It’s safer if you don’t know, okay? Not that anywhere is safe around here, especially not for supernaturals. The Wicklow folks come and go through the barrier whenever they want. And they kill off any supernaturals who happen to settle in Wicklow, Kinsale, Coosaw, or anywhere they deem too close for comfort. For the past decade, they’ve left us alone, mostly. We Lockwoods may fight like dogs among ourselves, but we protect each other against outsiders.”
“I still don’t believe they’re murderers.” Her voice trembles a little.
“About four years ago, three young supernaturals moved to Kinsale. Their gifts were all new…a resurgence in their families. Two kelpies and a clurichaun. They were just looking for someone who believed in the old lore and might have information about how to survive in the modern world with those kinds of powers.” I pause, thinking of the girl in that trio—sleek black hair and beautiful eyes. I slept with her once. Might have done more if…
I clear my throat. “Yeah, your ‘decent people’ put together a posse and killed them. None since then…but if I’d called myself a Lockwood when I walked into your church the other day, I’d have been shot on the steps the second I left the building.”
“But you came anyway,” Cathy says quietly. “You came to see me.”
The gentleness in her tone makes me flinch, slams the gates shut around my heart. I don’t do gentle or sweet. I’m fucking toxic and I own up to that. The sooner she realizes it, the better.
“I was curious,” I answer in a casual tone. “I did meet another cute girl there, too. Isabella Linton. Nice body. She invited me tosome singles thing.”
“The beach picnic?” Cathy’s voice is cold now.
“Yeah. Might go. See if I can’t get the minister’s virgin daughter to put out, since you won’t.”
“Do whatever you want,” she says icily. “I’m dating Edgar anyway.”
“One date. And you ran away from him tonight—twice.”
She bristles. “Just a misunderstanding. I’ll fix it. Edgar’s nice. He’s good for me. Doesn’t treat me like a hole to be fucked or a doll to be toted around through the forest.”
“Yeah. He just plans to fake apologize so he can take you to the beach and interrogate you some more.” Careening into her driveway, I slam the brakes and throw the truck into park. “Next time I see you heading into the woods to do your banshee thing, I won’t follow you, not even if you’re barefoot and bare-ass naked.”
