I almost leave right that second. But I’m determined to talk to her, to make damn sure this is what she wants, that she’s not being forced into this or playing some act—so I stalk through the trees, back and forth, for the next hour and a half, until the churchgoers start filing out of the building and into their cars. It’s a slow exodus, since they all seem to want to stop and say goodbye to Edgar Linton, who stands at the door and sheds a benevolent smile over every church member.
Why is he acting like the pastor all of a sudden? And why does everyone seem so fucking obsessed with him? Several of the women actuallykissthe back of his hand before leaving.
When I glimpse Cathy’s pale face in the shadow of the doorway, my stomach flips and my heart starts racing. Shit, I got it bad.
She’s smiling at Edgar Linton. Looks a little forced to me, but it’s tough to tell at this distance. I’m about to walk out of the shadow of the trees, cross the distance between us, demand some answers from him, from Cathy—but someone else comes out of the church and my lungs seize up with shock and I just stand there, stunned.
It’s Ian. The coma guy from the Grange.
But it can’t be. I just left him there. He was sleeping. I said goodbye…
And now he’s standing at Edgar Linton’s side, plain as day, wearing a suit, shaking hands with the congregation just like a pastor would.
What the actualfuckis going on?
Cathy is halfway across the parking lot with her aunt Nellie. If I’m going to talk to her, it’s got to be now.
Ian squeezes someone’s hand, descends the front steps, and heads around the corner of the church.
I can follow him and see where he’s going, or I can run across the parking lot to Cathy.
Cathy is mine and I’m hers. I should go to her. But my brain, my whole body, is yelling an alarm about Ian, and I can’t shake the nauseating sense of dread connected with him.
Looks like Cathy’s going home with her aunt Nellie. I can find out the address and catch her there later. But if I don’t movenow, I’m losing my chance to figure out what Ian is up to and how he’s awake…if it really is him. Maybe he’s got a twin.
I jog through the woods, skirting the church property, keeping my eye on Ian.
When he gets to the back of the church, he pauses. No windows back here and nobody around.
Ian shakes himself—a quick shudder—and then he jumps forward. In the middle of that leap, his body fluidly shifts into a new shape—a black stag whose branching antlers look like twin tangles of wicked, gleaming thorns as long as my forearm. The stag bounds into the forest and disappears from sight.
Fuck.
Just…fuck.
He’s a supernatural, that much is clear. Hindley pretty much said he was, didn’t know what kind, but now I do. Shapeshifter. A púca, maybe, from the old stories. Those are rare, but they can shift into all kinds of animals—goats, horses, stags, dogs, crows, cats.
Question is, why has he been pretending to be unconscious this whole time? And why would he show up here, at Wicklow Heritage Chapel? Does he know how dangerous this town is for supernaturals like him?
I can’t keep up with a stag, so I head to my truck and drive back to the Grange. My money is in a waterproof gym bag, so after parking the truck in its usual spot, I find a hollow in the ground and stick the bag there, covering it up with a thick layer of leaves and branches. I drag some kudzu vines over the heap for extra camouflage, and then I hoist my duffel bag of clothes and possessions onto my shoulder. No way am I leaving town before I figure out what’s going on. If I’m lucky, Hindley will never know I almost left today.
Inside the Grange, I race up to my room and chuck my duffel bag in the closet. I’ll unpack later. First I need to check on our coma patient.
I burst into the guest room—and there he is, lying pale and peaceful on the bed.
“No way,” I mutter, striding in. I rip back the sheets.
He’s wearing the same pajamas he’s been in the whole time.
Okay, so as a stag he could head straight for the Grange through the woods, while I had to take the roads. He could have beaten me here and changed real quick.
Swearing under my breath, I search the room for a black suit. Nothing.
“Hey.” I smack the side of his face. “Wake up. Game over, okay? I know you’re not really unconscious.”
His head lolls at the smack, but otherwise he doesn’t stir.
And then I lose my temper.
