“A witch maybe?”
Dotty had shrugged. “She, like you and me, is one of God’s creations.”
And so here Chalice was, in the middle of the damned swamp and feeling as if she were playing the fool in one of Dotty’s ridiculous one-act plays, just as she had all through grade and high school. Which was just plain crazy. You’d think that at thirty-eight she might have wised up, but oh-the-fuck-no.
As she edged closer, she eyed the hut, if that’s what you’d call it. Maybe a shack? Or a shanty? Whatever kind of handmade hovel it was, it was decrepit, the boards loose and gray, knotholes and gaps in the plank walls showing. In Chalice’s opinion, the hut seemed to be close to rotting completely away, soon to be swallowed by this ever-darkening swamp.
Not one light showed … no wait, there was a weak orange glow that she noticed through the holes in the siding, but rather than urge her on, the eerie light gave her pause and made her insides congeal a bit. All the while, a damned voice in her head whispered that she was walking into danger.
Maybe she should just bail. Backtrack. Drive Dorothea’s old Impala back to her, hand back the money Dotty had paid, and admitthat she couldn’t go through with it. Her older sister would mock her, but she was used to that.
But, damn it, Chalicedidwant some insight into the future. To find some validation that the six years she’d spent with Jaiden were worthwhile, that they weren’t a lost cause.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice seeming to crawl over the water. “Anybody home?”
Of course not. This isnotsomeone’s home.
At least she hoped not. This place was too small. Too unlivable.
“Hello? Mrs. … er, Madam Jeanne?” Why did she feel so foolish calling out the name? No one was around. No one could hear her. And maybe that was the problem.
This whole setup was weird, and her nerves were on edge, tightening with every step she took. She wasn’t easily frightened, but dusk in the swamp? Anyone would think twice. “I’m Chalice,” she said more loudly and cleared her throat. “My sister, Dotty … she made an appointment.”
The door to the place was just a dark space, like the opening to a tepee, the sides of the doorway slanted, and Chalice would have to bend to walk in. “Hello?” she said again and heard the tremor in her own voice. She smelled wood ash and cinnamon and eucalyptus.
She took out her phone. Turned on the flashlight app and stepped inside. “Anyone here?” She swept the phone’s faint beam through the small space, where an altar was covered in candles that had burned down to nothing but pools of congealed wax. There were crystals everywhere reflecting the flashlight’s beam, and in the center of the room a round fire pit, where a few glowing coals peeked from beneath charred logs. And over some of the rocks, a pool of dark red.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood?
Oh. God.
A beam overhead creaked.
Chalice’s heart stilled.
“What the—?”
Fear shafting through her, she shined her flashlight up to therafters, past the macabre skeletons and skulls of dead beasts to the roofline and the crossbeam high above.
Hanging from the timber was a body.
A woman.
Her head was at an odd angle, her eyes bulging, blood staining her long dress.
No!
Chalice screamed.
Panic shrieking through her body, she dropped her phone.
Then she was running, her feet pounding over the makeshift bridge, her heart pumping wildly. She clambered over the bridge, the image of the dead woman chasing her.
