He took a sip, and his smile turned genuine. “Barely horrible at all. We’re meeting in the middle.”
“Always,” I said, wondering if his twin sister shared his sweet tooth.
We entered the ruined chapel through what was left of the front archway. Its braces needed replacing, but the kids played tag in the ruin—the family didn’t want to coddle them by making it too safe.
Mary wasn’t here yet, but her stage was set. She’d swept clean a large rectangle where the altar had stood. The corners were marked with torches, already lit. A small table sat at its center.
“Is that Edwin’s phonograph stand?” I asked.
“We’ll be in trouble if she gets blood on it,” Sebastian said.
“Just me. I’m the auntie here.”
He made a mocking bow, but mentoring a curae was serious—especially with a child like Mary.
I went closer to the table. In the torchlight were a small pile of rabbit treats, a water bottle, and an ice axe.
I lifted the axe, designed for mountain climbing—one side a pick, the other an adze for digging snow. It looked brand new.
“The original Trotsky’s mode of death,” Sebastian said. “A history lesson doesn’t seem like Mary’s style.”
I rubbed my thumb across the point, which had been sharpened by hand.
“Fully in character,” I said.
“Oh dear,” came a voice from the front archway.
It was Gertie, a pet-carrying case in one hand. Thomas stood behind her, struggling with two lime-green valises.
Sebastian was as surprised as me.
“Gertie,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“One was invited.” She put the pet case down. A pair of red eyes flashed within. “It seemed rude not to attend.”
“Same.” Tom was looking anywhere that wasn’t me. “Got a note under my door yesterday. Asked me not to tell anyone.”
“Amazing,” I said.
For her audience, Mary had assembled the survivors of Uncle Max—the four of us left, anyway.
Gertie sighed. “If one had known the guest list, one mightn’t have brought a certain cat. Alas, one’s train was late, so here he is.”
“When did you start calling yourselfone?” Tom asked.
“When she started a cult,” I said. “Do you think Mary ran any of this by the elders?”
“You’rethe elders,” Sebastian said.
“Right.” And I’d never asked Mary for a list of witnesses.
This was already a shit show.
“Is that booze?” Tom asked, and Sebastian handed him the flask. He took a sip and grimaced. “Where is she, anyway?”
We all went silent.
Tom looked at his watch. “Do people ever miss their own curaes?”
