The Dead and the Dark(76)

Ashley cleared her throat. Cautiously, she approached the counter and slipped onto a barstool across from her mother. The storm hadn’t passed yet—Tammy’s eyes were glassy with tears she refused to let loose—but her grip on the counter was slack. Soon, she’d reach into the fridge for a bottle of cheap pinot grigio and the worst would be over. But it wouldn’t be over for Ashley. A new storm raged in her chest full of pain and anger and even more questions.

“And now you’re making the same mistake,” Tammy said. She wiped her eyes, streaking eyeliner across her cheek. “Snakebite … it doesn’t change. They love you, but they won’t change their minds for you.”

“Do you hate me?” Ashley croaked.

Tammy’s eyes widened. She reached across the counter for Ashley’s hand, gently running her thumb over Ashley’s knuckles. “I could never hate you. I will love you no matter what.” She cleared her throat. “But this isn’t you. This isn’t how you are. You’ve just been through so much these last few months—”

Ashley winced. “It is me, though.”

Tammy closed her eyes. “No, it’s that family. They ruin everything they touch. They come in here, and—”

“Mom,” Ashley warned.

“Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just cursed.”

“Mom.” Ashley stood.

Tammy looked at her for a moment, and Ashley understood with crushing clarity that everything was different now. Her mother looked at her like she was a puzzle that needed to be pieced together to make any sense. Like there was a mistake tangled deep in her veins that her mother was trying to unravel.

Behind her, the floorboards groaned.

Ashley turned. Tristan stood behind her, fists clenched, eyes impossible to see under the shadow that obscured his face.

“What?” Tammy asked.

Ashley’s heart stopped. This was different from the other times he’d visited her. Every haunting felt urgent, but this one felt final. Tristan wasn’t waiting for her—he was begging her to listen. He wavered between Ashley and the front door and she knew she had to follow him.

“Ashley, what are—” Tammy started.

“I have to go.”

Tammy gave an incredulous laugh. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re grounded.”

“What?”

“You don’t get a free pass for sneaking around and causing trouble for weeks.” Tammy ran a hand through her hair. “At least until roundup next month, you’re staying home.”

Tristan continued to fade in and out of the space near the door. Dread twisted in her chest. He was trying to warn her that Logan was in trouble—somehow she understood.

“Okay,” Ashley said. “Okay, fine.”

“Get some rest,” Tammy said. She threw open the fridge door and searched the shelves for a bottle of wine. “You and me have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

Ashley tentatively made her way toward the front door and closed her eyes. It was time to be brave. For once in her life, she needed to be braver than the Ashley she had been. Tristan watched her, flickering in the low light. At his feet, the key dish was still toppled from where Tammy had knocked it over, leaving various keyrings strewn across the hardwood floor.

Her Ford was still parked at the cemetery, but the Land Rover was in the driveway.

Ashley stooped near the front door and picked up the key dish. She slowly, methodically placed each set of keys back in the bowl as though she were just cleaning up. She reached into Tammy’s purse and gently hooked a finger in Tammy’s keyring.

When Tammy turned to pour herself a glass of wine, Ashley ran.

She bolted into the driveway and threw open the Land Rover’s driver’s-side door. Behind her, Tammy stumbled onto the front porch. She watched, wide-eyed, as Ashley tore out of the driveway and into the night. Down the road, Tristan flickered in the Land Rover’s headlights, guiding Ashley into town.

Wherever she was going now, there was no turning back.





33


The Devil, The Devil


When Logan woke up, she was fairly certain she was dead.

Slowly, pieces of the world around her came together like a mosaic in the back of her skull. The surface she lay on was too narrow to be a bed, the walls too close. She rocked up and down, each bump searing her muscles. Outside, trees blurred into a mass of green and black.

She was in a car.

She was in the back seat of Paris’s car.

Logan pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes. The seat under her head was damp with lake water. She was being taken to either the police station or the hospital, but either way, she was being taken by the father of the boy who’d just tried to kill her. It was possible that John and Paul had been arrested, too, but something told her they’d probably been released with a slap on the wrist and nothing else. Even attempted murder was a forgivable offense in this hell town.

“Logan,” Paris said from the front seat. “How’re you holding up?”

Logan stabilized herself, dizzied by the force of sitting up. Wet hair clung to the back of her neck. She brushed fingertips along her cheek and it throbbed at the touch, swollen and crusted with blood. “I, uh…” She trailed off. “Where am I?”

“On your way to the hospital. You got pretty scratched up back there.” Paris didn’t look back at her. “It’s a long drive into the city. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions on the way in.”