“Did your sister come back with you?” she asked.
“No,Noahdid not,” I replied sharply.
Mrs. Tabbard pursed her lips, but said nothing to that. Her eyes flicked around, and she opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then, suddenly, she reached out and squeezed my hands. “Don’t go up there at night,” she all but blurted. “To the house. It’s not safe.”
I blinked. The Appalachian forest wasn’t a particularly dangerous place at night as long as you could see where you were going. The moon had been almost new when Momma had died, and we were nearly at a quarter moon—it would be dark, but not so dark that a shifter couldn’t find their way. Not that Mrs. Tabbard knew I was a shifter now.
“I know how to navigate the woods, Mrs. Tabbard,” I reminded her.
“That’s—that’s not why,” she whispered. “Your momma wanted you to have a life,” she said, stepping very close to me and hissing the words. “Don’t you waste it by going up there at night.” She looked around us one more time, then hurried away, leaving me gaping after her.
8
Elliot Crane
Coffee order?
Seth Mays
Get me an extra large one.
Iced.
With an extra shot.
Still lavender?
Please.
Elliot had left earlierthat morning to run a few errands—a few things from a CVS because we hadn’t packed enough toiletries and a trip to Walmart for a few more socks, underwear, and t-shirts for both of us. He’d left me to try to get a little more sleep, but I’d finally given up.
I put the phone down, then shoved my glasses on my face and slowly limped my way into the hotel bathroom. I swapped out the glasses for my contacts, although my eyes were tired and gritty enough that I had to rub them several times before thelenses felt normal. That done, I picked up my toothbrush and put paste on it, then hit the button to start it.
While I hadn’t had nightmares, exactly, I’d slept like shit, waking up every hour or so, then stared at the ceiling for longer than I wanted before slipping into that half-wakeful stupor that felt like not sleeping, but lost enough time that I must have fallen asleep for some of the minutes, at least. It was my memories, not my dreams, that had made the prospect of unconsciousness all but impossible.
I’d told Elliot about my encounter with Iris Tabbard over our greasy—delicious—dinner. He’d asked a lot of questions about the Community. What they believed, how they practiced their religion, why it was that being out after dark would be dangerous.
I could answer the first two, but I didn’t have an answer for the third.
It had made me think about the rules in my childhood—whether or not we’d been allowed out after dark.
I remembered going out to the barn, checking on the goats or chickens if there was an alarming noise or a particularly bad storm. But I also remembered Momma telling us not to go into the woods after dark—not even to take the trail to or from the main Community settlement that wound through the woods going down the mountainside.
But what Iris Tabbard had said to me as a six-three adult felt very different than my mother telling two kids not to wander around the woods in the dark.
Neither one of us had been able to figure it out. It was a warning, clearly, but why she thought I’d be out there at night, anyway, I had no idea.
Unless it had something to do with my mother’s death.
Maybe she’d been killed at night. Maybe Momma’s death had caused fear of monsters lurking in the dark. It felt wrong, but at the same time, I couldn’t work out what else it was.
I spat out my mouthful of toothpaste, then rinsed the brush head and sink. I left my shorts on the floor and stepped into the glass-walled shower. The hot water made my muscles ache less, which was at least one positive thing in my morning.
I heard the door open and shut, then heard Elliot moving around the room.
“You okay, baby?” he asked gently, and I turned my head, seeing his blurred form standing in the doorway, obscured by water and steam on the shower door.
“Tired. I didn’t sleep very well.”
