Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Weren’t you friends with him?’ Mary asks gently.
“We were friendly,” I say, “when he first moved to town.”
“Didn’t seem like a guy who had a lot of enemies.”
“No. He wasn’t that type.” He was kind and gentle and didn’t deserve any of it.
I have to wonder if any of the townsfolk knew about me and Joshua. After all, my mother somehow did. And if they knew, whether they’re pitying me or if they’re thinking I had something to do with it.
I make a point to ignore the attention as we walk around, getting candied apples for ourselves, plus all the extra treats for Mathias. Despite the strange atmosphere, it is nice to feel a part of the town again, the air filled with fried goods, apple cider, roasting chestnuts, and hickory smoke. Mary and I find a bale of hay to sit on to watch the fire, the children running around at the base of it. Despite the caginess in everyone’s posture, the children at least seem to be having a good time.
My mind drifts back to Brom and the way we used to play as a child. I remember being here at the bonfire with my parents. My father had given us extra money for treats, and both of us were full of sugar and running around like animals. How innocent we were back then. How we had no idea what lay ahead for us. How quickly all of that would change.
“Good evenin’, ladies,” a man says as he staggers drunkenly toward us. He’s my age, maybe a little older, stubble on his cheeks and drink glazing his eyes.
“Good evening,” Mary says stiffly, turning her body toward mine and eying him discerningly.
“What are ye pretty ladies doin’ here all by your lonesome?” he slurs, plopping down on the hay bale beside me and nearly falling off as he does so. He smells of whisky and horseshit.
“We were just leaving,” I tell him, gathering up my skirt and getting to my feet. As I do so, the man reaches out and grabs my elbow.
“You afraid of me or somethin’?” he asks, holding me in place. “I’m here to keep the big bad wolf away. Don’t you know we have a murderer running loose? Cutting people’s heads off with an ax.”
“It was probably a scythe,” Mary speculates. “He was a farmhand, murdered with his own instrument. Have some respect.”
The guy snarls at Mary and yanks me closer to him. I try and pull my arm away, but he doesn’t let go until Mary marches forward and shoves her hands at his chest.
“Scram!” she yells at him, enough that he lets go of me. A few heads turn toward us, murmuring, and the guy starts to back away, holding his hands up like he’s innocent.
We watch him disappear into the crowd, hopefully to somewhere where he can sleep it off.
And it’s at that moment I think I see a familiar face amongst everyone else.
Dark hair, deep black eyes, a beard on a handsome face.
I see Brom staring at me.
But when I blink, he’s gone, replaced by another dark-haired man who has his arm around a dark-haired girl.
“Don’t worry,” Mary says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll be back to bother us.”
I can’t tell her that it’s not him that I’m worried about.
Katrina.
I groan and roll over onto my back. I hear my name being called, a whisper on a breeze, but I don’t think it’s real. I must be dreaming.
Katrina Van Tassel.
The voice again. A little deeper now. More urgent.
I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling at the wood rafters. The room isn’t pitch-black; there’s light coming from somewhere, but it’s not outside. The shutters are closed.
I slowly raise my head and look. There is light streaming in from under my door. It flickers in and out, so someone must have the fire going.
What time is it? The middle of the night? How long was I asleep?
After the incident with the drunk at the bonfire, we decided to leave. It wasn’t just that he ruined the mood, more that Mary was sincerely worried about the murderer still at large and thought the earlier we headed back home, the better. She made a joke about me being a witch, and so I’d have a better chance at protecting myself if I wanted to stay behind, but the joke fell flat. Because somehow, I think my being a witch makes things worse. It makes me a target.
Needless to say, she dropped me off at home early, and I went straight to bed while she went straight home to deliver the treats to Mathias. My mother was just leaving with Famke—they decided to go to the bonfire after all and said they would be back late.
Now I have no idea what time it is and—