Chapter

FOURTEEN

She knows. I know she knows.”

“Maybe not. Your mother could have meant anything when she handed you that flower. Maybe she really did think it was yours. Like she thought that you dropped it, or something.”

Hearing this highly unlikely explanation, I didn’t say anything. Instead, the corners of my mouth tugged into a tight, disbelieving smile, and I arched one eyebrow at Jillian. Seeing my skeptical eyebrow raise, she shrugged and leaned against one column of her parents’ front porch.

“But . . . probably not.”

“Probably not,” I echoed.

Then I wrapped my cardigan more tightly around me and craned to peer around another porch column. It was already dark outside, but I didn’t need a spotlight to see that the driveway was completely empty. It had been, since Jeremiah and Rebecca left to watch Joshua’s baseball game.

“Where is she?” I asked. “She should have been here hours ago.”

Jillian and I had been waiting far too long for Ruth’s taxi. Her flight should have landed at Wilburton’s tiny municipal airport late that afternoon. But five p.m. had come and gone with no sign of a car—and no contact from Ruth whatsoever.

Again Jillian responded to me with a shrug, but this time she actually looked nervous. Like she knew that each second that ticked by meant another life was put more at risk.

I leaned against the railing of the porch and sighed raggedly. I wanted a lot of things right then, but more than anything, I wanted Joshua.

Part of me hoped that he had a fantastic game—one where he didn’t have to worry about death or demons or his crazy girlfriend who liked to throw hand grenades. Another part of me missed him horribly, especially after I read the note he left for me on the gazebo’s daybed:

I understand. Good luck tonight. I love you.

Such a simple note, and yet every word made me ache inside.

I should’ve told Joshua why I wanted to leave early for the funeral. In fact, I should’ve just said yes when he suggested that he go with me. It didn’t help that almost everyone else in his life—his parents; Scott; his other good friend, David O’Reilly; Kaylen—got to watch him play that night. And I supposed that I wouldn’t even get to tell him about what happened that morning until very late that night—if I ever got the chance.

If we ever get started at all.

Ruth’s conspicuous absence didn’t bode well for us and our little endeavor. The longer Jillian and I waited for her, the more I suspected that either something had gone wrong, or Ruth had lied to me. Taking another long look at the empty driveway, I was about to admit defeat and choose the latter.

But just before I turned away, something at the far end of the drive caught my eye. I squinted at it, and then smiled.

A light flickered through the thick line of trees that bordered the Mayhews’ property. As it moved, the light doubled and grew stronger, until I could see that it came from two car headlights.

Those two headlights weren’t the only ones bouncing down the Mayhews’ driveway. While the car I first noticed drove toward the house, another followed behind it and another behind that one, and so on until the entire driveway had filled. Even then, I could see other headlights moving on the other side of the front tree line, as more cars found parking spots outside the Mayhews’ property.

“Holy Moses,” Jillian whispered, staring with wide eyes at all the people exiting their cars and making their way across her front lawn.

“Holy Seers,” I amended, but I sounded just as awed. An awkward crowd of at least fifty Seers gathered at the base of the porch. But that didn’t make sense: less than twenty had attended my failed exorcism last fall. I couldn’t explain how the Wilburton Seer community had doubled in just a few months. Not until I saw Ruth Mayhew finally exiting the first car.

Once her driver closed the car door behind her, she brushed imperiously past the big group and marched up the porch steps as though she owned them. Then she stopped in front of me abruptly and placed one hand on her hip as if to say, You’re in my way—move.

Standing there, looking so much healthier than the last time I saw her, she resembled a general ready to command her troops. On some level, I was relieved: I needed her angry and authoritative, so that we might actually have a fighting chance against the darkness. But I also bristled under her resentful scowl. After everything that had passed between us, it frustrated me that her hatred hadn’t lessened one bit.

“You’re late,” I said flatly, in lieu of a greeting. The corner of Ruth’s mouth lifted into a half smile, one that I suspected was involuntary since she erased it so quickly.

“As you can see,” she answered, tossing her glossy white hair, “I was just a little busy.”

“Where did all these people come from, Grandma?”

Ruth and I both startled at the question—we hadn’t even noticed Jillian approach us. It seemed as though we’d immediately fallen into our old routine, letting ourselves get wrapped up in mutual dislike. Still, the cold went out of Ruth’s eyes when she looked at her granddaughter.

“They’re from other towns nearby,” she explained. “Some of them are even from other states. I’ve been working all week: reinstating myself with my old coven in Wilburton, recruiting Seers from others.” She cast a rare doubtful peek over her shoulder at the crowd on the lawn. “I honestly thought I’d get more people than this, but . . .”

“But nothing,” I interrupted, unable to hide my admiration. “This is amazing. There are way more Seers here than I expected.”

Again, Ruth looked begrudgingly amused. “Well, thank you for that high praise.”

“Anytime,” I offered, smirking back at her.

We appraised each other for another beat and then, without so much as a signal, we turned simultaneously to face the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I saw her toss an irritated look in my direction. There were too many generals on this porch after all, it seemed. So I swallowed my pride and took one step backward, effectively giving Ruth the floor.

As I’d suspected, Ruth needed no other concession. She threw back her head, folded her hands in front of her, and began to address her audience.

“I won’t waste your time with introductions,” she called out, projecting her voice at a surprising volume for someone her age. “If you’re here, you know who I am. And if you are what you claim to be, then you’ll be able to tell which of these girls up here is my living granddaughter, and which . . . isn’t.”

I heard uneasy murmurs race through the crowd: ghost, ghost ghost. Those whispers crawled over my skin like probing, intrusive fingers. For the first time, it struck me that every person gathered on the lawn was staring up at me with barely concealed hostility. Suddenly, my commanding posture felt a bit foolish: these weren’t the kind of people who took orders from me; these were the kind who would try to blink me out of existence, if they could. I didn’t shrink into myself, but at that moment I certainly wanted to.

“Let’s get right to it, then,” Ruth continued, without sparing me as much as a sideways glance. “You all know why we’re here: to end the threat that has plagued this area for decades. Possibly for centuries. We’ve long known that the evil ones choose rivers as their gateways, and we know that this river is a prime example. So, what do we do about it? When I contacted you this week, some of you suggested that instead of focusing on the river, we take out the earthly tool that the evil ones have been using: the bridge. But as this girl”—here, Ruth gestured to me—“has discovered, ruining the bridge is pointless on several levels. First, the darkness won’t let the bridge be easily destroyed—they have an army of souls protecting it. And second, the destruction of an evil instrument on earth won’t do much to its users in hell.”