“I intern at the church. I hear things.”
“And you think Collins is concealing him…”
“And he got loose that night and attacked Isabella and maybe even hurt Collins.” Maybe even bit him. In which case, Collins would wolf out in another few days as well. And without Isabella to make a potion... I paled. Goodness, without any way to deliver potions to the werewolves in town, we might be on our way to a very bad night.
“If that’s the situation, I’m not sure if I can write that.” Lizzy glanced at me. “He’s a child. It's not like he had control over his actions.”
“Does any werewolf?”
She let out a long breath. “I suppose not.” Her lips pressed together. “But we should get Collins to stop making such horrible sermons. The hypocrite.”
“Agreed. And at the same time, we can offer him assistance if he needs it for his nephew.” Hex, what if it had all been an accident? That was always possible. Especially since it was unclear who was aware of Isabella’s genetic ailment. If a werewolf didn’t take their potion, wouldn’t that make them accountable, even if they weren’t in their right mind? What if a child resisted taking their dose?
Lizzy laughed. “Do you know how to brew wolfsbane potion?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “We could find a recipe and make it ourselves.”
I glanced at my phone in my lap. I’d texted Frank and told him that I was following a lead and I’d give him details tonight on our date. A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips. Our date. It felt unreal, but wonderfully so.
We turned off the main thoroughfare and drove up the narrow road. Thick forests hugged either side, trees of fiery red and orange and evergreen held their long arms out over us, perhaps as a warning.
“This better work,” Lizzy said. “I’m still ticked at Mom for giving him my number. Do you realize he messages me at 4:00 in the morning? Whodoesthat?”
“The sacred texts state that those who rise early are the greeters of the day and hold a special place in the light.”
She rolled her eyes. “I doubt the sacred texts were alluding to texting.”
We exited the car and headed up the walk.Lizzy pulled open the screen door with long gouging slashes in the mesh, as if it had been slashed. We exchanged a meaningful glance.
Haphazardly carved pumpkins sat on the front doorstep, and what appeared to be child cut outs of ghosts and bats covered the door. I raised my hand and knocked.
Shouting erupted on the other side, then Pastor Collins answered. His gaze flickered from me to my sister, his face going pale from shock.
“Oh, Lizzy, Mary. What are you doing here?”
“You said I could stop by whenever I wanted,” my sister declared. “So here we are.”
“Yes,” he uttered slowly. “Normally, I’d love the honor of your presence gracing my humble home, but unfortunately, now is not the best—”
A loud shout sounded from the other room, followed by a child’s laughter.
“Do you have guests? Any friends of yours are friends of ours.” Lizzy pushed her way past the shredded screen door and into the house.
A boy around six years old, with untamed brown hair and eyes full of excitement, entered the living area and collided with Lizzy.
Duchess, who stood between us, released a hiss and raced up onto a nearby bookshelf filled with worn books on religion. She glared at us in indignation, as if we had somehow planned this affront to her safety. I shot her an incredulous look. She was a ghost cat, after all, but apparently that didn’t change her skittishness.
“Whoa, there,” Lizzy gripped the child’s shoulders and backed him up.
For the briefest of seconds, the boy’s brown eyes flashed an almost yellowish color. I looked closer, unsure if it was just the lighting or something else.
“Lizzy, Mary, this is my nephew, Reginald,” Collins said in a flat voice, clearly not pleased to be introducing him to us.
“Good to meet you, Reginald,” Lizzy said good-naturedly.
From the house’s rear, Brexton entered, holding a video game controller. “Hey, Reggie, we’re not finished playing…”
“And you both know Brexton,” Collins added, his frown deepening.
