I spot Lainey chatting in the shadows with a group of friends, Kate included, which has Twig tensing beside me. We find an empty hay bale and park ourselves around it while Jude leans close to my ear. “I’m going to see if they have anything non-alcoholic.”
Twig goes with him, leaving me and Naomi behind.
I keep my eyes glued on Lainey.
“I feel like it was her,” I say. “If someone got into the crypt, she’s the only logical suspect.”
Naomi huffs. Perhaps it’s my use of the wordlogical. Or maybe she’s just tired of talking about this particular topic.
I’ve pretty much exhausted it.
“I know Lainey doesn’t know about the crypt,” I continue, unable to help myself. “But according to Rafe,Lainey isn’t Lainey. Whatever he meant by those words, I think we can at least assume she’s doing someone else’s bidding.”
Naomi purses her lips.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just…”
“You agree with the guys.” If Lainey is doing anyone’s bidding, it’s probably Rafe’s.
“He controlled her before, didn’t he? At the masquerade ball.”
“But Rafe doesn’t know about the crypt either.” Unless, of course, he’s a ghost who was following me the day I threw the key into the well, the same day Jude and I visited the crypt to lock all the paranormal paraphernalia inside, the same day he showed up in a hospital mirror. I don’t say any of this out loud. Doing so would only bolster Twig and Jude’s theory. “And anyway, why would he tell me ‘Lainey isn’t Lainey’ if he’s the one controlling her?”
“That’s a legitimate point,” Naomi says.
Across the barn, Lainey gives Brynn a playful shove, lifts her red cup, and taps it against Harrison’s while Kate watches warily.
Naomi bites her thumbnail. “Twig is so worried about her.”
“Kate?”
She nods.
“We’re all worried,” I say, looking at Naomi from the corner of my eye. “How are you holding up?”
“Other than waking up every morning completely paralyzed by the knowledge that everything you and Twig talk about on your podcast is real? Just fine.”
“Not everything,” I say, giving her a lighthearted nudge. “I mean, haunted dolls are a stretch.”
She smiles sadly. “I wish Harper believed us.”
“She didn’t want to come tonight?”
“She said she had ‘other plans.’” Naomi sighs, then returns the nudge. “How areyouholding up?”
“Other than waking up every morning completely paralyzed by the mark on Jude’s chest? Just fine.”
“He says he feels okay.”
I frown at her.
“You think he’s lying?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The muscles across my chest pull tight. “Mistress Bramble said something has a hold of his soul. And that mark on his chest looks exactly like the one he had the night he died. There’s no way he’s okay.”
Naomi shakes her head. “What a mess.”
