We’re meant for bigger things, Ma whispered.
“Fuckin’witch!” my uncle spat.
Hide, hide the witches…
Then, one last voice. Patrick’s.
Bury them all.
There was no part of me that hadn’t been stripped and cut and picked to the bone.
Wet lips at my ear now, panting into it. “I’ll set you onfuckin’ fireif I’ve got to.”
I laughed. “Then let me be fire.”
I closed my eyes.
At first, it started as it always did. A tremble in the earth that might have passed as a figment of imagination. But it grew.
It grew until my mind expanded beyond its bounds, frequencies ringing to holy hell. My blood screaming, rejoicing.
It grew until my captors’ voices became distant, the rot of their breath dissipating.
I heard the screams rise, and it intertwined with the ringing. A symphony.
The earth shook and feet pounded as though we were all the contents of a jar, picked up and rattled, and in my mind, or perhaps in reality, I saw them run from me, looking over their shoulders as the first cracks split the earth beneath that cursed church, then through the lane.
The fissure spread down the street, dividing the houses, then branched off in new directions, weaving through the town like tributaries of a giant river.
The sound was monstrous, cataclysmic, the tearing of the town so violent even the buildings screamed. The church toppled in on itself like it was made of paper.
Then, silence.
The ground stilled, Scurry now cleaved in two.
And I let out a scream that had long been trapped in my lungs, gave flight to it. I looked down at the crevasse in the earth before my feet. And I thought of how cruel it was that I couldn’t simply step into it and let the ground swallow me, no matter how hard I pulled at my bindings.
But then came the only voice that might bring me back from the edge.
“Nina!” it called.
And finally, finally, I crumbled.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIXPATRICK
Tess dropped the rifle as though it burned her, her breaths sharp.
Her hand went to her chest, where her heart was.
And the ground shook in a way that had become familiar to Patrick.
He looked at his mother. “Ma?” he said.
Her eyes were pinned to the man on the ground behind Patrick. “Better that I do it,” she gasped, tears slipping down over her cheeks. “Better it be me.”
Patrick looked down at his shaking hands. A pool of blood sank into the earth. He covered his face and sank to his knees. “Lord almighty, Ma. What did you do?”
“Had to,” she murmured, her lips trailing on senselessly. “Had to be done.”
