Page 59 of We Already Dug the Grave

There was a rustling from behind the door, like wind was blowing beneath it. I closed my eyes and reached, hoping it would once again heed my call.

The Sight could be present and distant. Two things at once: a yawning flower and drowning beneath waves. A closed door, and a thing reared on its haunches, eager to bite.

Come on. I imagined sliding my fingers along its seal, looking for a place to coax it open just enough to take what I needed.

Frances chugged the tea, then tipped the mug onto the saucer to allow the last droplets to drain away before righting the cup and sliding it to me.

We stared at it.

The air was thick. I focused.

Suddenly, I stumbled back, caught in the swell of euphoria, the gift returning to me like a lost friend, before panic tried to settle in. Choppy waves. The Sight yanking me down down down.

Without warning, the door opened too wide. The possibilities slammed into me. I breathed deep and gave in to the sensation.

A hand clenching my throat, closing my windpipe. Intense fear. My eyes popped open. I focused on the tea, forcing my gift into the conduit.

Loathing. Hattie-May’s drawings, those hungry roots. The swell of Frances’s cheek. The smell of metal. No. Not copper. Blood.

And that weight in my hands.

That weight.

That weight.

I was eight again, running into my mama’s room. I was eating blueberry pancakes. I was being sent off to school. I was alone.

My chest grew tight.

Mr. Fortenberry lay in the meadow, his blood sprayed around him like angel wings. Like a halo. Frances’s smile. Our hands clasping.

“Milly?” My sister’s voice. “Milly. Wake up.”

Frances in the forest. Frances with a bloody halo. Frances’s dark eyes hollow…

No. I had to close the door. To stop the flow. Too much. It was all too much. I was going to be sucked under. Swallowed whole.

“Milly?” Pain ignited across my cheek.

I blinked, and the sunbursts faded and Frances was across from me, one hand clamped over my shoulder, concern lining her face. I inhaled slowly then looked at the leaves, the smell of blood lingering in my nose.

The Sight was back. Full force. No more dirty windows or vague nudges.

And what I was seeing…

I peered into my sister’s cup. The shapes. The story.

“What is it?” Frances demanded. “Tell me.”

For years there’d been nothing but sister sister sister… I’d taken it as a cruelty. A punishment for running away from my family and my legacy. Maybe even for breaking the most important rule.

But now I saw. It wasn’t a taunt but a warning. I’d saved my sister once, and now, she needed me again.

“Well?” Frances asked.

“We need to make a plan,” I said. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll—”

“Milly, save the sales pitch.” She paused. “It’s bad, then.”