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it — she had to get through — she had to help, had to stop this
from having happened.
It was her fault. The witch had warned Cora that death
was at her heels, and now she had brought it here. She hadn’t
wanted this.
Had she?
“She’s dead.” Arthur’s voice sounded as though it were coming
from a very far distance. “If she were choking, she’d be twitching.
Her neck is snapped.”
“How do you know?” Thomas said, helping Cora with the
window to no avail.
Arthur took Cora’s hands and held them in his own, turning
her away from the glass. He didn’t look at Thomas as he answered.
“I’ve seen a hanged body before.”
“We need —” Cora took a deep breath. She could still see the
woman’s white slip behind her closed eyes. “We need to get
Daniel. He lives closer than the police chief.”
“She’s already dead. We weren’t supposed to be here. It won’t
do any good for anyone.” Arthur’s voice was a murmur blending
into the night sounds. The music had stopped, leaving nothing
but the breeze whispering secrets to the trees; Cora couldn’t tell
whether the quiet made things feel better or worse.
“I won’t have her left like that.” Cora pulled her hands away
from Arthur, shoving one into her skirt pocket and running the
other through her hair. “No one comes here. It could be a week or
more before someone discovers her. She doesn’t deserve that.” Her
voice broke and she closed her eyes, trying to take comfort from
the worn stone in her pocket. She didn’t want the witch dead. She
didn’t. This wasn’t her fault.
There was work to be done, and she would do it. Work was her
