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“I know.” The press of her mouth softened a bit. “And I won’t be too proud to accept such generosity once that day comes. Fortunately, we are not there yet. The Coupers can benefit far more than we can. They haven’t been able to grow a single crop in far too long, no potato or bean.”
I glanced ahead to where the short, rolling hill shielded the Couper home from view. “Do you think Penn has already found another source of income?”
“Amarys was telling me the other day that they’ve both tried,” she said, her gaze fixed in the same direction. “But with the harvesters fleeing to other farms and the shops in the city, nothing has been available. I think they decided to wait it out. Hopefully, it’s not too late for Penn to see if some of the businesses need aid.”
There was a chance for Penn to find temporary work—for some good to come out of what’d happened in Croft’s Cross last night. I wanted to ask what the Masseys would do once their property became like the Coupers’. Would they hang onto their lands, believing that it would once again become fertile? Or would they leave the home and acres farmed by their families for centuries? The Masseys were older than the Coupers, but age wasn’t the issue. Other sources of income weren’t plentiful.
Something had to be done now, curse or not. This wasn’t the first time I’d thought that. It wasn’t even the hundredth.
Turning back to Mrs. Massey, I said my goodbyes and started toward the Coupers’. The potatoes and apples wouldn’t last them long, but it was something, and I was positive that I would have more than I could carry tomorrow. So much of the food being prepped now would go untouched by the guests.
The dead trees had long since fallen and had been cleared away, but it was still a shock to reach the hill and see nothing but what looked like a fine layer of ash.
By the time the Couper home came into view, I’d expected to hear their daughter’s girlish laughter and their son’s happy shrieks, both too young to fully understand what was happening around them. The only sound was the dead grass crunching under my boots. As I grew closer to the home, I saw that the front door was cracked open.
I walked onto the stoop. “Penn?” I called out and nudged the door open with my hip. “Amarys?”
There was no answer.
Maybe they were out back in the barn. They did have a handful of chickens left, at least they had when I was here a few weeks ago. They could also be in the city. Maybe Penn had already thought to go to the shipping companies. Figuring I could leave the apples and potatoes in their kitchen, I pushed open the door the rest of the way.
The smell hit me right off.
It wasn’t the scent of Rot that sent my heart racing. This was thicker and turned my stomach, reminding me of meat left out to spoil.
My gaze swept the kitchen. Candles sat on the otherwise bare table, burned to the quick. The gas lanterns on the hearth mantel had long since gone out. The living area, a collection of chairs and worn settees, was also empty. Little balls and cloth dolls were neatly piled in a basket by the short hallway that led to the bedrooms.
I stared at the doorway, my fingers digging into the scratchy burlap.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
My steps were slow as if I walked through water but they still carried me forward, even as the voice in my head whispered and then shouted for me to stop. Tiny bumps pimpled my skin as I entered the hall, and the smell…it choked me.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
The door to my right was closed, but the one to the left wasn’t. There was a buzzing sound, a low hum that I should’ve recognized but couldn’t in the moment. I looked into the room.
What was left of the bag of apples and potatoes slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. I didn’t even hear it hit the floor.
The buzzing was from hundreds of flies. The smell was from…
The Coupers lay on the bed together. Penn and his wife, Amarys. Between them were their children. Donovan and…and little Mattie. Beside Penn was an empty vial, the kind the Healers often used to mix medicines in. I imagined they’d shared the bed like this many times in the past, reading stories to their children or just enjoying their time together.
But they weren’t sleeping. I knew that. I knew the only life in that room was the godsforsaken flies. I knew that other than the insects, life hadn’t been in this house for quite some time. And that was why my gift hadn’t alerted me to what I was about to find. There was nothing I nor anyone else, mortal or god, could do at this point. It was far too late.
