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“The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him. His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure….”
She ran the words in her head, driving the evil out, pushing the bad things from her mind. She’d always liked that line about the Prince of Darkness, imagining herself plunging a sword into a black-caped demon. Yeah, that would be tight.
Then the rafters creaked overhead, and her resolve faded. The music in her head died, and she felt her skin crawl. Maybe this was a bad idea, coming to the place where two people had died.
She snapped the band on her wrist and moved forward, slowly, half-expecting the snarling ghosts of Nona and Drew to leap out at her. Nona, without clothes, her head perched at an impossible angle upon her long neck, and Drew, naked and wide-eyed, blood dripping from his head wound, could appear at any instant.
Maeve’s heart grew still.
Stop freaking yourself out! You’re here to meet Ethan, your Romeo! There are no ghosts. No ghouls. No one here to do you harm. Only Ethan if you’re lucky.
She kept tugging and releasing the rubber band at her wrist as she forced herself to get a grip, to pull herself together.
The horses were as restless and edgy as she was, as if they, too, sensed a lurking presence of evil. They shuffled nervously in their stalls, snorting and pawing. Tails switching, hooves clomping, they neighed and refused to quiet.
Maeve swallowed back her fear and found comfort in the knife hidden within her boot, its razor-sharp blade touching her ankle, teasing the skin beneath her sock. She felt a bit better knowing she could retrieve it in a second.
Knives.
Scissors.
Razors.
Hated, beloved friends.
It’s all right. It’s all right. Just be patient. Ethan will come. He has to.
And yet, the moan of the wind brought goose bumps to the back of her neck, a crinkle to her scalp.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement over by Scout’s box.
She froze.
Ethan?
Was he playing games with her?
Again, a shadow darted near the feed bins.
Was it Ethan, come to meet her? Or someone else, someone who had stalked her, Nona’s murderer come back to haunt the scene of the crime?
Dear God.
Her heart beat as wildly as the wings of a thousand frightened bats.
Her throat closed, and she slowly bent down, intent on retrieving the hunting knife.
But now there was no movement at the feed bins. No homicidal maniac.
And really, maybe one of the freakin’ horses moved.
Oh, get over it. There’s nothing evil here! No Satan with his pitchfork. No ghosts of schoolmates past.
Arizona, the gray mare, snorted as Maeve passed. She nickered softly, obviously wanting attention, but Maeve didn’t have time. Now that she was here, she was on a mission, had to keep moving. She ignored Plato, the dun gelding who observed her suspiciously from the back of his stall, and Scout, the paint with the white face and eerie pale eyes. A gust of wind pounded the building, rattling the panes in the windows and howling eerily from the hayloft high above.
The spot where Nona’s nude body had hung, twisting in the winter wind.
Again, Maeve swallowed back her fear. She was here to see Ethan. Meet him. Vow her love.
