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When I brush the hair back from her forehead to kiss her, I’m reminded again of the brutality she is in danger of. The cross Church carved into her skin is healing, but it will leave its mark. Even if it’s faint, she will see it every time she looks in the mirror. And me, well… it is the glaring mark of my failure staring me in the face. She is the obsession of one man’s hate, and that man has an entire cult to do his bidding. I saw the nooses they’d prepared at Noyes’s compound. These people aren’t playing games.
Defiant, I touch my lips to her forehead, whispering a silent vow of protection, my own life for hers, before I climb out of the bed. Salomé made a mistake when she accused me of being like herself, of being unable to love. What I feel for this woman—what I thought I felt and how it’s blossomed in just the time since I acknowledged it, said the words aloud—it’s almost unreal, incomprehensible. My heart swells when I look at her. But the instant I feel that buoyancy, it’s as though a lead blanket is thrown over me because I know how perilous the reality of our lives is right now.
We have enemies both inside our home and outside of it.
The thought enrages me.
The thought of Salomé and her hate of Willow, her idiotic belief that sacrificing her will somehow save her own life. At least I understand Salomé’s selfish motivation even if it disgusts me.
The thought of Caleb Church and the Disciples being so close to us that they knew—they fucking knew—where Willow was. Even with the presence of the Society guards in a Society hospital, with me at her side, they thought to taunt her, to threaten her. Caleb Church is unhinged and those “brothers” will follow his command no matter the danger to themselves.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I remain barefoot and, before heading to the door, I take Isaiah’s ring out of the nightstand drawer and hold it in the palm of my hand.
Willow stirs, as if sensing its dark energy. I drop it into my pocket, more determined than ever, more furious than ever, and make up my mind. I stalk out of our bedroom and down the hall, a glance at the open door of my grandmother’s empty, dark bedroom only solidifying my determination as I hurry down the stairs. I walk out through the kitchen door and find Benedict tethered to the post Salomé had put in just for him. His chain is short, barely allowing him to lay his head down. I’ve allowed her to rule over this household with her iron fist for far too long.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I tell him, releasing him from the chain and taking his collar off altogether. I’d forgotten to check on him and the staff must have just done what they’ve always been told to do, but that’s over. “Go upstairs. Keep Bec and Willow safe,” I tell him, not sure he understands as I pet him, and he nuzzles me. When I straighten, he goes into the house and heads up the stairs.
The rain that’s been falling most of the night is now a drizzle. I walk outside, straight to the shed, which houses various tools. The old wooden door creaks open and I pull on the small chain of the bare lightbulb overhead. I look around. I rarely come in here. We have gardeners who maintain the grounds. I walk through until I find the shelf with various saws and hammers and take the heaviest sledgehammer I can find, switching out the light and closing the door behind me as I walk barefoot through the forest to the churchyard, to that statue.
On my way I see the lights on at the cottage that now houses Salomé. A hospital bed has been set up, and she will have round the clock medical care as well as round the clock security. I didn’t bother to sugarcoat why. It’s not exactly to keep her safe. It’s to keep her in.
Willow’s words come back to mind, how Salomé didn’t deny having left the gate open to let the Disciples in. There’s a part of me that wants to believe she didn’t deny it just to fuck with Willow but there’s another part of me that knows better. It’s why I took Bec’s shake to the lab to have it tested. She may be my grandmother, but I don’t trust her. I don’t think I ever really have. But to poison Bec? To kill Willow? I can’t wrap my brain around it, and maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I don’t want to believe she, a woman from whom I am descended, whose blood I share, is capable of such horrific, deviant acts.
