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There’s nothing but horror and shock, betrayal and a sense of looking beyond the veil, looking at something no one should ever look at.
I brought someone dead back into this world.
Perhaps that’s the biggest sin of all.
Marie opens her mouth in a silent scream, wider, wider, and now she’s shaking, convulsing.
“What is happening to her?” Ray finally whimpers coming closer. “What are you doing to her?”
“I’m not…” I begin, trying to hold her down, panic clawing through me that I’ve made a huge mistake in attempting this. “I’m trying to bring her back to life.”
But I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said anything.
Because now Ray knows, he really knows what’s wrong with me.
“Let me die,” Marie croaks, the sound coming not from her but from around us, filling the room. “Let me die, Ichabod.”
I remove my hands, static shocking my palms, and I watch as she abruptly goes still.
Dead again.
Dead forever.
Dead because I killed her.
“You’re…” Ray begins, and I don’t have the strength to look at him. “You’re a demon.”
“I’m not a demon,” I whisper to him, running my fingers down Marie’s lifeless arm. “I’m just damned.”
Chapter 24
Kat
I feel awful.
I’ve never dealt with my monthly bleeding alone before. Normally I have Famke who would sew together the rags and cloth pads that she would then button on to the soft belt I wear under my drawers. And while they had the foresight to pack it with the rest of my clothes, I feel embarrassed that I don’t have that many, which means I have to go use the communal sink on my floor to wash them. I know all the girls in my dorm would have to deal with a similar situation, but even so, it seems like something that should stay very private.
In addition to that, I get cramps during menstruation, which in the past I’ve been able to mitigate with raspberry leaf and willow bark tea, but I’m not sure where to find that here. I suppose I could go out to the herb garden and forage for some, but I never saw any raspberries there, and it’s been raining steadily all afternoon, ever since I left Brom and Crane out on the grass as they were about to hunt down the history teacher.
I sigh, trying to ignore the discomfort and my general sense of malaise, and I sit down at my desk, unwrapping the banketstaaf that Famke had made me. They’re my favorite Dutch pastry and I’d been trying to save them for when I really needed it, but a healthy dose of sugar might do me a world of good right now.
I try and savor the first one, but my stomach growls hungrily, and I end up devouring it, the almond paste from inside sticking to my fingers, leaving flakes of pastry on my desk. I decide to slow down and take my time with the second one, that way I’ll still have two to give to Brom and Crane.
But when I pick up the second one, it comes apart in my hands like it’s been halved in two, and I realize that there’s something inside of it. I reach in and pull out a sticky folded up note wrapped around something hard and silver: a chain necklace. Hanging from it is a small Byzantine cross accented with a black stone, maybe onyx or obsidian, with a crescent moon overhead.
I rub the pastry off until the silver shines, then I pick up the note with shaking hands.
Dearest Katrina,
This has kept me safe all these years.
It’s time for it you keep you safe.
Your father would want you to have it.
Famke.
Famke buried the note and necklace in the pastry for me to find without my mother knowing. Now that I know, I must go back to the house, and soon. I need to speak to her. She knows far too much and I far too little, even at this point.
In any event, I have to tell Crane and Brom.
I grab the note and necklace, gather up the rest of the pastries, slip on my boots and coat, and hurry out into the rain. Darkness will be falling soon, and I know Crane won’t want me anywhere near Brom at this hour, but I’m willing to take the chance. At the very least, Crane could put a circle of salt around his room as an extra precaution.
Though I’m starting to doubt that does anything. Constable Kirkbride was beheaded last night by the headless horseman, and I know Brom had something to do with it. He may have protested that it was out of his control, and maybe that’s true, but I saw the way Brom was staring at the constable after our meeting. He was looking through that window as if he was plotting to kill him.
But while that should scare me, the thought of Brom being responsible for the murder, it doesn’t. I don’t know if that means my morals have sunk to new lows, or that the blood ritual cemented us together in ways that defy convention, but I feel myself having empathy for him instead.
