Page 264 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“I’m not a police officer, Indigo.”

I snap my mouth closed. Tears prick at my lids, but I refuse to let them fall. Despite the fact that I know Marigold’s been in here crying—possibly for more than an hour, judging from the ashtray—it would feel like surrendering.

I spin around, the paintings blurring as the first tear works its way past my defenses.

Moments later, I’m in the woods. It was the only place I could think of to go where I’d be alone with my thoughts. Where I could scream, and no one would hear me.

Except Briar, perhaps, if he happened to be out here. But what are the chances, right?

The straight lines of the church pull me out of the thoughtless fog I’d lost myself in. I stop walking, staring ahead at the blackened shell of a building.

Now I regret coming here. It reminds me too much of my house that night; black and gray and white with char, ash, and smoke.

Marigold must have heard wrong. No one can close a case that quickly. Maybe she’s overreacting. I’ll contact the Deputyand speak to him. That’s what I should have done instead of coming here. The sun’s already dipped behind the Devil’s Spine mountains. It’ll be dark soon.

But maybe I want to get lost in the woods again. At least, then, I’d have something else on my mind.

I push on, stepping into the church and taking my time to look around.

It must have been a stunning sight with its white walls and stained glass windows. Enough of the shell is still standing—I can see it was built in the shape of a Christian cross, with the pulpit up near the top and the pews down the longest branch of the cross.

Before the fire.

It’s beautiful now, how the forest has reclaimed it. The brambles don’t even look as sharp as they did that night?—

I shove away the thought. I’m trying to stay positive; thoughts of Briar won’t help.

I run my fingers over the back of a burned pew, rubbing the black char into my skin and lifting it to my nose. It hardly smells burned anymore. Guess this happened a long time ago.

Who builds a church in the middle of?—?

Footsteps.

I freeze, too terrified to turn around.

See, this is what happens when you think about someone too much. You end up summoning them.

I turn to face him, because fuck, I wanted to be alone with him, didn’t I?

But the figure headed for the church isn’t Briar.

It’s Marcus.

Something primal takes control. I drop into a crouch and glance around, scurrying to the back of the church, to the small area behind the pulpit.

It’s dark here—most of the wall is still intact, and the spreading boughs of a tree act as a roof a few feet above my head. I carefully wedge myself behind a bramble bush and try to stop breathing.

Footsteps crunch closer.

What the hell am I doing? If Marcus sees me, he’s gonna think I’ve lost my mind. I should just have greeted him and left.

But he won’t see me here, and that’s the fucking point. I won’t have to speak to him, explain my presence.

Crunch.

Crunch.

He stops walking. My heart pounds harder as I wait for him to move again. Despite every atom in my body screaming at me not to, I lean to the side, craning around the bramble to try and see if I can spot him.

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