Page 114 of Beyond the Cottage

“So, the repellent,” she said, clearly trying to distract him. “It’s unbelievable. Nat will be impressed.”

“You think so?”

“For sure. I’m going to set up a meeting for you as soon as we get to the capital.”

Rather than exciting him, it brought a jolt of anxiety. The capital was where their proximity ended.

After the meeting, what kind of friendship would they realistically maintain? She traveled a lot. He didn’t know where he’d be living next week. And she likely had better things to do than squire him about the city.

“When do you think we’ll arrive?” he asked.

“It’s early still. If Lil flies us to the closest station, we should be able to make the afternoon train.”

With a subdued nod, he went silent, and she tied off a final knot.

He twisted to inspect her handiwork. “You did a good job. Thank you.”

“It’ll scar, but not bad.” She tossed her supplies on a table and collected the box he’d dropped in the scuffle. The lock popped off with a flick of her knife, and inside, they found more glass pendants strung on delicate chains.

Gretta held one up, and it bathed them in a yellow glow. A haunting, feminine voice sang in Ansel’s head. She lifted another then another, and each held a different, beautiful voice.

When she lifted a fourth, a masculine groan clanged between Ansel’s ears.

Gretta stuffed that one in her pocket and looped the rest over her palm. “I guess we better check the yard.”

They left the cottage and tromped through untended grass and overgrown blackberry bushes. Out back, they found a fire pit ringed with stones.

A familiar stench carried on the breeze—burnt bones. The hair on Ansel’s arms stood, and Gretta wrapped her arms around her waist.

“I can check it out,” he said. The smell churned up dark memories, threatening to bring the shadows, but she’d already seen enough horror for one day.

“It’s my job,” she said.

“Fuck that. I owe you.”

“We’ll go together?”

He hesitated and nodded, and she slipped her hand into his. As they approached the fire pit, the smell grew stronger.

Gretta closed her eyes. Ansel stared, wide-eyed.

Though the bones in the pit had mostly burned to charcoal, white parts remained. A jawbone with three intact teeth, a half-charred femur. The breeze stirred a clump of scorched hair.

Blue hair.

Ansel kicked a wooden bucket, sending up a puff of ash. The witch had likely used it to dump remains over the cliff.

“This isn’t the worst I’ve seen,” Gretta said quietly.

“Indeed. Eyeballs in jars, was it?” He shook his head. “How do you stand it?”

“I guess I’m desensitized. I don’t know what this says about me, but the stuff before a hunt is worse than the stuff after.”

He turned to her. “Ihateyour job, Gret. The killing, the atrocities. They’ll leave their mark.”

She squeezed his hand before approaching the cliff, necklaces swinging. She flung the trapped voices into the waves, and Ansel swore a fading harmony drifted on the wind.

“There’s nothing we can do for them now,” Gretta said. “But someday your invention will stop this from happening to other people.”

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