Page 92 of The Women of Wild Hill
“What are you talking about? Of course I did!” Sibyl seemed confused. Then her eyes went wide. “I served a mix of oyster mushrooms and chicken of the woods on toast. It’s one of my signature dishes, and the owner of the house requested it. Did you two really think I’d gone rogue?” A new thought hit her and she visibly reeled. “Holy shit, Brigid. Is that why you knocked the tray out of my hands? Because you thought I’d decided to kill everyone on my own? If you hadn’t done that, Vernon Cage would still be alive.”
“Fuck this bullshit” was all Brigid could offer in return. “I’m going to bed.”
“If we’re going forward with the mission, we have to trust each other!” Sibyl called to her back as she walked away.
Brigid spun around. “I met you a week ago.” She pointed at Phoebe. “I haven’t seen her in thirty years. Forgive me if I’m not ready for trust falls with either of you just yet.”
“Bitch,” Phoebe muttered under her breath.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t start,” Sibyl said as she made for the stairs. “I’m too exhausted for this crap.”
WHEN SHE REACHED HER BEDROOM,Sibyl stripped out of her clothes and lay down on the bed. But the place she traveled when she closed her eyes was not sleep. It was just as dark and as deep, but it was far from restful. She could see nothing, but she felt the cold wrap itself around her. The floor under her feet was paved with stone that was slick with damp. She could smell woodsmoke. A fire burned somewhere in the distance.
She followed the smoke for what seemed like hours. She could hear men’s shouts and women’s screams. At last, she stepped out into twilight. High stone walls rose behind her. In the square ahead, a raucous crowd had gathered. In the center, three stoic women dressed in simple white gowns stood tied to stakes. They weren’t sisters but rather three generations, Sibyl judged by their flowing hair, which was white, gray, and auburn. Each of them stood atop a pyre of wood.
“Do you know us?” The youngest was little more than a girl of fourteen or fifteen.
“You’re Sadie’s ghosts,” Sibyl said.
“Yours, too,” the middle said. “A whole branch of our tree, burned by men.”
“It was not just a story.” The old one spoke now.
“We brought you here so you can see it,” the middle one told Sibyl.
“And smell it,” the young woman added.
“Taste it, too.”
“And know men like our killers are still in the world. Their kind has not changed,” said the oldest. “You are The Third. You must take action.” A soldier touched a torch to the kindling beneath her. The flames leaped up and caught the old woman’s skirt. The crowd roared so loudly that Sibyl couldn’t hear her own screams.
SHE LURCHED UPRIGHT. HER THROATwas raw and her hair reeked of smoke. The morning light streamed through the opening in her bedroom curtains. Sibyl searched for her phone until she realized it was already clenched in her hand. The ping of a notification sent a wave of panic through her system. She didn’t want to look down, but she did. She hadn’t set up any alerts, but one had come through—from a site she didn’t recognize. The photo that accompanied the alert showed her aunt at the previous night’s party.
In the past few years, at least ten wealthy and powerful men have died under highly unusual circumstances. It’s been noted that the deaths have all shared certain bizarre similarities. We can now add another to the list. Actress and director Brigid Laguerre, known worldwide as the Queen of the Dark, was spotted at the scenes of the three latest deaths. Though all three are likely to be declared accidental, the deaths of Senator Josh Jacobs, meat mogul Dan Wallace, and public relations guru Vernon Cage were caused by natural phenomena—namely jellyfish, ravens, and egg whites.
There have long been rumors that Laguerre is a practitioner of the dark arts. Her fascination with the occult and macabre can be seen in all of her famous films. Death has surrounded Laguerre since theage of seventeen, when her mother committed suicide at the family estate. Earlier this month, a police officer died at her California home, the victim of a snakebite to his genitals...
Phoebe couldn’t finish reading. “This is bad.”
“It’s poorly written, that’s for sure.” Sibyl looked up from her phone. “But it’s already on social media. None of the posts have gone viral yet, but it’s only eight o’clock in the morning.”
Brigid brought three cups of coffee to the kitchen table. She hadn’t expected to be dragged out of bed quite so early. “Why are they picking on me? I wasn’t the only one present for all three deaths. Liam was there. So were a bunch of his crusty old friends.”
“None of them have killed people professionally for the past thirty years,” Phoebe noted.
“I don’t kill people. I make movies. Some of Liam’s friends have actual body counts in the tens of thousands.”
“Are you two really going to argue about whether this is fair or not?” Sibyl demanded. “Or are we going to figure out what we need to do?”
The three of them jumped at a knock at the door.
“Did you close the gates behind you last night?” Phoebe asked Brigid.
“Of course!” Brigid said. “Did you open them?” she asked Sibyl.
“Are you high?” Sibyl responded.
“Of course I’m high!” Brigid told her. She hurried over to the window and got a glimpse of their unexpected guest. She marched to the front door and threw it open. “What are you doing here? How did you get through the gates?”
