Page 14 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“But she found the only open door. What else do we have?”
Nothing. But Tyghan wouldn’t admit it.
“And surely you noticed that her eyes are hazel,” Eris added.
Tyghan noticed. He shrugged. “Which usually means nothing.”
“Butsometimesit means a lot. They have a greater potential for change.”
“Should we go after her?” Quin asked.
“No,” Eris said, waving him back. “She’ll return of her own accord by tonight.”
Melizan grumbled. “She has the art. Why would she come back?”
“Your brother told me to squeeze her,” Eris answered. “I’m far from done.”
CHAPTER 10
Trees, the town, honking cars, they all raced past Bristol in a horrible gray blur. She barely saw the road. Her throbbing lip was the only proof she hadn’t imagined the room full of creatures, because it was all too impossible. Who—what—were they? And what were they doing here, in Bowskeep? Some of them had scowled at her with blood in their eyes. The sketch was safely tucked in her hoodie pocket, but she didn’t stop at Sonja’s gallery. She’d get the money later.
She was in the last stretch before home, the world finally quieting. Knee-high grass alongside the road rustled in the breeze, but then up ahead, she spotted the roadside memorial. Rebuilt. And someone stood beside it.
Her heart went back into overdrive. As she drew near, she recognized the familiar battered hat. Willow. She watched Bristol approach like she was waiting for her. Was Willow the one who kept rebuilding the memorial?
Even though she knew Willow, Bristol was suddenly wary. She stopped several yards away. “Willow, what are you doing way out here?”
Willow pulled off her hat, and long hair tangled with grass and leaves tumbled out past her ankles to the ground, more hair than Bristol thought could fit beneath one hat.
“I saw your father with trows just before he disappeared,” she answered.
Bristol swallowed. “Trows?”
Willow took a few steps closer. “Mountain trows, vicious little creatures they are. Most of them no bigger than yay high.” She brushed her fingers across the middle of her thigh. “But size? That don’t mean nothing. They’re dangerous little devils. Teeth like knives.”
Bristol wondered at the dark circles under Willow’s eyes, how gaunt she had become, and the strange raspy tone of her voice. “My father didn’t disappear, Willow. He’s dead.”
“Hmm . . . that so?” Her bloodshot eyes widened. “You ever see a body?”
Bristol’s stomach rolled over, woozy. The question churned up memories she was trying to forget. No, she didn’t see the body, but the sheriff—
The sheriff saw him. The sheriff who was also a monster.
She eyed Willow with new dread.
Willow laughed. “Ah, the sheriff.” Her head bobbed like she knew what he really was. “But those trows, they’re a wily bunch. They can trick just about anyone. Even a sheriff. Can’t trust anything about them.” She began walking away.
“Willow! Wait!” Bristol called. “What are you trying to tell me?”
But then she was gone. Gone, like she was never there. She became a fading bit of light that twinkled out of existence.
Bristol struggled to breathe, still staring at the spot where Willow had vanished. Her eyes stung, hot and dry.
And then she heard a trailing whisper: “The trows got him.”
CHAPTER 11
Angus scurried up the couch, nosing the curtain aside to look out the window. Harper joined him, but saw it was only Cat pulling into the driveway. What was she doing home so early? Cat slammed the van door and marched through the high weeds that were once a lawn.
