Page 144 of Wicked Ways (Wicked)

“Jade got a car,” Gracie pointed out.

From the front seat, Jade said, “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” To her mother, Gracie threw back Sarah’s own words, “ ‘A promise is a promise.’ That’s what you always say.” Gracie regarded her mother coolly as she clambered out of the backseat.

“I know.” How could Sarah possibly forget the argument that had existed since her youngest had turned five? Gracie was nuts about all animals, and she’d been lobbying for a pet forever.

Once her younger daughter was out of earshot, Sarah said to Jade, “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to your sister.”

Jade threw her mother a disbelieving look and declared, “This is so gonna suck!”

“Only if you let it.” Sarah was tired of the ongoing argument that had started the second she’d announced the move two weeks ago. She’d waited until the real estate deal with her siblings was completed and she had hired a crew to start working before breaking the news to her k

ids. “This is a chance for all of us to have a new start.”

“I don’t care. The ‘new start’ thing? That’s on you. For you. And maybe her,” she added, hitching her chin toward the windshield.

Sarah followed her gaze and watched Gracie hike up the broken flagstone path, where dandelions and moss had replaced the mortar years before. A tangle of leggy, gone-to-seed rosebushes were a reminder of how long the house had been neglected. Once upon a time, Sarah’s mother had tended the gardens and orchard to the point of obsession, but that had been years ago. Now a solitary crow flapped to a perch in a skeletal cherry tree near the guesthouse, then pulled its head in tight, against the rain.

“Come on, Jade. Give me a break,” Sarah said.

“You give me one.” Jade rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seat belt, digging out her cell phone and attempting to text. “Smartphone, my ass—er, butt.”

“Again, watch the language.” Sarah pocketed her keys and tried not to let her temper get control of her tongue. “Grab your stuff, Jade. Like it or not, we’re home.”

“I can not believe this is my life.”

“Believe it.” Sarah shoved open the driver’s side door, then walked to the rear of the vehicle to pull her computer and suitcase from the cargo area.

Of course, she too had doubts about moving here. The project she planned to tackle—renovating the place to its former grandeur before selling it—was daunting, perhaps impossible. Even when she’d been living here with all her siblings, the huge house had been sinking into disrepair. Since her father had died, things had really gone downhill. Paint was peeling from the siding, and many of the shiplap boards were warped. The wide porch that ran along the front of the house seemed to be listing, rails missing, and there were holes in the roof where there had once been shingles.

“It looks evil, you know,” Jade threw over her shoulder before hauling her rolling bag out of the cargo space and reluctantly trudging after her sister. “I’ve always hated it.”

Sarah managed to hold back a hot retort. The last time she’d brought her children here, she and her own mother, Arlene, had gotten into a fight, a blistering battle of words that precipitated their final, painful rift. Though Gracie was probably too small to remember, Jade certainly did.

Gracie was nearly at the steps when she stopped suddenly to stare upward at the house. “What the . . . ?”

“Come on,” Jade said to her younger sister, but Gracie didn’t move, even when Sarah joined her daughters and a big black crow landed on one of the rusted gutters.

“Something wrong?” Sarah asked.

Jade was quick to say, “Oh, no, Mom, everything’s just perfect. You get into a fight with that perv at your job and decide we all have to move.” She snapped her fingers. “And bam! It’s done. Just like that. You rent out the condo in Vancouver and tell us we have to move here to a falling-down old farm with a grotesque house that looks like Stephen King dreamed it up. Yeah, everything’s just cool.” Jade reached for her phone again. “And there’s got to be some cell phone service here or I’m out, Mom. Really. No service is like . . . archaic and . . . and . . . inhumane!”

“You’ll survive.”

Gracie whispered, “Someone’s in there.”

“What?” Sarah said, “No. The house has been empty for years.”

Gracie blinked. “But . . . but, I saw her.”

“You saw who?” Sarah asked and tried to ignore a tiny flare of fear knotting her stomach.

With one hand still on the handle of her rolling bag, she shrugged. “A girl.”

Sarah caught an I-told-you-so look from her older daughter.

“A girl? Where?” Jade demanded.

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