Page 51 of Together We Rot

All the blood rushes to my face. I nearly shatter the cup against the floor. “Stop lying, Cherry!”

Beside me, Elwood turns scarlet, huffing at my quick dismissal.

Cherry’s lips pucker at the corners. “Don’t fret, dear. The girl is stubborn, but she isn’t blind.” Before I have the chance to squawk out anything else, she sets her drink down on its saucer with a harsh clack. “All right, then, let’s get to it.”

That shuts us both up. I swallow once. Twice.

Cherry’s hands are weathered and bony, the polish faded and chipped on each finger. “You’re not going to believe us,” I promise.

“Try me.”

I fill my lungs with air and then push it all back out—I focus on that, my chest sinking and rising in rhythm. And then I tell her. It’s a long spiel, broken up only by Elwood’s random frenzied interjections. Cherry listens intently, not once stopping to tell me that we sound like raving lunatics. She nods along as if we’re recounting a perfectly normal story.

When I’ve finished, or at least when I finally stop to catch my breath, she waits a beat and then says, “Your mother’s intuition was unparalleled. I thought it was dangerous and I warned her to keep out of it, but that’s where the two of you are so alike. Stubborn to a fault. She knew if I got a whiff of her research, I’d shut it down.” Her mouth quivers with emotion. She brushes her fingers across Mom’s handwriting as I drag the page out, and something breaks in her face. “Look where it got her.”

Stars burn beyond the living room window, and the moon trickles in through cracked curtains.

“Mom started this, and we need to finish it, Cherry. Will you help us save him?”

Cherry massages out a brewing headache in her temples. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Elwood alone. You know how it is. Too many auras in a room gives me a killer migraine. It’s just the two of you, but God you both have some intense energy.”

“But I—” I start.

“You want my help, don’t you?” she asks, daring me to contradict her.

“Yes,” I groan, shrinking down like I’m five years old all over again. And now Cherry is telling me to go to my room.

“Why don’t you get things situated downstairs?” she suggests with a dismissive flip of her hand. “Maybe some shut-eye. Lord knows you need it. Your bags are worse than mine, and I’m more than twice your age.”

“Love that, thanks. I guess I’ll go sit in the basement alone while you try to talk to Elwood’s demon.”

She blows me a kiss and I roll my eyes, seeing myself out. The horror only floats to the surface once I’m halfway down the stairs.

Elwood’s demon.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ELWOOD

Ms.Delacroix is like a Victorian ghost haunting over her home. Her vibrant red hair is teased and pulled into shape. No matter how many times I look at her, she doesn’t seem real.

“You can see the thing inside me?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t waste a second. “It lights up when you look out to the forest. Bit like a dog scratching at the door, wanting to be let out.”

I subconsciously raise my hand to my chest, brushing against it like I might feel the spirit’s claws. “How do I get it out of me?” I whisper. I’m still not sure whether it can hear me or not, but I’ve convinced myself that the threat is real. Ms.Delacroix says nothing, inclining her head over to the kitchen. I follow and sit down on the chair she swings out for me.

The kitchen isn’t nearly as cluttered as the living room. It’s much smaller, the space dedicated to a garden of kitchen herbs. Some are hanging potted plants, their vines snaking out toward the windowsill in search of light. Others are planted neatly in rows along the walls. She’s got an army of tiny jars along her counter, each filled to the brim with freshly collected herbs.

“I’m not sure if I have the answer to that,” she says, a wistful expression crossing her features.

Her answer hurts more than I anticipated. I try not to let it show, but it must be obvious. She straightens her emotions out, offering me a forced smile. “I think this calls for tea. Bolivian black, perhaps?”

She turns before I can respond and starts fussing over a copper kettle. I hear the rush of the faucet and the click of the stove turning on.

“Wil used to talk about me?” It’s out of my mouth before I can think to contain it.

Ms.Delacroix doesn’t turn, but her back twitches with a laugh. The warm light rains down on her hair, making it almost orange. I hadn’t noticed before, but she’s got a dozen little charms hidden throughout it. They catch the light, sparkling through her locks.

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