Page 125 of Prodigal Son

Larissa snatched his breakfast plate out from under him. “It’s not funny. I’m exhausted.”

“I wasn’t finished eating.”

“Then you shouldn’t have teased me.” She chucked the scraps in the compost and took the dish to the sink.

Cain went over to where his niece played on the floor and held out a finger. “Are you torturing your mother?”

Moriah gripped his finger in a chubby, pink fist and tried to put it in her mouth.

He laughed. “I’d feed you, but your mother took away my plate.” He kissed her head and stood. “I’m going to say good morning to Cybil.”

“Try to get her to eat something if you can. I’ll bring a tray down for the other one in a bit.”

He grabbed a pear from the bowl on the way out of the kitchen. Council Hall was connected to the bishop’s home, so Cain had been visiting the holding cells more often. The main floor was quiet this early in the morning, but he could scent Dane nearby.

The heavy door opened, and Dane spotted him. A bench had been brought into the lower corridor so they had a place to sit.

“Hey,” the young man greeted, his voice so much deeper than it had been when he’d arrived on the farm.

“How is she?”

Cybil hissed and rattled the bars when she saw Cain, but they ignored her outburst.

Over the past several months, Dane finally accepted his sister would never be the same. At one point, Cain had found him crying and regretting that they hadn’t let her die in peace. Another reason he decided to take a more active role in Dane’s life. Now he actually enjoyed the boy—who had grown into a man.

“Her mind’s full of nonsense this morning. She’s been in a panic since she awoke, and she keeps trying to see the door. It’s like she’s waiting for someone.”

Cain looked at her and held out his arms. “I’m here.”

Cybil hissed and angled her neck to see down the long hall.

Cain frowned and followed her stare to the heavy door at the end of the hallway. “Think she’s expecting company?” he joked.

“She’s anticipating something.” Dane studied her a while longer. “You know, when my mom used to be on her way home from work, Colby could tell when she was close. He’d always jump up and go to the window a few minutes before she pulled up.”

“Dogs have good hearing and they know the sound of their owners approaching.”

“Just dogs?”

Cain frowned. “What are you asking?”

He shrugged. “Maybe she hears something we don’t.”

Cain closed his eyes and listened. He heard the leaves rustling in the wind, the horses and hogs mucking about, chatter, babies, birds, beetles, even a power tool several miles away and the hum of distant vehicles passing on the interstate. “I hear nothing unusual.”

The young witch pretended to sleep in the cell beside Cybil’s. She did that a lot, no doubt hoping to overhear something she shouldn’t. But Cain could always tell when she was awake by the pace of her heartbeat and pattern of her breathing.

He didn’t care for the little witch. She’d been questioned and compelled to undo whatever spell they casted on his father, but the girl didn’t know how. Her presence was only needed to harness more power to complete the spell, and when the other witch died, her wisdom went with her.

“The plebe’s awake,” he told Dane.

Dane nodded, as if he figured as much.

Cain’s mother suffered the burden raising a new babe while caring for an invalid husband. She’d waited so long for another child and the blessing had transformed into a curse at the hands of a witch.

As immortals, they were not used to such exhaustive efforts, especially when there seemed no hope of recovery. His mother cried daily, her loyalty tested with each challenge. Cain wondered how mortals managed to care for their ill and elderly so selflessly.

Immortality left them inexperienced with sickness. Mortals accepted death much easier because it was an expected part of life. Cain assumed that was what the witches had tried to explain to his father before he threatened them. Now his father could not die, and his eyes silently begged for a merciful end every day. He feared that one of them might eventually grant his wish, but they could only offer such mercy if they were certain his father could be killed.

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