“Troy!” She was still across the street, but not so far away that he shouldn’t be able to recognize her. “It’s me. Rebekkah.”
Still, Troy didn’t move or reply.
The nerves that had been eased by seeing him became unsettled again. “Troy?”
He stood then. His movements were awkward, so much so that he seemed to stumble as he took a step forward. He lifted his head and stared straight at her.
“Are you okay?” She stopped with more than an arm’s length between them. “Amity was worried about you.”
Troy lifted a hand like he was going to reach out to her, but he simply stood there with his hand upraised. He looked at his hand and then at her. His brow wrinkled, and he scowled.
“You’re freaking me out a little,” Rebekkah told him.
She reached out to touch his wrist, and he knocked her arm aside with his already upraised hand. Before Rebekkah could react, he pivoted and lunged forward. With his other hand, he grabbed her shoulder.
“What the fuck, Troy?” Rebekkah put the flat of her hand against his chest and shoved.
Troy’s fingers clutched at her as she shoved him backward into the brick front of the store, but he still didn’t speak. His lips parted in a soundless snarl.
“Don’t try me.” Rebekkah backed up, though: she wasn’t a fighter. She’d taken some basic self-defense courses, but she also knew that he outweighed her by half again her body weight—and he seemed strung out on something.
She reached in her pocket for her pepper spray. If not for whatever adrenaline burst she’d just had, she wasn’t sure she could have pushed him away, and adrenaline wasn’t a reliable fight tool. She stepped back again. “Whatever you’re on, it’s not doing you any good.”
He stared at her silently.
“Get some help.” She kept hold of the pepper spray, but didn’t raise it.
“Re
She swallowed nervously. “Yeah ...”
“Fix it.” He lunged at her a second time; this time, his mouth came down on her shoulder.
The weight of his body against hers made her knees bend, and she started to fall backward. Instinctively, she pressed her other hand against his throat and pushed. She felt something under her hand give, and then before she could do anything else, Troy was gone.
She stood, cautiously, and looked around. In a fraction of a second, Troy had vanished. For someone so obviously unsteady on his feet, that kind of quick exit made little sense.
Rebekkah looked up and down the street. There was no sign of him or anyone else. He could’ve ducked into any one of a number of shadowed doorways or down an alley, but it had felt like he’d evaporated when she’d pushed against his throat.
She shivered, as much from the cold as from fear, and then she continued walking home. It felt like every hour since Maylene died brought new questions. The only answer she had just then was that standing alone in the street wasn’t going to help matters, especially if Troy came back.
With a small sigh of relief, she let herself back into the house. The temptation to call Amity—and Byron—was outweighed by the fact that she simply didn’t want to stay awake for either conversation. The adrenaline rush was gone, and the combination of the crash and her already pressing exhaustion meant that she wanted nothing more than to topple over onto whatever flat surface she could find. Tomorrow she could make those calls. Morning would come soon enough.
Chapter 25
“FLIP THE SIGN, WOULD YOU?” PENELOPE CALLED OUT FROM THE BACK hall when Xavier entered.
“I could’ve been anyone. You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked, especially right now. There are monsters out there and—”
“I left it unlocked because I knew you were coming,” she interrupted.
One of these days, she suspected she’d tire of provoking Xavier, but until such time, she’d enjoy herself. Father Xavier Ness could accept that the dead walked, that Death himself had made a bargain with Claysville, that the townsfolk knowingly accepted such a bargain in exchange for health and semisealed borders, but the idea that she could foretell the future caused him to furrow his brow. As far as she was concerned, that degree of mulishness simply begged for provocation, and she was happy to provide it.
“Penelope?”
“Still changing. You can wait or watch.” She dropped her skirt and slipped on her jeans. She wasn’t about to go walking around this town in a voluminous skirt that would hamper any running she might need to do.
The sound of the priest’s pacing made her pause. She brushed the beaded curtain aside and said, “There’s chamomile or that mild mint you liked already out on the counter. I couldn’t tell which you’d want.”
He kept his back to her, but she knew he lifted the mint. The chamomile was for her, but it was more fun if she let him think she had wavered. Once she was sure he’d put the tea ball in his cup, she grabbed her boots and said, “I thought you might surprise me, for a minute. Put the chamomile in my cup, would you?”
“Surprise ...” He glanced at the tea balls. “You dislike the mint.”
“I do, but it’s always nice to test myself.” She twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head. “Don’t worry about the mess.” She grabbed the broom just before he accidentally knocked the jar to the floor.
“I find that infuriating.” He snatched the broom from her hand. “You set up these ridiculous scenarios simply to ... provoke me.”
“And to prove that I’m not a charlatan, Xavier.” She squatted down with the dustpan and held it in front of the pile of tea. “You doubt me every time we go too long without these ‘ridiculous scenarios,’ and we both know it.”
He swept the spilled tea onto the dustpan and said quietly, “I don’t mean to doubt you.”
“But you do.” She stood and dumped the tea into the waste bin. “You won’t eventually, but until then”—she took the broom and put it and the dustpan aside—“we will do this. It causes you far more consternation than it does me.”
He took a deep breath and looked directly at her. “Tell me why I came, then.”
Side by side, they washed their hands. She filled both of their cups with boiling water, took hers, and walked to the front of the shop. Standing in front of the window looking out at the darkened streets, she whispered, “To tell me that William has died.”
Behind her, she heard Xavier’s footsteps, the slide of the chair, and the soft clack of his cup against the mosaic-covered table he preferred. She waited for him to ask the question he needed answered.
Moments passed. She sipped her tea and waited. Xavier hated that he wanted to ask her these things, struggled with it, so she gave him the space to do so on his own terms. Like everyone else in Claysville, he had to come to his decisions in his own time and way.
Finally, he said, “Tell me that everything will be resolved soon.”
“I can’t.” She turned and walked to the table. “I can only see so far out most of the time, especially on matters of the dead. I can’t see when the end is, only that we aren’t near it yet.”
“And Byron?”
“He needs to talk tonight.” Penelope stood beside the table. “Not to a council member, but to someone who knew his father. You should go.”
“I wish you could tell me where the monster is,” he admitted. “It seems wrong that you can tell that I’ll knock over the tea, but can’t tell me ... You make me question things, Pen. I don’t like that.”
“I know.” Penelope took her seat. “I don’t always like it either, but I am only what the Goddess allows me to be. If I knew everything”—she smiled at him—“I wouldn’t be human ... or here.”
“Be safe.”
