“Nah, the Pearson family may have a lot of pull in this town, but the Holstein women rule it. Well, apart from Mrs. Crenshaw. That old lady is an institution even the Holstein witches regard sacred,” she says, lowering her hand to her lap. “We just do it quietly, unlike this hotshot who thinks the sun goes down every time he takes a seat.”
Rachel snickers.
“We’re going to have to take shifts if we want to get any sleep tonight. I know I took a nap this afternoon, but I’m dead on my feet. Can you take the first shift?”
“Sure,” Rachel says. “My bedroom is—”
“I’m sleeping in the car,” she quickly says.
“Okay, do you want a pillow or something?”
Mercia stands and shakes her head. “Nope, but thanks.”
“All right, well, I won’t lock the door. And if you see Ziggy, don’t freak out.”
Mercia exits the living room, and the door squeaks open before it closes behind her.
Rachel doesn’t move, only watches Greg as he squirms around to lie on his side. It takes a while, but eventually he succeeds and stares back at her.
“I told you I didn’t want anything serious, remember?” she says. “On several occasions, I told you it was just a summer fling, didn’t I?”
He doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t move, but his eyes are clear and she’s certain that he’s listening closely to every word.
Rachel crosses her arms. “Greg, I really didn’t want to be a jerk, but after today you’ve left me no choice. You were a Band-Aid, nothing more. I was lonely and you were willing to feel me up a bit so I could forget about my stupid life for a while. That’s it.”
He frowns.
“Yeah, I know,” Rachel says, sighing. “I could have picked anyone for the catharsis you provided. I mean, none of the football players seem too picky. The difference between you and them is, you can actually challenge me intellectually. I’m sorry, but it’s basically the only thing that sets you apart from all the other guys I may have considered for my summer fling.”
Greg’s eyes narrow.
“Judge me all you want, Pearson. You did the exact same thing.” Rachel gets to her feet and crosses the room. She hunches down in front of the sofa. “Mercia told me all about how you had to pay girls to make me jealous. Sucks to be you, Greg, because I felt nothing.”
Greg, who probably has a concussion and shouldn’t be sleeping, falls into a deep sleep a few minutes later. Loud snores emanate from him, though, so he’s definitely alive. The worst he’ll have is a headache in the morning.
Meanwhile, Rachel passes the time by scanning through THE UNOFFICIAL HISTORY OF SHADOW GROVE, hoping to find further information on how to get the Bone Carver—Ugh, couldn’t Mrs. Crenshaw come up with something else to call it?—off the streets. There’s not much more to go on, other than the Golvath the Lonely entry.
I should have asked Orion to tell me his version of the story. She closes her laptop. He might have had some insight into Golvath.
Rachel places the laptop on the armrest and sits back, her gaze moving to the uncovered windows behind Greg. The night seems darker, lonelier, especially without Mrs. Crenshaw’s porch light shining like a beacon.
Something flutters above her, and she looks up to see pieces of paper raining from the ceiling. Beyond the papers, there is a hole in the ceiling, and visible through the hole is her mother.
Her heart stalls for a beat or two. The hair on the back of Rachel’s neck stands on end, goosebumps travel across her icy skin.
She stands, not looking away from her mother’s demented eyes and vicious smile. It is an unbearable sight, maybe even unholy. But her mom is still in there somewhere. She has to be.
Jenny throws another handful of papers, and Rachel grabs one as it flutters down. She turns the heavy cardstock around and finds the surface smooth and glossy, the coloring bright. She snatches a second piece—this one larger than the last, and finds her suspicions are valid. Her face, or where her face should have been in the photo, has been scratched out. Rachel bends over to pick up another big piece and sees her mother and father’s half-torn faces looking back. Another piece reveals one of Rachel’s baby pictures, the face, once again, scratched out.
“Okay, what’s your point?” Rachel looks back to the hole. Her mother is no longer there. “Fine, be that way.” She tosses the pieces into the air and walks out of the living room.
Rachel exits the house and stands on the front porch, her heart aching. She inhales the fresh air deeply into her lungs, and pushes back the emotions threatening to consume her. Tears sting the corners of her eyes, but they won’t spill. She won’t allow it. Not yet, at least.
“You okay?” Mercia asks from somewhere on the dark lawn, startling Rachel in the process. “Sorry.” Amusement laces her voice.
“I thought you were sleeping in your car,” Rachel says to the darkness.
“I was,” she says. “I came out to stretch my legs a bit before I went in to relieve you from babysitting Greg.”
“He’s out cold.” Rachel waves her hand over her shoulder, as if she couldn’t care less. “I think he has a concussion.”
Mercia snorts as she walks into the light, her hair mussed and pillow lines creasing her right cheek. “Maybe you kicked some sense into him.” She makes her way up to the porch and leans against the bannister. “I’m actually impressed, Rachel. Never thought you to be a badass.”
A smile tugs at Rachel’s lips.
“You should own it, girl,” Mercia says. “Seriously, stop hiding who you truly are just because you’re scared of what others think. You’re so much more than the weird girl who lives near the forest.”
“You’re selling me short. I’m also the weird girl who always has her nose in a book.”
“Yeah, well, I was trying to spare
