“Christ, Nikki, where are you?”
She checked her phone to see if her messages had been received. They hadn’t. All at once the idea that Nikki had simply stayed out late without telling her seemed ludicrous. She had brought Nikki into danger, and now she was gone. Heather went to the kitchen drawers and pulled out the biggest, sharpest kitchen knife she could find, feeling the weight of it in her hand.
Well, fuck this.
Heather went to the front door and eased it open. For a handful of seconds, she stood very still. She could see nothing else from where she was, but somewhere to her right she could hear those slow, methodical steps. The wind gusted in her direction, and she even heard the soft noise of nylon brushing against nylon.
Holding the knife low by her hip, Heather stepped out into the dark, keeping close to the wall of the cottage. When she rounded the corner, she froze, sure that whoever it was would see her, but she saw almost immediately that she had been lucky; the figure had its back to her, and it appeared to be heading back into the woods. Wearing a thickly padded winter coat, this tall figure had its head covered in a hood, appearing little more than a dark shape. As she watched, the figure turned its head slightly, clearly glancing at the windows of the cottage.
Fear vanished. She didn’t even feel the cold. Instead, a hot, dry landscape of anger opened up inside Heather, just as it had the day she had slammed a pen through a man’s hand. Here, undoubtedly, was the person who had been terrorizing her these last few weeks. And they were still at it, creeping about in the dark, looking for a place to leave more of their notes and feathers.
Before she even knew she was moving, Heather had crossed the short space between them and thrown herself at the stranger’s back. They collided and fell together with an oof, crashing into the leaves and mud with more force than Heather realized she was capable of.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”
The figure scrambled, trying to buck her off violently, but Heather drove her knee into its back, and they slumped into the dirt again. Grabbing the coat by the shoulder, she yanked the mysterious figure around to face her, bringing her knife up to the throat.
Lillian glared back at her, with her teeth bared.
Heather blinked, her hand growing loose around the knife. She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing; it was her mother’s neighbor, except it wasn’t. There were more lines on her long face, and there was a deep scar on one cheek, white and puckered-looking in the gloom.
“Lillian?”
The woman underneath her grinned, her body going slack. She looked, abruptly, unhinged.
“God, look at you,” she spat. “Exactly as much of an idiot as the rest of your pathetic family.”
“What?”
Taking advantage of Heather’s surprise, the woman shook her off and scrambled to her feet. The hood fell back, and Heather saw that her hair was a shade darker than Lillian’s, and her face was a subtly different shape; the nose a little longer, the jaw a little narrower. She stood up, the knife back at her waist.
“Who are you?”
The woman shook her head in disgust. “My sister did say you were weak minded. So easy to manipulate. You’re asking all the wrong questions, Heather Reave.”
“Shut up!” Heather brought the knife up, the moonlight flashing along the blade. “What do you know about that?”
“Make up your mind.” The woman grinned again, dots of spittle on her lips glinting wetly. “Do I shut up or explain everything?” Before Heather could reply, she continued. “You don’t have time, anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
The woman who was not Lillian nodded back toward the cottage. “Go inside and find out. Don’t call the police or go running off to get help—I can tell you now that your friend doesn’t have time for nonsense like that.”
“Where the fuck is Nikki?” For a dangerous second, the edges of Heather’s vision turned dark. She sucked in a breath and clenched her fist around the handle of the knife. Her knuckles were turning white. “What the fuck have you done?”
The woman stepped backwards. “Always the wrong questions. It’s not what I’ve done that you need to worry about. I—”
“Where is she?”
“Oh, you know where she is. I practically told you, you fool. He’s waiting for you. Hurry up now, little wolf.”
With that she dashed back into the tree line. Heather jerked, her whole body singing with the need to go after her, but …
“Nikki.”
She crashed back through the cottage door, wanting more than anything to see her friend standing in the kitchen, yawning in her pajamas and complaining about the noise, but the place was dark and silent.
“Nikki?”
The bathroom was on the way to Nikki’s bedroom, so she kicked the door open as she went; nothing, an empty bath, the brief flash of her reflection staring back at her, pale and wild. As she came up the hallway to the room on the far end, she caught sight of dark smudges on the pale, biscuit-colored carpet which she hadn’t noticed before. Mud, she thought, it’s mud, it has to be mud.
The last room was the utilities room at the back, with the washing machine and dryer. There was a back door here, and racks for hikers to leave their muddy boots, but she and Nikki had barely used it. When she opened the door to it, there was a thick, mineral smell, the smell of a butcher’s shop in high summer, and Heather felt some of the strength leach out of her legs. She slammed on the light, throwing everything into a hectic, yellow glow.
I brought her here, she thought. I brought her up here, said it was safe.
