“Good,” she said. “You’ll be glad. We’ll be good together.”
Hefting her slight form, he carried her toward the tub and forced her to her knees. He grabbed a shock of her hair and dangled her face above the water’s rippling surface.
“What are you doing?” Bravado could no longer hide her terror.
“Confess and be free of your sins.”
“Confess what?”
He shoved her face into the cold water, savoring the way her body flailed and squirmed. Only when he saw bubbles rise to the surface did he draw her head back. She coughed and sputtered and gripped the edge of the tub with trembling fingers.
“Are you ready to confess?”
Wet strands of black hair draped her face and hid her expression as she coughed, sputtered, and tried to pull free.
She screamed.
The sound ricocheted off the log walls and swirled in the air above his head. “No one can hear.”
Her cries slowed and stopped. “Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He shoved her face so close to the water’s edge the tip of her nose touched it. “You know why, Witch.”
She yanked at her bindings and shook her head. “Why do you keep calling me a witch? I’m not a witch!”
He shoved her face in the water, counted to thirty, and then lifted it. She coughed and gagged. “I saw you coming out of the sorceress’s tent tonight at the carnival. You held my hand a week ago and spouted your evil.”
She jerked her head and tried to break his hold. “We’re just stupid carnies. The fortune telling is just for fun.”
“You read palms. You do the devil’s work.”
Her black, thick hair clung to her face like a spider’s web. “You know it’s all bullshit. None of that stuff is real. It’s all a show. An act.”
He loomed over her. “You were right about too many things.”
“I’m good at the game. One of the best. But there’s no magic.” She shook her head. “People pay us a few bucks and we tell you a little about yourself. No magic. It’s bullshit.”
This time he held her face under water for the count of forty-five. “Liar. Heretic.”
She gagged and rolled her head to the side, frantically coughing and expelling the water from her mouth and lungs. “You want me,” she said. “I feel it. Let me make you feel better.”
“I don’t want you anymore.”
“You do!” Bitterness tangled around the words.
Defiance still lingered in her rusty voice as her face loomed over the water’s edge. It made sense that she would be strong. She’d been raised among the carnival people, traveling demons that moved from town to town.
This time when he shoved her head under the water, he held it there until her body stopped flaying and went limp. When all the fight had leeched from her body, he jerked her free and turned her on her side to allow the water to drain free. He checked her pulse, and when he felt that it had stopped, he panicked. “She needs to confess.”
He tipped her head back and started mouth to mouth. After several chest compressions, she inhaled sharply and her eyes opened wide. She vomited water from her lungs.
He ripped off her blindfold. He wanted to see her eyes. He wanted her to see his face.
When she looked at him, recognition and shock glistened. “Christ, man, why are you doing this to me? I thought you liked me.”
Contrition. It was the first step toward salvation.
“Why are you doing this to me? Please.” Her voice sounded hoarse and raw.
He leaned forward and brushed the wet hair off her face. Her skin felt cold, clammy. “What are you sorry for?”
Vibrant blue eyes bore into him. “Whatever I did. I’m sorry. Just don’t punish me anymore.”
Again, her gaze caught him off guard. It lured him in as it had before and made him want to forget about crusades and righteousness. He simply wanted to sink inside her warmth. As he’d dreamed of so many times, he kissed her gently on the lips and smoothed hair from her eyes. “If you don’t know what you did, then how can you be sorry?”
Renewed panic replaced the silent pleas. “You called me a witch.”
He’d never deny that she was a smart, clever girl. “I did.”
She licked her lips. “You’re not the first. Other men have said I bewitched them.”
He traced his hand over her flat belly. The idea of other men staring and leering at her troubled him. She was his and his alone. “So you admit you are a witch, a sorceress, a stealer of souls? I wouldn’t be driven to this if it weren’t for your magic.”
Her gaze remained locked on his as she laid her hand on his. “Yes. I’m a witch and whatever else you said.”
He tightened his fingers on her breast and squeezed. She winced but continued to smile. This one understood the powers of her body and how best to wield them. “And you repent? You swear that you are evil?”
“Yes.”
For a moment he laid his head between her breasts and listened to the rapid thump, thump of her heart. “Praise be.”
“Let me go,” she said. “I won’t tell. I won’t. And I can still make you feel real good. I swear.”
He closed his eyes. “After what I just did to you, you still want me?”
“Yes. I want you. Just us, baby, no one else.”
He still longed to suckle her breasts and shove inside her softness. As he lifted his eyes and prayed for strength, his gaze settled on the cracked mortar sandwiched between the logs of the cabin’s wall. He likened the cracks to his own soul. Flawed and damaged, they were still strong enough to carry the burden. With trembling fingers, he combed her hair back. She stared up at him, vulnerable, scared, and ready.
Before he could surrender to temptation, he shoved her head under the water. She fought him, straining and twisting her body as her fists flailed. She tried to kick him with her feet, but he used his weight to render her immobile. Slowly, he counted away the seconds until her struggles lessened and she stopped fighting. Bubbles gurgled to the surface and still he held her face firmly under the water until the three-minute mark.
This time when he released her, her body slumped to the dirty floor, pale, cold, and dead. “Go with God, Grace.”
“Mariah!”
Grace Wells screamed her sister’s name even before she was fully awake. She sat up in her twin daybed searching the dark as she grabbed her throat. She struggled to breathe and to catch her breath. Slowly, she hauled in enough deep breaths to calm herself.
She searched the dark room of her trailer for signs of her sister’s return. Light seeped into the small window and illuminated the flowered coverlet, stuffed animals, and a poster of Brad Pitt in a scene from A River Runs Through It.
She pulled at the frayed edges of her pink nightgown and struggled to calm herself. She’d endured endless nightmares since her mother had died three years ago, and for the most part she’d gotten used to waking up alone and terrified. But this night terror was different. She saw no faces and heard no sounds except for Mariah’s cries for help.
Grace pressed trembling fingers to her temples and stared out the window. The grassy fairgrounds were located on the outskirts of town. The ground had been soft when they’d arrived and the carnival’s trucks had left deep ruts in the ground and torn away large patches of grass. This field looked much like so many other fairgrounds in cities she’d long forgotten.
The carnival’s Ferris wheel and flying scooter sat still and dark. The flaps to the rifle shot, ringtoss, and basket jump shot games were closed, and the ticket booth’s window was shuttered and locked.
All normal.
She crossed the room she shared with Mariah to the small crib and peeked in on the baby. The girl, Sooner, was just five days old, and already looked so much like Mariah.
The baby’s deep even breathing did little to ease Grace’s fears. Grace should have been working tonight, but she’d not felt well so Mariah had agreed to take the shift. Because the carnival would be c
losing in four days, they’d all anticipated big crowds.
You owe me, kid.
I know. Thanks.
Don’t wait up for me. I’ve got a date.
Mariah had met another boy. A prince, this time, who was most valiant and who just might be The One. But the boys that lingered around the carnival weren’t looking for lasting love.
Theirs was a gypsy’s life with no regular address, schools, or roots of any kind. Not for the first time this season, she longed to move on to the next stop, thinking that maybe it would be better.
The room chilled with loss and grief. She hugged her arms around her chest. “Oh, God, Mariah, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Chapter I
Present Day
Tuesday, October 19, 5:15 a.m.
She had a power over him.