Ash snickers. “No. He and Mark and a few other people went out hunting earlier. I don’t know if they’ll be back tonight or not.”
I definitely don’t like the thought of Mark and Caleb together. Caleb can handle himself, and I don’t think Mark would ever break and tell Caleb anything, but the possibility still makes me nervous.
“Caleb said they might stay out an extra day or two,” Ash continues. “There’s been more activity in the woods than normal, and he wants to check it out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just signs that more people than usual have been passing through. It happens sometimes, probably nothing to worry about.”
“Are they coming from Westfall?” I ask, my mind tripping over itself wondering what might be causing people to leave.
Ash shrugs. “They could be, I guess. We don’t really know.”
I take a calming breath, remind myself that whatever is, or isn’t, happening in Westfall no longer has anything to do with me. My part in the Westfall drama is over. But the worry remains, nibbling away at me.
We sit in front of the bonfire until it’s burned down to half its original size, huddled under a blanket together. Ash leans her head on my shoulder and something inside me rolls over. How can this girl who barely knows me love me more than the sister who spent every second with me from the moment I was born? And how am I supposed to guard my emotions against someone who is so free and easy with her own?
“You almost ready?” Ash says. She yawns, her jaw stretching against my arm.
“Yes,” I say, but don’t move. The firelight is hypnotic, the way the flames jump and dance, the smoke weaving into the chilly night air. “I’m going to miss these bonfires.”
Before Ash can answer, a shout comes from the far side of the fire. Followed closely by another. Ash’s head comes off my shoulder like a shot, both of us up and throwing the blanket behind us. Ash’s hand goes instantly to her knife, and mine is only a second behind.
“What is it?” I ask.
Ash shakes her head, eyes locked on the direction of the sounds. All around us people are standing, bodies tense. I can still hear loud voices. And someone calling my name. Which makes no sense. I look at Ash and she looks back, eyes wide.
Mark comes around the edge of the fire, a wild smile on his face. He has blood smeared across his lips and his shirt is torn. “Ivy!” he yells. “Just the girl we were looking for.”
I stiffen, hand clutching my knife so hard I know my knuckles are white.
“What’s going on?” Ash asks.
“We found something for Ivy,” Mark says, moving closer. His eyes gleam in the firelight, his cheeks flushed. My whole body goes cold, the deer meat I ate earlier threatening to come right back up. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I know it’s bad. I know it’s nothing I want to see.
“Where’s Caleb?” Ash takes a step toward Mark.
“Right here, Ash.” Caleb’s voice floats from the far side of the fire, and Ash’s shoulders relax. I let out a breath that’s been bottled up in my throat.
Caleb and another man step into the light. They are both injured like Mark, Caleb sporting what’s going to be a serious black eye, the other man with a bloody, dripping nose. They are dragging a third man between them. He must be unconscious, his dark head hanging down, his long legs limp on the ground, shoes leaving trails through the dry grass. My eyes know what they are seeing, but my brain refuses to make sense of the image. A sound bursts out of my throat, something between a sob and a scream.
Caleb looks only at me as he drags the man forward. I hear his voice in my head, “It’s on you, Ivy. It’s on you.” But how could I have known? How could I have known it would come to this?
“We brought you a present!” Mark shouts, practically vibrating with vicious joy.
Caleb takes one final step and drops Bishop’s body at my feet.
Chapter Eight
“Oh my God, oh my God…” I repeat it like a chant, a prayer I’m not sure anyone will hear. I drop to my knees next to Bishop. He has to be alive; he has to be. I run my hands over his face, sticky with blood, the planes of his cheeks, the line of his jaw still so familiar to me. “Bishop?” I whisper. “Bishop…please.” I put one hand on his chest, feel the beat of his heart against my palm. My own heart stutters in response, something coiled tight slowly loosening in my chest.
“What did you do to him?” I ask, looking up at Caleb. “What did you do?”
“Beat the hell out of him,” Caleb says, face grim.
“Why?” My hands fist in Bishop’s shirt, my voice spiraling up into hysteria.
“Because he wouldn’t do what we told him,” Mark says with a grin.