This can’t be real.
But the longer I stare, the more the realization sets in.
Ma.
She isn’t going to move.
The blood isn’t going to vanish.
Things aren’t going back to normal.
I’m not going to wake up because I am awake, and this is real and—
I tear my gaze away, my entire body trembling violently. I lean against the nearest wall to keep myself upright. If I crumble to my knees, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get up again. My eyes dart back and forth, trying to find anything else to focus on.
That’s when I see, at the back of the room: the pallet mattress of Ma’s bed, her hiding spot, is torn open. Like it exploded.
I lurch forward, stumbling over toppled chairs and around the remains of the spinning wheel. My fingers accidentally graze some splattered blood on the wall.
A dry sob issues from somewhere in my chest as I reach the bed.
When I left the house, the last thing I remember doing was shoving the ox into its pouch and back into the secret hiding spot. Then I’d polished our plague mask on the way out. And I closed the door.
Didn’t I?
I finally collapse, not even feeling the impact against my kneecaps as my hand reaches desperately into the hiding spot. Nothing. No matter where I touch or how I contort my arm, all I feel is the rough straw inside of the mattress.
No.
Another wave of sickness washes over me.
The pouch and the stone ox within are gone.
Pulling back, I search the area around the hiding spot, trying not to drown in the panic that has consumed me.
Someone found the stone ox.
That’s why this happened.
My thoughts blur.
Did I leave it out where it could be seen?
I rack my brain, but I can’t recall.
This is your fault, Shae.
The Blot. The curse. My plea to the Bards.
I swivel toward the front door and vomit onto the grass, my entire body breaking out into a cold sweat. I can’t breathe. I no longer know if the moisture on my cheeks is tears or sweat. I can hardly bear to turn back to my home—my heart clenches—everything is ruined.
My mind refuses to focus on the one thing I know is true:
Ma. Sprawled on the floor, soaked in blood, a dagger driven through her chest.
What have you done, Shae?
6
Stars blaze out at the edges of my vision, seeming to screech through the sky. My thoughts are a chaotic swirl of dark clouds, wolf howls, and cold wind. I’m shivering so hard, I don’t even realize I’ve fallen to my knees in the yard. The rough gray of early dawn is blurring everything together into a fog. My breath won’t come. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die. I’m going to die right here.
“Shae! What’s happened?”
A man’s distant voice reaches me, followed by the snarl of dogs. But worse still is the shrill, high-pitched ringing, growing louder and louder.
I clutch my head as I rock softly on the dead grass.
Ma. Seeping blood. Her glassy eyes. Her too-stiff limbs.
The ringing continues.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
A hand circles my upper arm, pulling me forward and into reality. I struggle before his voice breaks through the ringing. “You’re safe. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Suddenly, the ringing stops. My throat aches. I realize with a shock that I’ve been screaming. That was the terrible, echoing sound.
Constable Dunne’s face comes sharply into focus. His broad forehead is slick with sweat that catches the morning light in small, white beads.
“Good. I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that?” His voice echoes slightly, but sounds much closer now. I nod.
My breath rattles as I draw air into my lungs. It feels cold and harsh and …
Ma.
The shaking starts all over again.
Constable Dunne sighs and drags a hand over his face. “You stay here, got it? I’m coming right back.” Dunne gets slowly to his feet.
Stay here? Where else would I go? I nearly laugh but my body is too weak. I slump against the side of the house.
Dunne’s heavy boots cross the threshold, his dogs not far behind. My fingers go numb remembering what lies within.
My mother, broken and bloody on the floor. The dim light glinting off the hilt of the ornate dagger lodged in her chest.
I clench my jaw to keep from heaving once more. My eyes shut tight.
When I open them, Constable Dunne is emerging from the darkness of the house. He holds the golden dagger, turning the bloody instrument over, examining it. The light flashes blindingly from the engraving on the hilt. I squint at the strange symbols etched into the side. Are those letters? Dunne’s gaze also lingers on the symbols before he wipes the blood off and secures it safely on his belt. The dogs gather around him, growling and sniffing.
Dunne approaches me, his face ashen.
“What a tragedy,” he mutters.
Tragedy. The word reverberates through me. I’m afraid I’m going to be sick all over again.
“Who could have done this?” I can barely make out my own words.
Dunne clears his throat, crouching beside me. “Seems like the work of bandits. Whoever it was, they’re gone,” he says. “In a hurry, too, by the looks of it. I was close by at the Reeds’ homestead when we heard the screams up the pass. I came as fast I could.” He curses. “I’m just not as fast as I used to be, Shae. I’m sorry.” He removes a handkerchief from his coat and offers it to me.
I take it and press it to my cheeks, expecting more tears, but there are none. I’m too shocked to cry. It’s as if I’ve fallen from a great height, all the wind knocked out of me.
The handkerchief comes away filthy, and I remember skidding and falling down the hill. I must look wild to the constable, like an animal come in from the woods.
“What happens now?” I ask. The words hurt my throat, still raw from screaming. I blink up at him dizzily. The sun is piercing the horizon, too bright.
The dogs are running in circles, sniffing the grass and barking like mad. I can’t think straight, can’t think at all. I’m having enough trouble remembering to breathe.
“Now…” Constable Dunne’s stubbly jaw clenches as he glances back to the house. “I’ll escort you to town. You’re friends with Miss Fiona from the shop, right? I’ll explain the situation to her father. You can stay with them until everything gets sorted.” He waits for me to assent.
“You want me to leave?” I ask, dumbstruck. “When there’s a mur—” I can’t say it. Fear winds itself snug against my heart. Murderer. A forbidden word. I shake my head. There’s too much I must do. Fix the wreckage of my home. Clean the blood. Prepare the funeral ribbons. Bury Ma.
The look on Dunne’s face stops me from uttering another sound. “I have to be blunt with you, Shae. Leaving you here doesn’t look good for me or for you.”
I stare at him. “Doesn’t look good?” What can look worse than what has already happened?
“I mean, what with the way people talk,” he hedges, giving me a sideways glance. “What they say about, well … you. You and your family.”
That we’re freaks. That we’re cursed. That I’m cursed …