Gran turned to the others, eyes glittering. “Come on, then. Let’s get the tour.”
Dayna and Reagan shared an incredulous look, and Cora tugged her hood farther over her eyes, muttering bad-temperedly. Behind them, the Callighans whispered to one another, and Yemi placed the thermos back into her purse, brows furrowed.
Feeling her face start to burn, Meiner fell in behind her gran before the others came within earshot. She grasped her grandmother’s sleeve. “We’re here to get information, not a tour.” Her voice was tight with controlled anger.
Grandma King jerked her arm out of Meiner’s grip. “I’m not so far gone you need to treat me like an imbecile, girl. I’m not your mother.”
The anger flared up abruptly, gnawing at her stomach, making her chest tight. Meiner stiffened and forced her expression into blankness, fists curled at her sides.
She was so fucking sick of this.
As Grandma King lapsed into her illness she did this more and more, going on about how foolish Meiner’s mother was, how she should be grateful the woman didn’t stay. How selfish Stephanie had been, cast out from the family manor, cut off from the King name forever. She’d grown up not knowing who she hated more, the woman who’d picked her boyfriend over her own family, or the one who’d forced her to make that decision. Lately Grandma King was winning that particular contest.
“You’re lucky she left. Now you’ll get the coven.”
Grandma King cackled and turned away. Cora was now glaring daggers at Meiner, who shrugged bad-temperedly. Cora overreacted every time the subject came up, and she didn’t seem to clue in to the fact that Gran was very obviously trying to stir the pot.
Meiner had no intention of inheriting anything. She was gone as soon as she reached her full power. But she wasn’t about to tell Cora that.
Gran was now following the tour guide over to where the family was standing. The husband looked them over briefly, shrugging, and the woman tugged the collar of her raincoat up under her chin, glaring at Grandma King.
Deborah launched into a history of the standing stones, raising her voice over the sound of the rain drumming on her umbrella. It would have been mildly interesting if Meiner’s shoes hadn’t been completely soaked.
The others looked unsure of this new development. Reagan pressed her lips together, brows furrowed, and Dayna shifted from foot to foot. Even Yemi looked impatient, glancing from Grandma King to the tour guide. Only the Callighans seemed unaffected. Brenna was even nodding along with some of the tour guide’s “fun facts,” a faint smile on her face, as if she found it all terribly interesting.
Somewhere near the end of the spiel both children ran into the field, and the parents followed after them. The tour guide trailed off, deflated. She tilted her umbrella back to look at Grandma King, and the rain sloughed off in miniature rivers.
“Nasty day out, isn’t it?”
Grandma King smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. The tour guide didn’t seem to notice. “Miserable.”
There was silence then, and Meiner shifted impatiently. Her grandmother seemed to be waiting for something, like she was expecting the woman to just spit out a confession.
“Miserable,” Grandma King repeated, and she smiled again.
Cora blew out another frustrated breath, and this time Meiner couldn’t help but agree. She was opening her mouth to suggest they go, when the tour guide said:
“It’s such a shame….” She paused, gaze drifting to the larger stone circle.
The other coven looked puzzled, but beside her Cora leaned forward eagerly.
There was her grandmother, standing unmoved by the rain and grinning like a hyena. Shit, not again.
The tour guide hesitated. “I’m sure you’ve seen it on the news. What happened to that woman.”
Grandma King nodded, expression sorrowful. “Poor lass. They say she was found outside the stone circle. So strange.”
“Inside.” Deborah’s voice was a dry whisper. Meiner barely heard it over the rain.
“What was that, dear?” Now her smile was downright grandmotherly, and Meiner felt a pang of disgust and horror.
“Oh, I was just…I was the one who found her. It was awful. She was inside the bigger circle.” She pointed a shaking finger at the stones. “Just there.”
“How horrible,” Grandma King said with relish. She glided forward, taking the woman’s arm. “You poor wee thing. It must have been traumatic.”
“She was just lying there.” The woman looked haunted, and Meiner noticed she was clutching a pendant on a chain around her neck, a silver replica of St. Brigid’s cross. “She was…Her eyes.”
“What about her eyes?” Grandma King was under the woman’s umbrella now. Deborah’s gaze was faraway and glassy, and she didn’t seem to notice the old woman had weaseled her way into her personal space. Grandma King put a hand on her arm. “You tell us all about it.”
Unease stirred Meiner’s gut. She remembered the blank face of the garda as he rattled off the details of the crime scene. Deborah the tour guide had much the same look on her face now.
“They were still open, so wide.” She gripped the handle of her umbrella with white fingers. “But that wasn’t even the worst part. I…I shouldn’t say.”
Grandma King said nothing, only patted her arm. Beside her, Bronagh was watching, blue eyes narrowed. Meiner felt a pang of recognition. It wasn’t just that Bronagh didn’t like her gran, she didn’t trust her.
“Her mouth was open, and…it was empty.”
“Empty.” Grandma King’s voice was flat.
Deborah didn’t look at her. She was trembling all over. “No teeth. No tongue. I can’t close my eyes. I see it constantly. That and…the symbol.”
“He left a symbol.”
“It was on the rock in this awful rust color.”
“Blood,” Grandma King said softly, and Deborah nodded.
Laughter from the field made them glance up. The family was heading back, the littler child tucked under the father’s arm, the wife looking thunderous as she dragged the older one by the hand.
Deborah’s umbrella jerked in her hands. She blinked, expression bewildered. “Oh lord, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
Grandma King patted her arm again. That hyena smile was back as she ducked out from under the umbrella and into the rain, making straight for the bigger stone circle.
Deborah wasted no time in bundling her customers back into the van, hurriedly waving good-bye to Grandma King. The old woman didn’t notice. She was standing in the middle of the stone circle, a look of grim satisfaction on her face as she struck a match against one of the stones and used it to light a cigarette. The Callighans joined her there, passing their hands over one stone and then the next.
Meiner tried to remember exactly where the gardai had been standing when they’d driven up to the scene. She was fairly sure it had been in the center of one of the circles, where the grass was worn away, leaving shallow puddles in the shadows of the stones.
She hadn’t seen a symbol, though.
Meiner wandered around the stone circles after the other witches, her shoes kicking up droplets on the wet grass. She wondered which stone had been marked. That tall one to the left, maybe, with the slanted top, or the flattest stone in the circle, almost tombstone-shaped. Someone could have written on that one pretty easily.