If anyone were to believe in the power of luck, it was Whitaker.
He nodded reluctantly. “Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Whitaker cast out a deep sigh. “Ellerie—there was no sign of creatures attacking that camp. When I came across it, I found…a lot of dried blood and some bones and…other things…but it didn’t look as though animals had attacked those men.”
“What did it look like?” I whispered. I rubbed my arms, uncertain if my chill was from the wind or his words.
“Like the men had been killed…murdered,” he whispered.
I drew a quick breath, horrified. “You can’t possibly mean Sam—”
“I didn’t say that!” he clarified, his hands raised in defense. “I’m not suggesting that, at all….I don’t think. Only that it was a man who did it. Men, maybe. I don’t know.”
“That sounds crazy.”
“Crazier than an entire pack of those mutated wolves?”
“No one in Amity Falls would kill those men.”
“Maybe the men didn’t come from the Falls.”
We startled at a sharp tap on the window. Samuel waved once. “Good night, Whitaker. Merry Christmas again.”
He nodded, and we watched him go in silence.
“But Sam saw the wolves…,” I persisted, watching my twin retreat deeper into the house.
Whitaker cleared his throat, making a soft sound of concession. “A traumatized mind can see an awful lot of things, but I’m telling you, Ellerie Downing, there are no monsters in those pines.”
“What should I tell Sam?”
“Nothing. Do…do you feel safe with him? Do you think he’d ever hurt you—or your sisters?”
“Of course not!” I exclaimed, horrified.
“Of course not,” he echoed with less certainty. “Just…be vigilant. Be safe.”
Whitaker glanced back to the empty window before stepping in and pressing a fervent kiss to my forehead. I wanted to savor its tender warmth, but in truth I barely felt it.
“I’ll check in on you all in a few days,” he promised, before disappearing into a swirl of snow.
Samuel’s fork dragged across the plate, picking up every last crumb of the oatcakes I’d made for breakfast. Without sugar, syrup, or cinnamon, they were nearly inedible, but Sam didn’t seem to notice or care. He licked the corner of his mouth, savoring every bit of the tasteless cake, finishing his before I’d even served the others.
Sadie made a face as I dropped a cake onto her plate. “Again?”
“Again,” I confirmed.
“Is there any…” She trailed off, unable to think of a single thing that would salvage breakfast.
“I’ll eat it if you won’t,” Sam said, claiming the cake by reaching across the table to stab his fork into it the second we’d finished saying our morning prayer.
“Sam!” I cried as Sadie let out a painfully loud screech.
“What? She said she didn’t want it.” He’d popped nearly half the oatcake into his mouth and was chewing around his words.
“No, I didn’t!” Sadie wailed.
“Have it, then,” he said, foisting the remains back onto her plate.
She pushed it back at him. “I don’t want it now!”
“Take mine,” I said, shoving my plate over to stop the shrieking.
I’d woken up with a dull pressure pounding across my forehead, and their squabbling sharpened it into a truly horrific migraine. I pressed the pads of my fingers into my forehead, but nothing helped.
“There’s that last bit of ginger root in the pantry,” Merry said, noticing my discomfort. “I’ll make you some tea.”
Sadie perked up. “I want tea!”
“Then come help. You can shave the ginger. I’ll get the water.”
Sadie pointed a warning finger at Sam. “Don’t eat Ellerie’s. That’s mine!”
They left for the kitchen, and the room fell into blissful silence. Sam poked at the last of Sadie’s oatcake, taking his time finishing it off.
“Bad night?” he asked.
Whitaker’s parting words had circled round and round, clouding my mind with shades of doubt and dread, and spinning outlandish and horrific possibilities. I hadn’t fallen asleep until the early hours of the morning, and even then, my dreams had been distorted with nightmares.
Tall pines leering over a campsite destroyed.
Cries of terror.
A pair of bright dots I’d thought were the creature’s silver eyes.
But when I’d focused on them, I’d realized it was moonlight reflecting off the blood spattering my brother’s face.
And the knife in his hand.
Whitaker was mistaken; he had to be. There was no other explanation. What he’d guessed—that the men had not been killed but murdered—made no sense. It couldn’t be true. No man was capable of—
My temples tightened.
I didn’t know what had happened on that supply run. No one did, except Sam. His account was the only one we’d heard. The only one that could be accepted. Everyone had been too afraid of the wolves to investigate further.
Wolves that Whitaker insisted were no longer there.
“Ellerie?” Sam prompted, still waiting for my answer.
“I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“It has been all morning.” Was his tone laced with accusation, or was that my worried imagination?
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t let Whitaker stay so late the next time he comes visiting. It took me an age to go down once he’d left.”
I twisted my lips, uncertain if I should say what was truly on my mind or let it lie dormant. “It was good of him to return your pocketknife,” I said, landing somewhere in the middle. “I’m sure it’s a relief to have it back.”
Sam hummed his acknowledgment before his face turned sour. “I don’t understand him. Living in the woods like that, when he knows those things are out there. And then to go poking around that site…” He shook his head.
“I don’t think Whitaker was poking around. He was just checking traps.”