Instead of rushing to Tommy’s aid like they did with Betsy in the ballroom, the people of Quivira ran away, screaming, as if a bomb had been detonated.
“Hey,” I yelled. “He needs help!” But no one stopped.
Beth was trying to get to us, but the Grimsbys held her back. Dane was caught in the thick of it, helping an old man to his feet so he wouldn’t get trampled to death.
I kneeled beside Tommy and shook him, but he didn’t respond. I’d never seen anything like it. I pushed him onto his back and started chest compressions.
“Ash, don’t,” Rhys pleaded with me. “You shouldn’t touch him.”
Ignoring him, I kept pumping. When I reached thirty, I tilted his head back and pinched his nose, but when I leaned over to blow, someone gripped me hard underneath my arms and yanked me away.
“He’s already dead,” Dane said as he released me.
“Ash . . .” My brother looked down at his feet, at Tommy’s blood inching toward him. His head lolled to the side right before his knees gave out from under him.
“Not now,” I groaned as I rushed over to him, slapping my brother’s cheeks, but he was out cold. I tried to move him away from Tommy’s body . . . from the blood, but he was dead weight.
Dane saw that I was struggling and helped me carry Rhys to the dandelion slope that led to the dam.
When I looked up to thank him, I noticed him staring down at my knee. My healed knee. I quickly covered it with the shredded hem of my dress. I didn’t know how to even begin explaining that.
Rhys’s eyes finally opened, his pupils looked like tiny drops of ink in a bed of moss. “Crow,” he whispered.
I looked up to see a dozen or so black birds circling above.
When I turned back to Dane, he was already gone, rushing to the sidelines to help calm the agitated crowd.
The black silk ribbon slipped from my hair and took flight, curling onto the field.
I knew it was crazy, but I had an inexplicable urge to run after it. I had to dig my fingers into the earth to stop myself.
“Friends,” Spencer called out as he marched onto the field, standing next to Tommy’s body. He motioned for everyone to come closer. The people of Quivira moved in cautiously.
After helping Rhys to his feet, we stood at the back of the gathering. I couldn’t stop from peeking through the crowd at Tommy’s body. His skin had a strange bluish tint, his eyes, sunken, his plump face, now gaunt—like every bit of blood had been wrung from his body.
“We lost Tommy Mendoza today.” Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully, the perfect balance of reverence and authority. He reminded me of a politician—perfect hair, tan skin, easy smile, but there was something lurking underneath. Something rotting and foul—just like his scent.
“It’s Coronado’s black magic,” a man with beady eyes and a scraggly blond beard called out.
“You saw what he did to Tommy,” a frazzled woman cried. “Same thing happened to Betsy. His evil’s spreading. He’s picking us off one by one.”
“Katia’s not here to defend us!” A stocky man took off his hat, exposing his sunburned face. “What if her spell is weakening?”
“Enough,” Spencer yelled as he tossed a kerosene lantern onto Tommy’s body. A deep whoosh sent flames shooting toward the sky; the smell of burning hair and flesh hung heavy in the humid air.
The crowd grew deathly still.
“Have you lost sight? Lost faith?” Spencer tried to regain his composure as he paced around the burning body. “We’re on the cusp of eternal life, of everything our ancestors hoped for. The corn will hold; it will protect us. Katia and the vessels are safe. Nina and Thomas have given us a great gift. This isn’t a time for fear, but a time to rejoice.” Spencer seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the crowd, and they hung on his every word. “Go back to your lodge. Say a prayer. Be with your loved ones. Tomorrow evening we will reconvene on the eastern shore for the ceremonial bonfire where we will camp for the night.” He bowed his head. “And so it shall be . . .”
As the community answered his call, I stared at Tommy’s scorched body—at the streams of blood soaking into the field, stretching toward us like gnarled fingers.
25
HONEY TRAP
I SAT IN THE screened-in loft of the Larkin lodge, listening to the wind moving through the cornstalks, rustling the leaves like rasping breath.
I glanced down at Beth and Rhys, who were lying on cushions on the floor, their hands nearly touching, which brought an unexpected smile to my face. A tiny ray of sunshine at the end of a day full of death.
Suddenly, the breeze found me, making the candles flicker. I brought my hands to my throat, searching for the comfort of the black silk ribbon, but it was gone.