Still. She’d been at a complete standstill for the past twenty-four hours, and every day she could feel the darkness, the anger, the evil, surging more powerfully in her veins. Her skin felt tight and ill-fitting, like she was on the brink of shedding it for good.
But no. She wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t give in to the transformation. She had to stop it somehow. She had to save herself.
? ? ?
It was almost five by the time Em pulled up at the greenhouse, which sat glowing yellow-green against a dusky sky at the end of a winding driveway, just past Drea’s neighborhood. The preserve encompassed marshy fields and a small arboretum, all of it pulsing with new life. As Em got out of her car and walked toward the glass-domed structure, her shoes sucked in the mud. It had been a wet spring.
The rusty door creaked open to reveal a warm room, abundant with lush greenery and vibrant flowers. Had she been there under different circumstances, Em might have marveled at the beauty. But tonight, she felt claustrophobic. ?The air seemed heavy and close, like she was stepping into an open mouth. Moisture clutched at her bare skin.
There was a round wooden table in the middle of the greenhouse, paint peeling off it like snakeskin, and Skylar was sitting there with two other women. As Em got closer, she recognized not only Skylar’s aunt Nora, with her silvered hair and arched brows, but also the woman next to her—Hannah Markwell, the university librarian who had shunned Em and Drea during one of their research missions. Em stiffened involuntarily.
“Well,” Nora said finally. “Here we are.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Em said. Her voice sounded loud and overly formal to her own ears. She felt the sudden inappropriate urge to laugh. They looked like they were all about to start a séance.
“I didn’t want to at first,” Nora said.
“I know,” Em said.
“But Skylar told us that you tried to warn her. About . . . them. To talk sense into her while she was under their spell. So, I’m willing to give you a chance.” She folded her hands on her lap. Only her fingers, which were trembling slightly, betrayed her anxiety. Em looked around at Skylar, who was tearing at her cuticles, her hair curtained forward over her face, as always. Ms. Markwell was sitting ramrod straight, as though preparing to bolt. Em pulled back a chair and took a seat.
Silence built on silence, and Em swallowed, tried to choke out the words she so desperately needed to say. Finally, she managed: “I know you knew Edie Feiffer. ?And she knew the Furies. I need to find out what happened to her. I need to find out what you know.”
A shadow passed over Nora’s face. Sadness. She exchanged an almost imperceptible glance with Hannah, who nodded.
Nora cleared her throat. “We were best friends,” she said, looking down at her hands. “The three of us were inseparable. Edie, me, and Hannah.”
“Edie Feiffer.” Em confirmed softly, thinking of the creased photo in her purse, of the stooped woman she had seen in her vision—or memory—earlier today.
Hannah nodded. “Your friend Drea’s mom.”
Em nodded. Drea’s mom, who had been a victim of the Furies. Em remembered the first time Drea told her: She was being haunted. I’m sure of it.
There was no time to waste. “Why was she marked?” Em asked point-blank. “And did she fight back?”
Nora and Hannah exchanged another look. Nora toyed with a gold bracelet, twisting it endlessly around her wrist.
“She wasn’t marked.” Hannah spoke up now. Her voice was surprisingly deep.
“I don’t understand,” Em said, frowning. “So she wasn’t being haunted?”
Nora looked as though she was on the verge of tears. “Edie was the one who summoned them in the first place,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
There was another second of silence. Em felt a yawning pit in her stomach. Edie had summoned them. Em shook her head, confused. That didn’t make any sense.
Hannah jumped in, pursing her lips before starting to speak. “We all grew up together,” she said. “And Edie was a wonderful woman. Full of life, and so passionate. But she had her share of problems, too. Her first husband was just awful. ?A drinker. He hit her too, more than once. A twisted man. Played all these mind games until she almost broke. She had these . . . blue periods. Just stretches of sad, sad time. She’d withdraw.”
Just like Drea, Em thought.
“When she remarried, she seemed to get better,” Nora said. “Especially when Drea came.”
“But he was always lurking in the shadows,” Hannah said.
“Her first husband, you mean?” Skylar piped up. Em had practically forgotten she was there.
The women nodded, and when Nora looked up Em could see that the tears were starting to overspill her eyes.