Eternity (The Fury Trilogy #3)

She blinked. “So . . . changes of mood? Appetite?”


JD exhaled. “I don’t know. I didn’t really know him that well.”

“And did he seem depressed?” she persisted.

It occurred to him that the police must suspect he’d committed suicide. But how? By suffocating himself? There were no marks on his body—that, JD had seen. It was almost like he’d been . . . scared to death.

But what could JD say to convince them differently? He’d mentioned something about mythological goddesses who really had it in for him. . . . Not so much.

“I saw him yesterday,” JD said, hearing his voice get thinner with anxiety. “He was fine. . . . He was alive.”

“Uh-huh.” She scribbled a few notes. “Well, we’ll keep looking. Let us know if you think of anything that might help. Did you notice anything strange about the house when you arrived?”

He shook his head. “Not really. . . . The front door was locked and the back door was open, but that’s not too weird.” Should he mention the flower? Should he mention the Furies? Should he tell the cops that he suspected this was a homicide? That this death—and several others—were all connected to the same three girls, and that he knew how to find them?

“Well, we’re going to try to find Walt’s next of kin and do some investigating on our own,” Breton said. “But we’ll probably call you down to the station for a more official statement sometime in the next day or so. In the meantime, get yourself home.”

Before he left, JD stole one last look at Drea’s father. I’m sorry, he thought. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.

? ? ?

He parked in a short gravel driveway right by the Behemoth, off Silver Way. His hands were still shaking. For the first time in his whole life, he almost wished he was a smoker. He could use a cigarette.

As he opened the car door and stepped into the gravel-dust-filled air, he tried not to think of the last time he was here, but his hand involuntarily went to the scar above his eyebrow.

Why had the Furies killed Walt Feiffer? Was this a vendetta against Drea’s whole family? He wanted answers, and he was going to find them in the only place he could think to look.

Melissa had said Ty’s house was back here in the Haunted Woods.

The gray-red sunlight was waning; twilight would be falling soon. The woods were deep and after a minute or two, he could no longer see the Volvo when he turned back in the direction from which he’d come. He popped the collar on his jacket and continued walking.

He’d gone maybe a mile in—around a cluster of birch trees and over a fallen oak—when he saw something moving in his peripheral vision. He whipped around . . . but there was nothing there. Just thick, heavy trees, practically dripping with fog.

Another few steps, another fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eye. His skin prickled. But it was another false alarm. It was just him, alone, in this dark labyrinth of forest. JD stood still for a moment, listening. The rustling around him became a cacophony—insects, leaves, wind, and birds—a marching band with an indecipherable beat.

And then bam, just like that, Ty was right there, right in front of him.

A twist of fear seized him; he willed himself to stay calm. Where had she come from?

“Well, well,” she said, stepping over a mossy log. Her thigh-high boots, black leggings, and silver tunic were incongruous against the natural backdrop. She looked more like Em than ever, and yet there was something not-Em about her, something hard and superficial. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

Could they read minds? Had she already figured him out?

“I, ah, I asked Melissa where your house was,” he said sheepishly. “Thought maybe we could hang out tonight.”

“Lucky me,” Ty said brightly, smiling her polished smile. “And lucky you. No one wants to get lost in these woods. Trust me. Want to come in for a bit? I can show you, we found these crazy old maps of how the town used to look. . . . ”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, blinking hard to clear a feeling like honey that was entering his consciousness. Despite himself, he was drawn to her. Remember why you’re here, he reminded himself. For answers.

Elizabeth Miles's books