That again. The albino. “I . . . don’t know much about flowers,” Em admitted. “Are your sister or your aunt home? I just have a few quick things to tell them.”
The deranged garden show was apparently not over. With the same TV smile—one that did a poor job of hiding the blankness in her eyes—Skylar’s sister continued to describe her prized plant. “The albino. It will make the voices stop.” As if she were discussing what sort of fertilizer to use, Lucy continued her lesson. “It kills the darkness. They tell me it will. They promised.”
Em looked down and realized that Lucy’s fingernails were digging into her skin.
“Who promised?”
“They’re trying to protect the seeds,” Lucy said sadly.
“What seeds?”
“The seeds bloom inside a heart of evil,” Lucy intoned, as though she was reciting a child’s nursery rhyme. “Shhhhhh.”
Heart of evil. That was the exact phrase Crow had used, talking about his visions, talking about the Furies. To hear the words come out of both of their mouths made Em more sure than ever that there were clues hidden in Lucy’s nonsense talk.
The seeds. A heart of evil. Could Lucy know—truly know?
“Who tells you these things, Lucy?” Em asked.
Lucy looked at Em with one final remark. “When the light brings up the albino,” she said, “the darkness stops.” Then something happened, a flicker across her face, and Lucy’s demeanor changed. She grew suddenly quiet.
“Did the Furies tell you this?” Em wanted to snap her fingers in front of Lucy’s eyes. “Did they?”
But Lucy was taciturn now, silent, sullen.
“Please. Listen to me.” Em’s hands were on Lucy’s shoulders and then she was shaking her, back and forth, like a rag doll.
It took just a second for Em to realize what she was doing. She cried out and let Lucy go, snapping her hands behind her back. Jesus. What was wrong with her? She backed away quickly when she heard wheels turning into the driveway.
Aunt Nora emerged from the car and her linen skirt billowed behind her as she walked toward the flower bed.
“What’s going on? What’s going on here?” She looked back and forth between Lucy, who had retreated back into her private universe, and Em, who tried to explain. She prayed that Nora hadn’t seen her turn momentarily violent.
“I came over after school, to tell you . . . I thought you should know that Walt Feiffer is—dead,” she blurted out. “And Lucy was here, outside here, and she started talking. I think about the Furies. She was saying something about seeds, and a light. . . . ” Em trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
“Emily, I’m sorry,” Nora said after a long pause. “I really am. But we’ve had enough tragedy here. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. ?And I can’t help you any more than I already have.”
“Nora, I need your help,” Em pleaded, but Nora ignored her. “I don’t have much time.”
“Let’s go inside, Lucy.” Nora said as she started guiding Lucy toward the front door. When she reached the entryway, she looked over her shoulder at Em.
“Please don’t come here again. You’re not welcome.” Then she slammed the door before Em could sputter out a response.
Em’s head was spinning. Flowers. Seeds. The albino. Could the answer have been in front of her all along? For the first time in days, she felt a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she had one last chance to save herself.
? ? ?
“You’re home earlier than I expected,” Em’s mom said when Em pulled into the driveway. It was dusk on Monday evening and Mrs. Winters was in the yard, scrubbing their kitchen curtains by hand in a huge soapy bucket on the lawn. “I thought you were going to try and catch up on some homework with Gabby today.”
“I couldn’t really concentrate,” Em admitted. “Thought I’d come home and see what was going on around here.”
“Em, honey, we’ve got it under control. . . . ” Her mom leaned back on her heels and sighed.
Sorry, Mom, homework and lab reports have been taking a backseat to fighting the bloodthirsty witches who want my soul.
“I’ll get everything done,” Em promised. “We barely got any sleep last night and I have a lot on my mind. I didn’t know how bad it was, you know?”
“Well, the damage is worst in the laundry room and the kitchen,” her mom said. “Your father took the day off—he’s in there now, ripping up what’s left of the linoleum. We’ll have to get new cabinets and patch up the walls. But it’s nowhere near as bad as it could have been. Nowhere close. Plumbing works.”
“Can we, like, still live here?” Em looked up at the house and felt a wave of nostalgia. She just wanted to curl up on her bed and smell her family’s laundry detergent. What if Lucy’s words held meaning? What if Em actually had a fighting chance?
“Yes,” her mom said. “Things are going to be in shambles for a few weeks, but it’s safe. We’ll be able to sleep in our own beds.”
That was a relief.