Once she was closer, she realized it was a dog. It sounded hurt. Caught in a bear trap, she reckoned. Since Isabelle’s death, no one could step into the woods without a close call.
She regretted leaving her parasol back where she’d tied up Henry. What if she needed it to put the mutt out of its misery? She’d have to use her machine, she decided, though the thought of it made the muscles in her stomach quiver once more.
The sound was farther away than she’d thought. She’d gone well beyond the perimeters of the magic ward by the time she came to a clearing. The hot summer days had turned the field into yellow weeds. Grasshoppers bounced around with each step she took, like fleas on a dog.
The wind carried a scent, something rancid and decomposing. It was the smell of her childhood in Kansas with the Undying, a sweet and pungent finger down the throat, tickling the gag reflex. She slowed to a stop, looked around. In the middle of the field was a single tree, a manzanita untouched by the fire, with tiny white blossoms and smooth red bark. Tied to the tree was a dog—a shaggy black-and-white cattle dog, from the looks of it. Next to the dog was Olive Fairfield.
The wind grew stronger, for a moment relieving the odor. She looked around to make sure the other Fairfields weren’t lurking nearby, not wanting to seem a convenient meal. She didn’t think digestion would be a good look for her.
After a few minutes she moved forward. The girl’s back was to her. Olive held a willow switch high in the air above the cowering dog. Her blond ringlets were pulled back into an abalone shell clip. She wore a white knit, high-waisted day dress that was adorable next to her sun-kissed skin.
The smell of death was worse the closer Westie got to the tree. She had thought it was the smell of the Undying, but no, it was the been-dead-awhile. Strips of putrefied flesh were baking in the sun. Dead animals hung all over the lower branches, their smell warring with the floral scent of the manzanita blossoms. There were gray squirrels and baby raccoons without their tails, birds without their wings, frogs without their legs. Macabre ornaments for a gruesome summer Christmas tree. Standing there, in the middle of the stink and the city of flies, was a little tow-headed angel.
When Olive brought the switch down on the dog and Westie heard his painful howl, she cried out, “Stop that!”
Olive jumped nearly a foot in the air, eyes so wide they were like to fall out of her head.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” Olive’s bottom lip shook. She went on to concoct a story about how the dog had attacked her where she played, and how she’d found the tree with the dead animals already hanging there and they just happened to all be within her reach.
Westie went to the dog. He slunk away from her touch. She cooed to him soothingly.
“It’ll be all right,” she said as she untied the knot around his neck. The dog was just a sack of bones, his fur sticky with blood. From the bite marks on the red bark of the manzanita, and the shit all around, she reckoned he had been tied up for several days. “Shoo now, go on,” she prompted. The dog wouldn’t leave. He stayed beside Westie, keeping watch over Olive with accusing eyes.
If Westie had thought the dog was capable of retribution, she would’ve let him have his way with Olive. However, to Westie’s dismay, he showed no signs of malice. He just seemed happy to be out from under the switch. Westie stood from her crouch and rushed toward the girl, grabbing her by the collar of her dress.
“Your momma will hear about this,” Westie said, though she knew it was an idle threat. Most likely Olive had learned her despicable behavior from her mother and the other members of her family.
Olive melted into tears. “Oh please, you can’t tell her.”
Westie knew fake tears when she saw them. She’d mastered the technique herself long ago when she broke Nigel’s things while learning to use her machine.
“Stop the tears,” Westie said. “I’m not buying your bullshit.”
Olive watched her, a smile growing on her lips. The tears had been an act, just as Westie suspected.
“Fine.” Olive’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you tell my mommy what I did to those animals, I’ll tell her you took our gold.”
Westie’s thoughts skittered to a neck-breaking stop. “Wha— what?” she stammered. “I never—”
“Don’t try to deny it. I saw you and your friend in my mirror.” Olive’s lips rolled back from her teeth to form a wicked smile. “One of you crushed my doll and tried hiding it with my cape.”
Westie bit her lip. If Alistair went to jail, it would be all her fault. It would ruin him, and possibly Nigel too.
“Your threats don’t mean anything,” Westie said. “You probably already told them I did it.”
“I didn’t tell them. I even lied for you. I told them it really was Alistair who found me wearing the earrings and took them from me. I didn’t say a word about you finding them under my bed, or being in our rooms.”
Westie studied the girl to see if she was being lied to. “Why would you do that?”