Lily told her sister about Abby Walters. “The detective on the case thinks I’m a lunatic.” She didn’t want to examine why that fact bothered her. She was used to being considered crazy. Why should McBride’s opinion matter?
“What can I do to help?” Iris asked.
“Does your magic work over the phone?”
Iris laughed. “It’s not magic, you know. It’s just—”
“A gift. I know.” That’s what their mother had always called it. Iris’s gift. Or Rose’s or Lily’s.
Lily called hers a curse. Seeing terrified little girls crying for their daddies. Broken bodies at the bottom of a ditch, rain swirling away the last vestiges of their life-blood. Her own father’s life snuffed out in a sawmill across town—
“Stop it, Lily.” Her sister’s voice was low and strangled. “It’s too much all at once.”
Lily tried to close off her memories, knowing that her sister’s empathic gift came with its own pain. “I’m sorry.”
Iris took a deep breath. “Do you want me to come there?”
“No, I’m feeling better.” Not a complete lie, Lily thought. Her headache had eased a little. Just a little. “Sorry I called you away from your lavender.”
Iris laughed. “Sometimes I listen to us talk and understand why people think the Browning sisters are crazy.”
Lily laughed through the pain. “I’ll visit soon, okay? Meanwhile, don’t you or Rose get yourselves run out of town.”
Iris’s wry laughter buzzed across the line. “Or burned at the stake.” She said goodbye and hung up.
Lily lay back against the pillow, her head pounding. Jezebel rubbed her face against Lily’s, whiskers tickling her nose. “Oh, Jezzy, today went so wrong.” She closed her eyes against the light trickling in through the narrow gap between her bedroom curtains, trying to empty her mind. Sleep would be the best cure for her headache. But sleep meant dreams.
And after a vision, Lily’s dreams were always nightmares.
BY FIVE O’CLOCK, the sun sat low in the western sky, casting a rosy glow over the small gray-and-white house across the street from McBride’s parked car. He peered through the car window, wishing he were anywhere but here.
When Lily Browning had hung up the phone, his first sensation had been relief. One more wacko off his back. Then he’d remembered Andrew Walters’s demand and his own grudging agreement. Call it following every lead, he thought with a grim smile. He exited the vehicle and headed across the street.
Lily Browning’s house was graveyard quiet as he walked up the stone pathway. A cool October night was falling, sending a chill up his spine as he peered through the narrow gap in the curtains hanging in the front window.
No movement. No sounds.
He pressed the doorbell and heard a muted buzz from inside.
What are you going to say to her—stay the hell away from Andrew Walters or I’ll throw you in jail?
Wouldn’t it be nice if he could?
He cocked his ear, listening for her approach. Nothing but silence. As he lifted his hand to the buzzer again, he heard the dead bolt turn. The door opened about six inches to reveal a shadowy interior and Lily Browning’s tawny eyes.
“Detective McBride.” She slurred the words a bit.
“May I come in? I have some questions.”
Her face turned to stone. “I have nothing to tell you.”
McBride nudged his way forward. “Humor me.”
She moved aside to let him in, late afternoon sun pouring through the open doorway, painting her with soft light. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she skittered back into the darkened living room, leaving him to close the door.
Inside, murky shadows draped the cozy living room with darkness. When McBride’s eyes finally adjusted to the low light, he saw Lily standing a few feet in front of him, as if to block him from advancing any farther.
“I told you everything I know on the phone,” she said.
He shook his head. “Not quite.”
Her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. Finally, she gestured toward the sofa against the wall. “Have a seat.”
McBride sat where she indicated. As his eyes adjusted further to the darkened interior, he saw that Lily Browning looked even paler than she had at school earlier that day. She’d scrubbed off what little makeup she’d worn, and pulled her dark hair into a thick ponytail. Despite the cool October afternoon, she wore a sleeveless white T-shirt and soft cotton shorts. She took the chair across from him, knees tucked against her chest, her eyes wary.
Her bare skin shimmered in the fading light. He stifled the urge to see if she felt as soft as she looked.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was long past his twenties, when every nice pair of breasts and long legs had brought his hormones to attention. And Lily Browning, of all people, should be the last woman in the world to make his mouth go dry and his heart speed up.
He forced himself to speak. “How long have you been a teacher at Westview Elementary?”
She answered in a hushed voice. “Six years.”
He wondered why she was speaking so softly. The skin on the back of his neck tingled. “Is someone else here?”
Suspicion darkened her eyes. “My accomplices, you mean?”
He answered with one arched eyebrow.
“Just Delilah and Jezebel,” she said after a pause.
A quiver tickled the back of his neck again. “What are they, ghosts? Spirits trapped between here and the afterlife?”
A smile flirted with her pale lips. “No, they’re my cats. Every witch needs a cat, right?”
“You’re Wiccan?”
A frown swallowed her smile. “It was a joke, Lieutenant. I’m pretty ordinary, actually. No séances, no tea leaves, no dancing around the maypole. I don’t even throw salt over my left shoulder when I spill it.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. The lines in her face deepened, and he realized her expression wasn’t a frown but a grimace of pain.
“Do you get headaches often?”
Her eyes swept down to her lap, then closed for a moment. “Why are you here? Am I a suspect?”
“You called me, Ms. Browning.” He relaxed on the couch, arms outstretched, and rested one ankle on his other knee. “You said you saw Abby Walters—how did you put it? In your mind?”
She clenched her hands, her knuckles turning white.
“Why call me?” he continued. “Do I look like I’d buy into the whole psychic thing?”
“No.” Her tortured eyes met his. “You don’t. But I don’t want to see her hurt anymore.”
He didn’t believe in visions. Not even a little. But Lily’s words made his heart drop. “Hurt?”
“She’s afraid. Crying.” Lily slumped deeper into the chair. “I don’t know if they’re physically hurting her, but she’s terrified. She wants her daddy.”
McBride steeled himself against the sincerity in her voice. “How do you know this?”
Her voice thickened with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I have a door in my mind that wants to open. I try to keep it closed because the things behind it always frighten me, but sometimes they’re just too strong. That’s what happened today. The door opened and there she was.”
Acid