Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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My mother would make our own meals. We ate alone. Breakfast and dinner were served in our bedroom, and at lunchtime, we ate outside and endured the weather. Sometimes we'd huddle under the eaves when it rained, or if it was more pleasant we'd sit on the patchy lawn beneath the gnarled boughs of misshapen trees.
But she'd been preoccupied of late. The hastily made meals were only enough for one to be shared between us both, and worse, for the past few months she often forgot to prepare our evening meal altogether. She'd sit in the rocking chair favored by my aunt, awaiting nightfall. And when night descended I'd be locked away in the closet to lie on a pile of clothing, listening to her pace back and forth in our tiny bedroom. A while later I'd hear muffled footsteps scurrying to the bedroom door. Then oppressive silence and the eerie sound of the house breathing would keep me company until she returned.
My mother plucked at my hair, sifting through the mess with her work-roughened fingers, making annoyed noises at the back of her throat. Her frown deepened the creases in her forehead. "Come. Let's tidy you up first," she said in her low, husky voice.
Her fingers pincered around my upper arm, hard, too harsh. Her dirty boots clomped across the floorboards and I hurried by her side as quietly as a mouse as she led me into our bathroom. I sat down on the small wooden stool in front of the vanity, my spine stiff, hands clasped on my lap, looking into the mirror and its fractured and clouded surface.
My mother scooped up the hairbrush from the counter and started brushing my hair while I stared at her reflection and the nightgown which was freshly stained with dirt and grass. Tiny leaves were hooked in her wild chestnut hair. Her fingers were wrapped so tight around the black hairbrush, thick with a padding of molted hair enmeshed within its bristles, her knuckles were white. She tugged hard, with building agitation that worried me, her lips never ceasing in silent murmuring as she snagged and tore at my hair to free the knots.
Bracing against the fiery pain burning my scalp, I tried not to wince and kneaded my fingers together on my lap. Tears pricked the corner of my eyes while hunger gnawed at my shrunken stomach with cruel teeth.
Her brushing abruptly stopped. Sharp hazel eyes snapped up to meet mine in the mirror, her gaze unhinged. "Tabitha."
"Yes, Mommy?" I whispered, anxiety trickling down my spine.
"Your aunt's not welcome here any longer. I don't trust her. She wants to steal you from me."
Heartache was a vicious blow to my gut. No, not Aunt Ellena—I wanted to cry out.
"Do you understand me, Tabitha?"
I twisted around on the stool just as she thrust the hairbrush right into my face, her pale features scrunched with anger. "If you see her, you don't speak to her. You run and find me and I'll make her go away." Her hand swung down fast and she unintentionally caught the back of my hand. A jagged fingernail sliced through my flesh.
