Feral Darlings

Chapter Twelve

I ’ m standing on the dilapidated porch of the old apothecary, back against the post, and eyes on the horizon.

Ask Silas when he gets here.

Her words play over and over in my mind, making me wonder if Mollie is trying to distract me from the fact that one of the monsters here is the cause for Elyse ’ s disappearance.

But what would she gain by lying to me about it when I ’ m so damned close to the truth?

I let out a huff of air as I shift slightly from one foot to the other, hoping that this is indeed the night that the Sun Down Mob is due.

Suddenly, I stand straight up.

How the hell was Sara Belle able to get all the way to my house if she ’ s one of them? Someone had to have invited her into the town limits, and it sure as shit wasn ’ t me.

“ Are you okay, Sheriff Mason? You look troubled.”

I smile slightly as I turn my face toward the voice of the pastor. So far, Mollie has been a thing of her word letting him live, and that ’ s got to mean something. Doesn ’ t it?

“ I ’ m doing alright, Pastor Hawkins,” I lie. He arches an eyebrow because he sees straight through me. Probably because I look as tired as I feel.

“ The old Crimson Bend Apothecary,” he remarks with a nod to the crumbling building behind me.

“ Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess,” I reply with a shrug.

But it makes me wonder something, too.

“ Pastor Hawkins, how long have you lived in this town?”

“ Long enough to know the name before they took it over and ran everyone out,” he says with a chuckle. “ Well, almost everyone.”

I shake my head fondly.

Pastor Hawkins is a good man, constantly on a quest to save the soul of everyone and everything he comes across—even when they don ’ t have one.

“ Why was it called Crimson Bend before?” I press him curiously.

“ The peop—um, inhabitants—that lived here before the ones that do now were Nocturnal Drifters. I tried to tell Mollie that if she waited them out, they ’ d move along eventually, but you know how patient she can be,” he explains with a forced chuckle.

“ And, uh…what exactly is Mollie?”

Pastor Hawkins ’ face turns as pale as the large, bright Flower Moon in the sky, then clears his throat uncomfortably. “ Do you…do you know what Miss Danforth is?”

I nod.

“ They ’ re cut from the same cloth, in a manner of speaking. Everyone that lives here now is.”

I rub my face with my hands, pushing way from the post I ’ ve been leaning against, then walk the couple of feet to the edge of the porch where I sit down and clasp my hands together.

That ’ s why Mollie hasn ’ t killed me yet and gotten it over with. They ’ re both Moon Drunk and more than likely from the same damn clan. I ’ ve had the wrong bullets all along, I think with a rueful shake of my head.

“ And do you know what I am?” I ask him softly, sounding every bit as defeated as I ’ ve suddenly become.

“ You ’ re a good man, Sheriff Mason. “

I let out a bitter laugh as I look up at him from my interlocked fingers and shake my head. “ Not today, preacher. Today, I ’ m just a man.”

Getting to my feet, I dust off my trousers and tip my hat at him.

“ And if you want to be an alive one before the night is over, I would go in the opposite direction and not look back.”

“ Boone—”

“ It was good talking to you tonight, preacher,” I call out to him over my shoulder as I make my way toward the city limit, then breach them. “ Maybe tonight I ’ ll get the chance to be that good man you think I am. Take care.”