Chapter Thirty
Mitchell gave the second gun to his sister, probably so she could defend herself if things went south. I understood, but it still felt unfair. I was the one in pain, vulnerable, and unarmed.
The "Closed" sign on the locked door didn’t stop us when we reached Mathilda’s store. Mitchell led us around to the back entrance. Also locked. He pulled out a credit card and started working the latch, but the lock wasn’t cooperating.
While he was meddling with it, June spotted a large stone on the ground. Before we all realized what she was doing, she hurled it through the window. Glass shattered with a piercing crash.
"June!" Mitch was aghast, but she ignored him. She climbed in, unlocked the door from the inside, and waved us in like it was nothing.
Nick closed his eyes, exasperated, but said nothing. Mitchell shot June another glare, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. We entered the storage area, off-limits to customers, packed with goods shipped from China, as indicated by the labels on the boxes. So much for "your local vendor."
Mitchell raised a hand, his ears tuned to the house. All was quiet. He signaled us to search. And search we did, leaving no stone unturned and no care for the mess. Within minutes, the room looked like a mini-tornado had ripped through it.
"Trespassin’, property dam—" Mathilda’s sarcastic remarks were interrupted by a deafening sound as June spun and fired the gun she’d been holding in her hand.
A row of delicate figurines exploded, and the bullet lodged deep into the wall.
I yelped, my heart hammering, and clamped my hands over my ears.
June had done the same, the gun still in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.
Mathilda flinched, but recovered fast. She surveyed the destruction with a slow, disapproving click of her tongue. "You break it, you buy it. And it looks like you’re about to buy a lot."
"June, put the fucking gun down!" Mitchell snapped.
She lowered it, shaken.
I stepped forward, my voice trembling with adrenaline-fueled rage. "Tell us everything you know about Robert and the grimoire."
Mathilda’s gaze flew to me, her expression softening as she really looked. "What happened to you?" she asked and then paused. Her eyes widened with realization.
"Tell us how to reverse the sigil on her." There was a subtle edge to Nick’s voice, a threat barely veiled.
"Why do you think I know how?" Mathilda asked, not even trying to sound convincing. Which, ironically, made it sound true. She played so many games that when she did sound fake, it almost lent her credibility.
I spoke anyway. "Because you and Robert dragged me into this."
Mathilda looked affronted. "I don’t work with Robert. I don’t work for him. That’s not why I called you here."
"Then why?" My voice wavered. She called me here.
"Because it has to stop," she said, suddenly serious.
"What has to stop? The disappearances?" Mitchell cut in. "How is her death supposed to fix anything?"
A flicker of sympathy crossed Mathilda’s face. "It gives you a reason to act. And fast. The Harvest Moon is in two days."
"Tell us where to find the grimoire and how to use it," I said, desperation leaking into my voice.
"Robert doesn’t have it?" Mathilda sounded genuinely surprised.
"No. Apparently, he thought we had it," I said.
I didn’t know who to believe anymore. The fragile hope that Mathilda had the grimoire and would hand it over to us vanished into thin air.
"I was sure he had it."
"Why didn’t you stop him yourself?"
"Lord, have mercy, are you plumb crazy? You seen him? You got any idea who you’re dealin’ with? The kind of folks who got his back?" Her voice hardened. "He’s been doin’ this longer than most folks around here have been breathin’."
"So you let it happen to someone you didn’t care about. Great." I bit out.
"You’re quick to judge," she retorted. "And you’re not just anyone."
"Then at least tell us what we can do," Nick cut in, before I could ask her what she meant by it.
"Find the grimoire," she said coldly. "And get the hell out of my store."
"Yeah?"
I approached June and gently took the gun from her hand. She was so surprised that she didn’t even react until it was too late. I glared at Mathilda and clicked the safety off. My finger vibrated on the trigger.
"I told Robert about you. Maybe he or his men in deer skull masks will come for you tonight. Or maybe I’ll just shoot you myself. I’ve got nothing to lose."
I’d never fired a gun before, but palming it now made me feel almost invincible. Powerful. Like I’d awakened something dark and buried deep, something that had always been there, waiting.
"Nellie, no!" Nick and Mitchell lunged toward me, but I swiftly flicked the safety on. Mitchell carefully pried the gun from my hand.
"You’ve got plenty to lose," Mathilda said, "So start lookin’. But trust me. It’s not here. You’re wastin’ your time with me."
Her calm never cracked, but the blood had drained from her face when the barrel pointed at her. For a heartbeat, I savored the control, the power. But the taste turned sour, my own bloodlust turning my stomach. Was I really capable of murder?
"Let’s get out of here," I said, my gaze holding the witch in place.
Every movement sent a jolt of pain through my body, especially the burn on my shoulder.
But for these few seconds, holding Mathilda at gunpoint, I’d felt like I had a grip on something, a fleeting sense of control over my chaotic life.
It wasn’t the kind of control my mother would’ve wanted for me, but it was the kind I desperately needed.
Unfortunately, it might be too little, too late.
"Are you sure the Sheriff wasn’t at the ritual?" Mitchell asked for what felt like the tenth time, back at the motel.
"Pretty sure." I collapsed onto the bed, too drained to care. June immediately sat beside me.
"You need a change of bandages," she said, gently tugging the T-shirt off my shoulder.
I didn’t resist. She was like a whole new person—helpful, supportive, genuinely concerned about my well-being. Her angsty, guarded teenage attitude had melted entirely the moment they found me in the barn.
Mitchell chewed his lip, then turned to Nick. "And your mother didn’t have it? You didn’t see anything remotely like an old book at home?"
"I told you," Nick replied, his voice strained. "I went through everything after she died. It. Wasn’t. There."
Mitch started pacing the room. "Do you think she could’ve hidden it somewhere?"
"I don’t know."
Their sombre faces seemed to draw the warmth from the room. For the first time since I left the barn, I felt a cold, gripping fear. I was going to die.
"I don’t dream," I whispered.
Everyone’s eyes fell on me.
"Since the ritual... I haven’t had dreams. Not even nightmares. Just darkness. Like I’m dead."
Nick opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "Please, help me. I’m scared. I won’t even have a grave."
His gaze fell to the floor. The room was silent.
Then he spoke. "The grave."
"What was that?" Mitch asked
"Her grandmother’s grave at the cemetery," Nick explained. "What if she hid it there? Think about it. It’s the only connection to this place."
Mitchell stood, hesitant. He wasn’t convinced. But after a moment, he nodded. "It’s worth a shot. Let’s go check it out."
June perked up, ready to follow her brother anywhere, even to dig up an old grave.
"Not you," Mitch quickly said. "Nick and I will go. You stay with Nell. Keep the gun close. Don’t fire it unless you absolutely have to."
I couldn’t decide if Nick truly believed this was a real possibility or if he was just offering a gentle hospice for my sanity, a comforting illusion to ease my fears before I vanished.
The dim glow of the motel room’s lamp cast elongated shadows across the walls as June and I huddled over the small table in front of my laptop.
We’d been scouring the internet, trying to find information about the sigil.
But so far, our efforts had been in vain.
We’d seen hundreds of disturbing images—either real or fake—but nothing quite matched the one burned into my skin.
"This is useless." I closed my laptop and pushed it away.
Before June could respond, equally disappointed and frustrated with the state of things, I grabbed my phone and excused myself. I needed to make a crucial call.
The mere thought of my mother never knowing what had happened to me, and being left with memories of our ugly fight, hurt more than the physical pain I was enduring.
With trembling hands, I dialed her number on the burner phone Mitch had given me, unsure what kind of response I was hoping for.
Either way, it was going to be difficult.
She picked up, and I whimpered, "Mom."
A brief pause hung in the air before my mother responded, "Nellie, what’s wrong?" Her voice was tinged with genuine worry, something I hadn’t heard often.
I shook my head, trying to stem the tears. "It’s... a long story. I’m okay. I love you, Mom. And I’m so sorry," I managed before my voice cracked and tears overtook me again.
"Come home. We’ll deal with anything. I promise, everything will be alright. Just come home," she pleaded softly.
I couldn’t recall the last time my mother had been so gentle, so concerned.
"I just wanted to tell you I love you," I said, my voice choked with sobs.
"You’ll come home right away, right?" she urged.
"Yeah."
"Right away. Wherever you are, just come home."
"Okay."
"I love you."
"I gotta go, Mom. I love you, too."
Hanging up on her was the hardest part, but I had to do it before I broke down completely. I wanted to leave her with something better than our last argument to remember me by.
I stood there for a while, feeling an emptiness inside me, expanding until it filled every corner of me. Something dark and cold was spreading through me, and it was calming in a way that felt wrong. I wiped away my tears and went back to the room.
To my surprise, I found June preparing to go out.