Chapter 12

12

DECLAN

S takeouts are notoriously dreadful for most people, especially if you do them by yourself, but I’ve never minded them. In fact, I would rather do them on my own. When Bas gave up on joining me during my stakeouts of Cup it carried a heaviness, like the town itself was holding its breath.

I’m bundled in a thick jacket, scarf, and toque, but I can still see my breath every time I exhale. Another breeze passes through the car and sends a shiver down my spine.

“Waiting for someone, Detective?”

I jump, my hand instantly reaching for my gun, but I immediately stop when I meet Carolina’s gaze outside the passenger side window. Her eyes, dark and piercing, lock onto mine, and for a moment, it feels like she’s seeing more than just the outside of me. There’s something unsettling about how quietly she approached, like she belonged to the shadows.

“God, didn’t anyone tell you not to sneak up on someone with a gun?” I breathe, exasperated and trying to get my heart rate back down.

“No,” she says simply while she opens the door. Even with all the windows down, it’s hard to miss how much she smells like vanilla and autumn spices. The scent is intoxicating, and it takes me a second too long to focus again, my thoughts spinning as if the smell itself was wrapping around me, warm and soft.

I frown. “What are you doing here? Where’s your coat?” The last question I ask while roughly pulling my coat off my body to give to her. The sight of her in just a thin sweater and jeans makes me wonder if she feels the cold at all. She doesn’t seem to, but there’s no way I’m letting her freeze out here.

“I’m fine,” she asserts, pushing the jacket back at me.

I shove it back at her. “If you’re staying, you’re wearing this.”

Before my mind can catch up with my actions enough to question why her staying here is even an option, she slides her arms through the sleeves. The coat swallows her, looking oversized on her small frame, but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it almost suits her, as if she could make even the most mismatched pieces look deliberate.

“Happy?” she asks, a frown that likely matched my own on her face.

“Ecstatic,” I deadpan and look back at the alley, doing my best to ignore Carolina’s presence…and not freeze to death.

But ignoring her is harder than it should be. Her proximity feels like it’s altering the air itself, making it heavier, more charged. Her presence is an unnecessary distraction.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” I say after five minutes.

“Noted.” Carolina tucks her hair behind her ear. “So, how are you liking Grove Meadow?”

Sighing, I turn back to the alley. “It’s something.” She lets out a hmm in agreement. “It’s weird. I’ve never been here before, but I feel like I have. It’s familiar.”

I blink. I didn’t know where that came from, but it was true. I’d had the recurring feeling of déjà vu almost everywhere I went, but I was sure I’d never even come near this area of the East Coast before.

“Our town is strange that way,” she says, picking a piece of fuzz off my jacket. Her fingers linger on the fabric a second too long, like she’s thinking of saying more but chooses not to. “Lots of people say that. I think they just watch a lot of television.”

“Maybe. It’s different. It’s just a feeling,” I explain, trying to keep my gaze on the alley, but I find it drifting back to her.

My eyes move on their own accord, drawn to the curve of her profile, the way the dim streetlight casts a soft glow on her skin.

This is why stakeouts are better alone .

“Why did you come here?”

She inspects her nails, even though they’re perfectly manicured. “To see if I was right.” She glances at me. “I like to be right.”

A laugh escapes my mouth. “You like to be right so much you’re willing to potentially watch some sort of satanic ritual with me?”

“Well, at least you’d know I had nothing to do with it. If I’m here with you, you can keep your eye on me.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the words die before they reach my lips. My eyes drop to her mouth instead, lingering longer than they should. I blink out of my daze when I realize it. What was wrong with me?

“Right. So, where did this whole the Castillos are witches thing come from?”

Carolina sighs and faces forward, her gaze trained on the windshield. “It was a long time ago. When my grandparents moved here, they opened an apothecary shop. Abuelo was a doctor in Veracruz and specialized in herbal remedies and homeopathic practices.”

I nod. “So naturally, they thought it was witchcraft.”

She tilts her head back and forth slightly. “It wasn’t really that, so much as they were Hispanic, and they moved to a predominantly White small town in New England.”

“Ah.”

That single sound carried more weight than I’d intended. Small towns like Grove Meadow could be places where old prejudices festered, and the Castillo family, it seemed, had borne the brunt of it.

“They really doubled-down on the witchcraft when my mother and father got together.”

My brows knit together in confusion when Carolina hesitates in her explanation. She looks away, her eyes distant as if recalling something painful. There’s a flash of something—maybe anger, maybe hurt—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“They said that she bewitched him like it was the only way he would have been interested in her. If my father hadn’t been part of the founding families, I think it wouldn’t have been so bad, but…”

Her face is solemn, like she’s trying to pretend that she doesn’t care about what she’s saying, but my chest constricts for her. The way her voice tightens when she speaks of her family, the quiet pain that seeps through—it hits me harder than I expect.

“That must have been hard on you and Camila.”

She shrugs. “Our family was close, but when our parents died, it got harder. The town tried to distance themselves from us more…like we were cursed or something.” She says it with a laugh, but it’s a harsh sound.

I learn more about her every time I talk to her, but just when I think I’m chipping away at a layer, another one presents itself. Opening up so that she can close herself off more tightly.

“Carolina, I’m sor–”

Just then, a sound from across the street catches my attention, and I see someone walking down the sidewalk across from where we are. They’re wearing a hoodie and jeans. I try to make out who it is beneath the hood, but I don’t recognize them.

“Elijah Thorton,” Carolina whispers. “He’s a little eccentric but harmless. Calls himself an inventor , but mostly is employed as the town’s handyman.”

He might be looking for discarded scraps to repurpose, but I had to be sure. Something about the way he’s walking doesn’t sit right with me. It’s too purposeful, too focused .

“Stay here,” I tell Carolina as I grab my walkie-talkie and open my door. “I mean it.”

Carolina’s eyes are wide as she stares at me, but I don’t have time to wait for a verbal confirmation that she’ll listen to me. Though I have a niggling feeling that she won’t.

Slamming the door after me, I quietly jog across the street to the entrance of the alley, but it’s empty when I get there. The space is lit by intermittent lamposts, two of which are out, and one flickers in my periphery. The darkness feels heavier here, pressing in from all sides. It’s like the air has thickened, and I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I squint to try and see better into the darkness.

Why would Elijah come down here?

A familiar sinking feeling settles in my gut—the same feeling I get when I know something’s about to go wrong. I hear Carolina’s footsteps approaching behind me. Of course, she didn’t listen.

“I told you to wait in the car,” I say without looking at her, my gaze darting to all of the dark corners of the alleyway.

“I thought you could use some backup,” she whispers back at me.

I don’t have time to fight her on this if Elijah could be involved in the disappearances. “Just stay behind me.”

Carolina’s presence looms closely behind me as we move further into the alley. There’s a strong odor that coats my nose, and I recognize it as rotten eggs. Sulfur.

The smell brings with it a sense of dread, creeping up my spine and settling between my shoulders. Something is here, something dangerous. The muscles in my back tighten, and I put a hand on my gun, prepared to draw it if things go south.

The alley leads to a dead-end, a cement wall that separates the town from the woods. I know we’re only a few steps away from seeing Elijah unless he’s scaled the wall .

When he comes into view, I stop dead in my tracks. I’m surprised to find him just standing there in the middle of the alley, facing the dead-end. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn around. It’s like he’s frozen.

I swallow the sense of foreboding lodged in my throat and the urge to tell Carolina to run. My instincts are screaming now, louder than ever, and all I can think is that she shouldn’t be here. I wish she would’ve stayed in the car. Hell, I wish she would’ve stayed home.

“Elijah Thorton,” I call out to him, straightening up and trying to block Carolina from view.

He turns his head over his shoulder. I can see his mouth moving but can’t hear what he’s saying. It’s like he’s whispering to someone just out of sight, but there’s no one else here.

It’s Carolina’s gasp that makes me notice his eyes.

They’re pitch black. No whites. No pupils. Just an endless, empty blackness that seems to swallow what little light is around us.

“ Fates ,” Carolina breathes.

“Elijah Thorton, my name is Declan O’Reilly. I’m a Detective with the police department, and I’m going to need you–”

My words get cut off because I see something gathering in his hand. The alley somehow gets darker, but a light begins to glow from Elijah’s hand.

“Now!” Carolina shouts, and three things happen at once.

I reach for my gun at my hip. Carolina darts in front of me, tossing something onto the ground in front of us. Elijah’s hand moves suddenly, and I feel a sharp pain in my lower abdomen.

I hear Carolina’s voice again as I drop to my knees, but I don’t feel it when they make contact with the ground beneath me. I don’t feel anything.