Page 100 of Conjure

“You claim this lady was a relative?”

“Yes,” Gwen replies, nodding, her large hoop earrings swaying. Lily, meanwhile, is perspiring. God forbid, she ever plays poker. The girl can’t lie to save her life. She’s so pale that she could rival every ghost roaming these ancient halls.

My own hands are damp, so I rub them on my bare thighs.

“I can’t discuss my patients without sufficient evidence that you are, indeed, relatives of the person in question. That requires proof of identification.”

“But she’s deceased.”

One of his bushy eyebrows lifts.

“Oh well,” Gwen says, blowing out a sigh. “I guess we traveled all this way for nothing. I just thought that maybe we could find out some information about dear old Edna Kriger.”

“Magdalene, you mean?” he says without changing his expression. His chest expands on a deep inhale, and he eases back against the wingback chair. “I’m afraid I can’t help you today, ladies.”

Chairs scrape on the scratched wooden floor, and their voices drift away. I blow out a sigh, thinking I’m safe, but then the door shuts, and the sound of heavy footsteps nearing has me shrinking deeper into the rail of clothes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is bad.

He whistles a tune as he pours himself a thumb of whiskey, the amber alcohol sloshing against the sides of the tumbler. I can faintly make him out beyond the gap—the hiss he makes through his teeth as the liquid slides down his throat.

Cracking his neck, he nurses his drink and peers over at the cabinet. Outside, a branch knocks against the window in the muggy summer breeze.

Tap. Tap. Let me in.

A bead of sweat trails down the side of my neck. It’s sweltering in this small space.

The floorboards creak beneath his weight. He puts his whiskey glass on top of the cabinet, fishes a key out of his breast pocket, and unlocks it. It slides open to reveal file after file, and Dr. Hector fingers through them. Then he shuts the drawer and slides open the next one in line.

When he pulls out a thick file, I bat a shirt out of the way and inch closer to the gap, intrigued. He discards something on the desk, then loosens his tie while reading over the information in the file. I watch as he swirls the glass, taking another sip, before sitting his ass on the desk and crossing his feet at his ankles.

Patience has never been my strong suit. Even more so now as I eye the file in his hand. I bet it’s the one we’re after. After the girls’ visit, Dr. Hector felt too intrigued not to pull it out from the cabinet and read about Miss. Kriger.

My arm itches something fierce. The sensation of something crawling beneath my skin has me clawing at it. I’m so desensitized now, I’ve come to crave the release the pain brings.

Tap. Tap. Tap.The branch knocks louder, demanding entrance.

Dr. Hector wipes his arm over his forehead, cursing the AC. My fingers come away slick with blood as he straightens up andthen makes his way to the window. He opens it, the papers in the folder rustling in the breeze.

I ease back out of instinct when a sensation of dread washes over me. In doing so, I accidentally knock against one of the boxes on the floor, and the sudden sound has Dr. Hector’s head shooting up.

He looks over at the cupboard where I’m hiding and slowly closes the folder in his hand as I clamp a hand over my mouth. What if he finds me? What then?

He walks closer.

I struggle to suppress a fearful whimper, convinced I’m about to get discovered. He frowns, reaching out to open the door, when someone enters the room. I sag with relief as he puts the folder on the desk and disappears from view.

That was too close.

They leave the room, and I wait a few moments longer before stepping out of the cupboard and looking around the office.

Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I take the file, then haul ass to the open window. I slide it open and toss out the paperwork before climbing out and jumping to the ground. The grass is overgrown on this side of the property and the rose bushes beneath the window are dead. Pain sears the bare skin on my legs the moment my feet connect with the ground, and I release a string of expletives as I try to wipe the fresh blood from my legs from the shallow cuts caused by the thorny roses and broken, dried stalks. Thankfully, the stitches from the graze have since dissolved, and all that remains is a pink scar. Mom is too up in her own head to notice.

Overhead, the leaves in the trees rustle, and I grow still, barely daring to move and certainly not daring to look behind me. I swear someone or something is watching me.

I pick up the folder and hobble around the side of the house, the pain worsening with every step. Fuck it, at least I have the folder.

Gwen and Lily are waiting in the car. When they spot me, Gwen exits the vehicle and rushes to my side. “What the hell happened? Do you know how fucking worried we were?”