Page 108 of Conjure

Mom hums, but she’s distracted. “I’ll have a look for him after breakfast.”

Rain spatters against the windows as thunder rolls in the distance, but it’s all background noise to me. Mom sips her coffee while I take a bite out of my buttered piece of toast. Drycrumbs stick to my lips, so I wipe them off. Dominic flicks the Zippo again, and another flame flares to life. I lower my gaze to it, swallowing down the chewed-up bread. My throat dries up when I stare at the unmoving flame. Not even a flicker or tremble.

Dominic’s smirk deepens and he shuts the lid with a quick flick, almost too fast to notice. Another loud rumble of thunder crackles outside when our eyes lock.

Mom talks about work, before she seems to notice the silence and looks between us.

Her eyebrows raise in question. “Is everything alright?”

I shoot up, tossing the uneaten toast onto the plate. “I need to get ready for class.”

When I hurry past Dominic, his head turns over his shoulder. It’s not obvious enough that my mom notices, but I sure as hell feel his gaze on me. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones.

“Camryn?” Mom calls out, and I pause in the doorway. “I’m heading to work. There’s food in the freezer for later.”

Walking back over to the table, I lean down to kiss Mom on the cheek, ignoring Dominic.

“I promise we’ll catch up soon,” she says, but I’m not listening, my veins running cold as I pick up the unread, folded-up newspaper beside her plate.

A picture of Wilfred is plastered on the front, but it’s the image beside his—a much smaller, grainy black-and-white photograph—that has me trembling.

Excusing myself, I hurry upstairs to my room, where I unplug my phone from the charger.

Gwen answers on the fourth ring. “I’m relieved that you called. I was convinced your possessive boyfriend tied you to the bed or something?—”

“Did you read this morning’s paper?” I ask, interrupting her, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I sit down on the bed.

“What are you talking about?”

I splay the page open, the paper crinkling. “The front-page news.”

I hear a door open. Gwen covers the phone with her hand to speak to her dad and then returns to the line. “Okay, I stole my dad’s copy.” The stairs creak beneath her weight as she returns to her room and shuts the door. Paper rustles while I wait, staring at the grainy photograph.

Those eyes…

“That’s fucking creepy.” Her haunted voice sounds far away. I pinch the bridge of my nose, wincing, struck by a sudden headache.

Gwen reads, “The body of a missing woman, believed to be Francesca Flores, a 24-year-old sex worker, who was reported missing in August 2023 by concerned friends after she failed to return home, was discovered after police attended Wilfred Miller’s farm on Wednesday night for a welfare check.”

“Eight more bodies have been discovered on the property. The story is still unfolding.”

I frown, staring at the blurring words.

“Camryn? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” I reply, studying the grainy images. “Gwen…”

“Yeah?”

“His latest victim…” I try to steady my voice. “It says he kept her decomposing body in the attic for months.”A shiver skitters down my spine, and I tighten my grip on the phone. “Gwen…I saw the curtains moving that day when Dominic carried me out.”

“Maybe it was your imagination?”

“Maybe,” I agree, rubbing warmth back into my arm. It’s suddenly very cold. “It’s not like I saw a ghost.”

But even as I say it, the smiling girl on the cover stares back at me with her big eyes and curly brown hair. I’m forced to look away.

Rising from the bed, I approach the window seat and gaze at the forest. Rainwater races down the glass, distorting the view. “Have you spoken to Aron today?”