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Willow’s heart squeezed. It was comforting, knowing her grandmother had had at least one person on her side.

“On the night your grandmother vanished, Orrin vanished, too. So that’s the story. The Whitmires forced Wrenna to hand over the baby. Wrenna did because she had to. But then, in the blink of an eye, she and Orrin managed to skip town together, and neither of them was ever seen again.”

“But how?” Willow asked.

“They say it was the Box.”

Willow stopped walking. “ My Box?”

Cole stopped, too. He shot her a funny look.

Willow huffed. “The Queen’s Box. You know what I mean.”

“Ah. Okay.” He side-eyed her but went back to ambling on down the trail. Willow jogged to catch up.

“Some folks think the Box was evil. That it was carved for bad reasons. But other folks—like me, I guess, and Ruby and Brooxie—we believe that love can change things. Transform them.”

He gave Willow a soft smile. “They say Orrin and Wrenna’s love undid whatever wickedness was inside the Box. That it opened for them and let them pass into something better.”

Willow was filled with a fierce, painful yearning. Yes, yes. She believed that, too.

Ruby and Brooxie’s house appeared when they turned around the next bend. Smoke curled from the chimney, soft against the darkening sky.

“How does Amira fit into it all?” she asked.

Cole mounted the porch steps and reached for the door. “Let’s let the sisters weigh in on that one. They know more than I do.”

Inside, something smelled incredible—rosemary, garlic, something meaty and rich. Ruby glanced back at them from the stove, where she was stirring a pot with a long-handled spoon, and called, “You two made it back alive. Glad to see it.”

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing,” Willow said.

“It’ll be ready in twenty minutes. If you’re famished, there are peanuts on the counter.”

Cole meandered into the kitchen, and Willow followed. He plucked a peanut—boiled, no shell—from the bowl and popped it into his mouth.

“We were talking about Orrin,” he said. “And Wrenna. Willow wants to know how Amira fits in.”

Ruby’s hand stilled on the spoon.

Brooxie, seated at the small kitchen table with a piece of embroidery in her lap, barked a laugh, and not a happy one. “Here we go. Buckle up.”

“She gives me the willies,” Ruby muttered, resuming her stirring. “Nice house in the middle of all that rot? Doesn’t add up.”

Willow thought about the goat girl and the little boy with the bad buzz cut. Ruby had a point. Those kids looked to be practically starving, but once they’d properly entered her property, it was clear Amira was living in the lap of luxury. Creepy, occult luxury, but luxury nonetheless.

“She’s always been like that,” Cole said. He dropped into the chair next to Brooxie and stretched his legs out. “Always there when the bad things happen—or just after. Always there before the dust settles.”

“What do you mean?”

“When my little brother, Micah, went missing, Amira was the first to show up. Before the sheriff. Before the church ladies. Said she ‘felt it in her bones.’ Said she knew she was ‘needed.’” He made finger quotes with a scowl.

“Had a whole stack of casseroles already baked and wrapped in foil. Peach cobbler, too.”

“That’s super weird,” Willow said. “Did the police question her?”

Cole snorted.

Ruby wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned toward them. “Micah didn’t show up and didn’t show up. There were search parties, door-to-doors, all the things you’d expect. And I suspect the police did question Amira, but to what end? Nothing came of it.”

“Then things started changing,” Brooxie said. “Micah didn’t show up, bless his heart, but someone gave Cole’s dad a propane tank they had no need for. The roof got patched. Groceries stretched a little farther.”

“You think it was Amira?” Willow asked.

“Honey, we just don’t know,” Brooxie said.

“ I know,” Cole said tightly. “I don’t know how she was involved. I have no proof that connects her to anything. But when my parents started asking around, she shook her head and said, ‘It sure would be a shame if this new streak of luck dried up. Maybe best to leave old tragedies where they lay.’”

Willow stared at him, stunned. “And your parents... ?”

“They had seven other mouths to feed,” he said. “And Micah...” He threw up his hands. “He was gone either way, wasn’t he? So, yeah, they shut up about it—and told me to, too.”

“But you didn’t,” Willow said.

“Nope, and I never will.”

Willow bit her lip. She wanted to say, Life sucks sometimes. I know. People do really shitty things, and they’re never held accountable.

She wanted to hug him.

Ruby and Brooxie exchanged a look, and Willow caught it. She flushed and stared at her lap.

“We know how it sounds,” Brooxie said. “But over the years, more kids have vanished. And those families? Somehow they start winning the lottery, too. A truck that broke down runs just fine the next week. A debt gets forgiven.”

“And Amira’s always there,” Ruby said. “With her casseroles and her condolences.”

“That’s why y’all said yes to taking me to her,” Willow said. “You used me to get closer to her.”

They didn’t deny it.

“You want information,” Willow went on. “About the Box. And about Amira.”

Cole looked at her evenly. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not your spy.”

“No,” Brooxie agreed. “But you are your grandmother’s granddaughter. You’ve got one foot in the old world and one in the new.”

The room went quiet.

Then Ruby clapped her hands once, brisk and bright. “All right, that’s enough talk. Dinner time.”

Willow startled. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself.

Ruby ladled steaming stew into bowls, the scent of rabbit and herbs thick in the air. Cornbread arrived next, dense and golden, with honey butter melting on top.

Willow took a bite. “Wow. This is incredible.”

“You’ve got that one to thank,” Ruby said, jerking her chin toward Cole.

“Why?” asked Willow.

Ruby chuckled. “Old Jed Wallace brought us three rabbits to thank our Cole here for cleanin’ out his sump pump yesterday. Nasty work.”

“Wait,” Willow said. She tried to remember what a sump pump was. Did she know what a sump pump was? Something nasty. Something for human waste. “That’s why you smelled so bad?”

Cole lifted an eyebrow.

She cringed. “You said ‘muddin’.’ I assumed . . .”

Cole leaned back in his chair. “Where to start? With what happens when you assume something or with what muddin’ is?”

“But you said—”

“Princess, I never said anything. That was all you.”

Willow set her spoon down. “Okay, I admit it. That was me being snobby.”

“Damn straight.”

“But your boots really stank.”

“That they did.”

Willow tried to hold it back but failed. She laughed and hid her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, peeking up at him.

He tilted his head and grinned, easy and generous. “You’re forgiven. But you owe me.”