Page 55 of The Sister's Curse

“Not offhand. I’m gonna have to look through records to figure it out. This makes me wonder if there’s some kind of bacteria or fungus in the water that’s affecting people with compromised immune systems, or the young and elderly.”

“But I’m betting your elderly lady didn’t go swimming in the Sumners’ pond.”

“Might be a microbe transferred by birds or something.” Nick’s gaze was distant, and I could tell he was already running tests in his mind. “I’ll go bug Mason’s pulmonologist. And I’ll get some samples from Ross Lister.”

It made sense, like there was some kind of connection among these cases.

But I had no earthly idea what.

And no unearthly one, either…a witch couldn’t kill through lung infections, could she?

14

Divination

I couldn’t sleep, so I hunched over the light of my computer, researching witches and water.

I confirmed some of what I already supposed—that Rusalki were Eastern European water spirits who bedeviled men. They were always female, and were considered to be the unquiet ghosts of women or girls who’d killed themselves or been murdered by drowning. They then sought revenge by drowning men besotted by their watery charms.

Some academics suggested that Rusalki were fallen fertility spirits or corrupted genii loci. Much of the lore was rooted in blatant sexism: a woman’s highest calling was to be a mother, and a woman who became a Rusalka could never be that. The best she could do would be to abduct living children, which never went over well.

As in much folklore involving supernatural feminine forces, Rusalki eventually devolved into witches and seductresses. A Rusalka was the dark feminine incarnate, uncontrollable and rejecting the natural order of death and life.

Did they have any connection to my father’s Forest God, Veles? They certainly came from the same part of Europe. I suspected that Veles, or some fragment of him, had hitchhiked with my father, from his travels. Or maybe they were universal forces, and that was just what my father called them—I didn’t have enough of a background in theology or folklore to guess.

My father had killed dozens of women. Why was it so hard to believe that something wanted revenge? Someone…a Rusalka? As a girl, I found him easy to love. As a woman, he was an object of hate.

I struggled with believing in the Forest God, in that shadowy spirit crowned with antlers that my father had killed for. I had encountered him, and I’d been terrified. But maybe that was one anomaly, one blip in my consciousness and the consciousness of this place. Why couldn’t I simply buy the idea of nymphs drifting about in rivers, searching for prey?

I probed my resistance. Maybe it was because I’d then have to admit that the world at large was stranger and more disturbing than just my father’s corner of it. That I was peeling back the edges of reality, and afraid to look at what lay beneath.

And why that grubby corner of unreality wanted me.

I headed over to Viv’s, rolling into her driveway just before eleven a.m. There was a car in the driveway I didn’t recognize: a yellow Volkswagen Beetle with aCoexistbumper sticker. Didn’t seem like the kind of ride Jeff Sumner would take, so I relaxed.

I walked up to the front porch and knocked on the screen door, peering into the darkness beyond.

Viv came to the door. “Yes?”

“Could we talk?”

“I’m in the middle of something…” She looked over her shoulder, toward the kitchen. “If you want to wait out here, that’s fine.”

I settled into the creaky porch swing.

But I wasn’t alone on the porch. The fox, Sinoe, was curled on a cushion under one of the chairs, watching me over her fluffy tail.

I extended my hand down for her to sniff. I was too far away for her to touch me without climbing out of her nest and sliding under the wicker coffee table.

She watched me, untrusting.

Sinoe was entirely different than Gibby. Gibby was domesticated, despite all his faults. He craved approval, food, and his favorite spot in bed. This one…was not. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she was not tame. She chose to stay with Viv and reap the benefits of that relationship. But I had no doubt, looking at her, that she could flee at a moment’s notice and never come back.

I withdrew my arm. She continued to watch me.

The window beside me was open, and I could see Viv and another woman seated at the kitchen table. Viv was laying cards on the table. The cardboard whirred as she shuffled and drew.

“Don’t worry,” Viv said. “This relationship is gonna be good for you. See this? This is the King of Cups. He’s going to be loyal to you.”