Page 33 of The Women of Wild Hill

Brigid slipped into the caretaker’s cottage just long enough to grab an unopened bottle of Scotch and a glass from the liquor cabinet. She brought both out to the porch and settled into an Adirondack chair looking out over the garden.

“Be careful!” she shouted at her niece, who’d disappeared among the twisting vines and towering stalks. “There might be a few things in there that could eat you!”

Sibyl seemed to think Brigid was joking.

Every few minutes, the birdsong and chirping would be interrupted by an excited squeal, and her hand would shoot up above the foliage holding another treasure for her aunt to see.

At last she emerged from the jungle of bean vines and cornstalks with a basket overflowing with vegetables.

“Look at these tomatoes!” Sibyl showed her aunt a perfect specimen, plump and scarlet. “It’s not even tomato season yet. And there are chickens around here somewhere. I found a half dozen eggs. Can you believe it?”

Brigid took another sip of Scotch. She planned to be good and drunk by the time Phoebe showed up. “The Old One brought us here for a reason,” Brigid said. “If she wants us to do her bidding, she can’t let us starve.”

“Well, the Old One has gone above and beyond. Prepare for a feast!”

Brigid couldn’t help but be charmed by this clever girl, with her baby doll freckles and wild red curls.

She’d clearly inherited all the best of the Duncan clan.

Sadie’s energy, Rose’s warmth, Ivy’s optimism, her mother’s beauty.

According to the last report filed by Brigid’s private investigator, Sibyl worked three lunch shifts a week at a soup kitchen in her neighborhood.

She fed a colony of feral cats near the Brooklyn waterfront and picked up trash in Prospect Park.

The poor little do-gooder had no idea what she’d gotten dragged into.

Brigid prayed the Old One would go easy on her.

“Will you come to the kitchen and sit with me while I cook?” Sibyl asked.

Brigid thought about it. She’d planned to finish off at least one more glass of Scotch before she moved indoors. But there wasn’t enough liquor in the world to get her ready to spend time in the cottage. She might as well accept the invitation. “Fine,” she agreed.

The kitchen was a time capsule. Inside, the law of entropy had been suspended.

Nothing had rusted, rotted, or gone to ruin in three decades.

Even the food in the fridge appeared fresh.

Brigid reached out for a bunch of green grapes and pinched one cautiously.

It felt plump and juicy. Still, she pulled the bunch out and dumped it right in the trash.

“No good?” Sibyl asked.

“Not gonna risk it. Pretty sure enchanted fruit has never been properly tested on humans.”

Brigid closed the fridge and turned to find Sibyl holding a piece of yellow crime scene tape that was still stuck to the cellar door.

“Is this from the day Flora died?” she asked Brigid.

Brigid frowned at the sight of the yellow scrap. “No,” she said. “Your grandmother’s death was never investigated as a crime. That’s from the day a plumber found bodies buried in the basement.” Brigid watched Sibyl closely, waiting to see how she’d react to the news.

“That’s right,” Sibyl said, as though recalling a story she already knew well. “Ivy and Rose buried two men down there. One was an uncle. The other Rose’s husband. My great-great-grandfather, I think.”

The shock must have shown on Brigid’s face, and Sibyl seemed to relish it.

“Your mother told you?” Brigid asked.

“Of course not.” Sibyl dumped her basket out on the kitchen counter and began sorting through the vegetables. “She never told me anything. I’m kinda pissed about that, to be honest. If it hadn’t been for my dreams—”

“Your dreams?”

For a moment Sibyl seemed to worry she’d said too much. “They weren’t really dreams, but I don’t know what else to call them. Bessie told me to lie down on Sadie’s grave when I got here. The ancestors came to me and showed me stuff.”

Brigid dropped into a seat at the kitchen table. “Like what?” she asked as she refilled her glass with Scotch.

“I watched Sadie come to Wild Hill. I watched the lightning bolt kill her husband. Blew his shoes clean off.” She mimicked the explosion with her hands. “Have you ever seen someone get struck by lightning?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Brigid droned.

“Pretty wild,” said Sibyl, who didn’t seem shaken.

“Then I saw Rose and Ivy murder those men.” She paused with a knife halfway through a squash.

“Though I’m not sure murder is the right word for it.

They deserved what they got. After that came Lilith and Levi—such a sweet couple.

I saw Lilith use the mushrooms to make poison and—”

“Stop,” Brigid ordered.

Sibyl stopped and turned slowly, hands up, like a criminal caught in the act.

“Back up. What mushrooms? What poison?” Brigid asked.

“The poison Lilith used to kill all those Nazi scientists was made out of mushrooms,” Sibyl replied.

“Lilith did what?” Brigid had been raised to believe that Lilith, born boring, had renounced the Duncans’ witchy ways and lived a quiet life devoted to science and capitalism.

“Lilith and Levi killed hundreds of Nazis and fascists who escaped punishment after World War Two.”

Brigid’s mind was still stuck on two words. “With poison?”

Sibyl seemed to realize she’d entered dangerous territory. “Yes.”

“You’re aware that my mother drank poison?”

Sibyl hesitated. “Mmm-hmm.” She was scared to say yes. “She told me. It was the same one.”

It was all too much for Brigid’s mind to absorb. “What the fuck, Sibyl. You spoke to my mother?” She knew she sounded angry. But she wasn’t. Or was she? For her, hurt and anger had always come as a pair. At this point it was almost impossible to tell them apart.

Sibyl took a step back, but it was too late. She’d already detonated the land mine. “I did.”

It took a superhuman show of willpower, but Brigid briefly wrestled her emotions back under control. “Did she tell you why she killed herself?”

“No,” Sibyl said. “She’s waiting until you and Mom are both here.”

“She’s waiting, is she? You sure she’s not going to take another thirty years?”

Sibyl wisely didn’t respond.

All this time, Brigid fumed. All this time, Flora could have come to her in a dream. But she hadn’t. Because she was waiting. Until the moment was right for her.

Brigid emptied her glass in a single gulp. “I haven’t been back to Wild Hill since I was seventeen,” she told her niece. “Do you know why?”

Sibyl silently shook her head.

“Because I was brought up believing that our family had a mission and Wild Hill was part of it. I did everything that was asked of me, and in return this fucking place took away everything I loved. My mother, my sister, my family. I got sent to live with a couple of assholes who hated my guts. Now my house has burned down, and I’ve been dragged back to the Island because the Old One has plans for me and for you and your mom, too.

Do you have any idea what’s going to be asked of us? ” Brigid waited. “Do you?”

“No.”

“We’re going to have to kill people.”

The revelation didn’t seem to faze her niece. “Who?” Sibyl asked.

“What the fuck, Sibyl. I tell you we’re supposed to kill people and all you want to know is who?”

“Well, it kinda makes a difference, don’t you think? Do you know who we’ll have to kill?”

“No,” Brigid admitted. “But I have a sneaking suspicion Calum fucking Geddes is involved somehow.”

Sibyl looked confused. Brigid had finally hit on the one thing her niece didn’t know. “Calum Geddes? The AMN guy? The one who just died? What does he have to do with any of this?”

Brigid pointed at the piece of yellow caution tape that Sibyl had left on the table. “He was here when they found the bodies.” She grabbed her bottle. “I’m sorry, but I can’t bear to be in this house right now. We can catch up more in the morning.”

Brigid stomped back outside to confront the ancestors.

You bitches, she cursed them silently as she paced back and forth across their graves.

You hid your secrets from me, then shared them with a girl you’d never even met before.

And you. She focused on Flora. You abandoned me.

Do you have any idea how much that fucking hurt?

Did you know you were leaving me with a couple of monsters?

Would you have still chugged that poison if you’d known?

WHEN brIGID WAS FIVE YEARS old, Flora sat her down and informed the kindergartner that her father was Simon Laguerre, a movie producer with whom she’d had a weekend-long affair.

What her mother failed to mention was that the affair had taken place only a few months after Simon married his wife, Sienna.

Flora was far from Simon’s only dalliance, but a vasectomy had ensured that Brigid would be his only child.

When he heard that Flora had taken her life, Simon hopped on a plane to New York, thanking the heavens for his good fortune.

Simon’s latest film had recently flopped and his finances had taken a dive.

One of the few things he knew about his ex-fling was that she was loaded, and he was father to one of her underage heirs.

A few days later, when he discovered that Brigid’s mother had placed all assets in an untouchable trust, he quickly lost interest in his only daughter.