The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(14)

Rowan stood up. “It feels like I’ve got a hundred foils in my hair. That’s not nothing.”

Iris laughed. “It’s not a hundred.”

“It’ll be fabulous,” said Ivy, coming to join the conversation.

Standing beside his mom, West took a long look at Rowan’s foils and said nothing. He was used to seeing women in the salon look like aliens.

“It better,” grumbled Rowan, knowing full well her sisters knew exactly what they were doing.

An hour later she couldn’t look away from her hair in the mirror. Her sisters had blended all different shades of blonde into her long waves, and even a few strands of red peeked out here and there. It was amazing.

Ivy and Iris stood behind her looking like proud parents. “A little more platinum next time,” said Iris, and Ivy agreed.

“You’re magicians,” said Rowan. “No . . . you’re witches, right?”

“We prefer the term sorceresses,” said Ivy.

“It’s stunning,” said Miriam, touching Rowan’s hair. “It suits you.” Her lips quivered a little, and she forced a weak smile. “You’ll be at the house by six tomorrow?”

Her mother was acknowledging that Rowan would be busy with her yearly search for Malcolm.

“Yes. I won’t be late.”

“Good.”

The four of them exchanged hesitant smiles. Tomorrow was always a difficult day, but they attempted to make it a happy one.

I won’t be happy until I know what happened to Malcolm.





7


Rowan, twenty-five years ago

“He’s coming,” whispered Malcolm. “I heard the door slam.”

Rowan darted into her corner of the shed as Malcolm squatted in his. She could barely see an outline of her brother in the dim light. The shed didn’t have any electricity. The only light came in through two windows that had been nailed shut. On the outside they were covered with chicken wire.

Malcolm had talked about breaking one of the windows to escape, but Rowan had begged him not to. If they couldn’t get past the chicken wire, the man would be furious when he saw the broken glass.

They never wanted to make him angry.

But no matter how well they behaved, he was angry every day.

Rowan shivered as she wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them tight to her chest. During the day the shed was stifling and hot from the summer sun beating on its roof, but at night she was cold no matter how close Malcolm hugged her as they tried to sleep. Her brother had asked for blankets but been told they didn’t deserve blankets.

It made no sense to Rowan.

She wasn’t bad. And neither was Malcolm. But the man told them over and over how bad they were.

Am I wrong?

“In the corners!” yelled the voice outside the shed.

The kids had learned to retreat to their corners and not say a word. On the second day, Malcolm had told him that they were in place, and it’d sent the man into a rage. So now they waited silently.

Squeaking and clanging noises sounded as he unlocked the door. Rowan covered her eyes even though she hadn’t been ordered to yet. She lived in terror of accidentally seeing his face. At first she’d been curious to see the man who’d locked them in his shed. Now she believed he’d whip her if she saw him. She screwed her eyes shut tighter and hid her face in her knees.

A soft sound told her he’d tossed in the blindfolds, and the door slammed again. “Get them on. I’m counting to twenty.”

They both darted to pick up the blindfolds. Her heart racing, Rowan held hers to her eyes and turned her back to Malcolm. She couldn’t tie it herself. His fingers fumbled with the length.

“. . . eight, nine . . .”

It finally tightened around her head, and she touched it around her eyes, making sure there was no place for light to creep in. And then crawled back to her corner, feeling her way across the concrete.

“. . . fifteen, sixteen . . .”

“Did you get yours on?” she whispered, worrying her heart was beating so loud the man would hear it.

“Almost.” Malcolm’s voice was panicked.

“. . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty! Face your corners.”

Rowan was in place and prayed Malcolm was too. The door swung open, and a tiny bit of light crept under her blindfold. She gasped and squeezed her eyes as shut as possible.

“What the hell, boy! I gave you a full twenty seconds!”

Malcolm didn’t get his on in time because he had to help me.

Rowan put her hands over her ears, guilt and fear freezing her in place. She flinched at the slaps sounding across the shed.

“Get it on!” The slaps continued.

She imagined her brother trying to tie the blindfold while being hit in the face.

“Tighter!”

Rowan held her breath.

“There. See? That wasn’t hard.” The man’s voice was suddenly kind. “You’ll do better next time, right?”

“Yes, sir,” said Malcolm.

“You have to be punished now because you failed, you understand?” His tone was encouraging.

No! It wasn’t his fault.

“Yes, sir,” repeated Malcolm.

“Go over to your sister.”

Rowan sat with her legs crossed, facing her corner and hunched over.