so?’ her mother huffed. ‘You know where your father keeps his tools – kept his tools,’ she corrected herself a little angrily. ‘And what on earth do you need a hammer for anyway?’
Evie was already halfway down the basement steps. ‘Um, there’s a floorboard that’s come loose in my room.’
‘I can get Joe to fix that,’ her mother shouted down to her. ‘There’s no need for you to go hurting yourself with a hammer.’
‘I’m not going to hurt myself,’ Evie answered, her gaze running anxiously over the tools hanging from nails along two walls. Her hearing was still tuned to the outside. But she could no longer hear anything. The tugging on her sternum had lessened too.
‘Suit yourself,’ her mother sighed loudly before marching off.
Evie jumped onto a wooden crate and quickly lifted down her father’s hunting rifle from where it hung above the door. It had been rusting up there until a few months back, but after Caleb had come looking for her that time, Evie had taken it down and cleaned it, scrubbing the rust spots off the barrel, oiling the firing mechanism and learning how to load it one-handed in the dark. Now it was pristine. Already locked and loaded. She hefted the gun to her shoulder and headed for the basement door, pocketing some spare shells from the drawer on her way.
Once outside she crouched down in the shadows of the stairwell, letting her eyes and senses adjust to the dark. There. She caught the faint pull again, as though a fine strand of thread attached to her clothing was snagged on a thorn bush. She jumped to her feet. If it was Victor she needed to be fast. He was stronger than her, but she knew she was faster. He was also a bigger target, so if she could slip through the trees and track him, she might be able to take a shot.
She sprang up the stairs and darted towards the tree line, crouching low. Her breathing was coming quick and fast. He’d pick up on that. She tried to rein it in, not wanting to show anything he could misconstrue as fear. Her feet were crackling through the piles of leaves despite her efforts to move silently. Evie paused, pressing her back against the rough bark of a tree. She closed her eyes and willed her instincts to take over.
She caught the scent of him first. Something musky and, overlaid with it, something floral. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She frowned, listening harder. There was a crunch, a heavy footfall, and what sounded distinctly like a sigh. Evie’s eyes flashed open. She swung out from behind the tree, the rifle at her shoulder and her finger already pressing down on the trigger.
Chapter 9
‘Don’t shoot!’ a male voice shouted.
‘Jesus, what are you doing?’ someone else yelled. ‘It’s us!’
Evie lowered the rifle slowly. Ash stepped forward out of the shadows, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender.
‘It’s only us,’ he repeated, as Vero appeared scowling behind him.
‘You couldn’t just ring the doorbell?’ Evie asked, her heart hammering wildly. ‘I almost killed you.’
‘We didn’t realise you’d be armed,’ muttered Ash, frowning at the rifle.
‘Well, what are you doing sneaking around my orchard in the dark? Who does that?’ Evie asked, anger taking over now the adrenaline was draining away.
Ash took a small step forward, bringing his arms slowly to his sides. Evie saw that he was moving fine, as fluidly as ever – with no trace of the injury he’d sustained in the fight at the Bradbury two months back.
‘We needed to talk to you,’ he said, ‘and Vero figured showing up at your front door might not be such a good idea. What with your mum being home.’
Evie studied him closely for a second, her eyes flitting to Vero before returning to settle on Ash.
‘What do you want to talk to me about?’ she asked, already feeling pangs of unease.
Ash paused, his dark brown eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
Evie shrugged in answer.
Ash nodded as though he understood what that little gesture meant. ‘Any news of Victor?’ he asked. ‘Has he been back here?’
‘No,’ Evie answered. ‘But I’m going to find him.’
Ash shot her a questioning look, but then he nodded once again. He understood the need for revenge. It was the one thing they all had in common, other than grief. Cyrus had once claimed that revenge was what made the world go round.