fixed upon me without fail.
I knew at once this was the girl we had spotted under the ash tree back at Dr. Steevens’ Hospital.
“Who are you?” I inquired, hoping my voice did not betray the unsettling feeling that had crept over me. Her gaze triggered some deep instinct within me, one that told me to run. As I think back on this encounter now, it makes me think of a cat watching a mouse, a beast studying its prey.
“Why did you disturb my father’s grave?” Her words carried across the street, her voice melodic.
“Your father?” I made the connection then, my mind returning to those newspaper articles of so long ago. “You are Maggie O’Cuiv?”
The girl said nothing, her dark eyes locked on me. I ventured a step towards her, but as I neared she withdrew an equal distance away. It was not her feet that carried her, though; I did not see them move at all. She simply drifted back, as if riding a carpet of air. I could not help but gasp at the spectacle, and this girl found humor in my reaction, her lips curling upwards in a grin. Her now exposed teeth were quite white, unnaturally so. Her skin struck me as odd, too—deathly pale and stamped with tiny veins. Her cheeks, flushed with color when first I spied her, now appeared to be fading.
My thoughts returned to the missing driver. Could this girl somehow be responsible? Nonsense, of course. He probably outweighed even Bram, and she was a slight little thing, but there was something about her, something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Your father is not in his grave, Maggie. Do you know why?”
At this, her grin grew wider. “Perhaps he is standing behind you?”
To say such a devilish thing, I know she only wanted to get a rise out of me. I refused to turn and look behind me; I would not give her that satisfaction.
“Perhaps he is standing directly behind you ready to drain the lifeblood from your pretty little body.” As she had floated away from me a moment earlier, she now floated nearer, drawing within a few feet of me. Only the slight ruffle of her cloak betrayed any motion, her person remaining perfectly still. The air around us grew silent. I could not hear the sounds of the city nor the creatures of the night, not even a single cricket.
At this distance, I found her eyes, so sharp and hungry, to be haunting. I wanted to turn away from her but discovered I could not. I could do nothing but stare back.
“My father would like you,” she said, her voice but a whisper. “He has always liked girls like you.”
“Where is Ellen Crone?” I forced the words out, unwilling to let my voice betray my fear. If she recognized your name, her face did not indicate so; she remained perfectly still. I tried not to think about the things I took from Patrick O’Cuiv’s grave. Something told me that if I did think of them, this girl would know. She would pluck the thoughts right out of my head and take these items from the coach, and I would be unable to stop her. So when thoughts of these items tried to enter my mind, I pushed them aside and instead focused on Bram, my brother, my loving brother. I shouted his name then. My voice echoing off the black walls of night. I shouted it so loud a murder of crows flew from the trees around us and batted off into the darkness.
This girl, this thing that was Maggie O’Cuiv, drifted back again, but only a bit, still floating out of reach. At the sight of this, my hand went to my chest and pressed against the silver cross I wore around my neck. The icy metal stung my chest, and I welcomed the cooling embrace, finding it comforting. My subconscious told me to run, to bound back over the fence and race through the door of the church and stay there until daylight won the battle for the sky, but instead I did not move, my feet remaining firm.
At this point, I spotted Bram. He rounded