MAE WISHED SHE WAS IN a dream. She stared down at the walnut casket and then shut her eyes so tight there were bursts of color under her lids.
When she opened them, Sonny had his fists welded together as if praying hard enough to hurt. He’d stayed out all night again, showing up at the house just before the burial. Elle stood next to him, her blond streaks swept back, her chin held high and firm.
Watching her sister and her dad fight off tears was easier than looking at the casket, or thinking about what she’d tried with Cage in this very place, or remembering what she’d found afterward. Fern’s whisper had been trailing her, haunting her. Initiation, she’d said in the truck. Mae had stayed up all night reading the green book, and that was when she found it—that single, incriminating line.
More of Ro’s handwriting, next to a sketch of Blue Gate’s woods. That single line had felt like a barb as she read it.
Initiated Lance on his sixteenth, as declared here. Vow of silence undertaken.
—RC.
Mae had stared at it for what seemed like an hour, trying to shake off her jealousy. Ro had chosen Lance over everyone—her and Elle and Cage, and even their granddad, who’d wanted the book kept a secret. It felt like a betrayal. And Lance had deceived her too, he’d let her believe that he was kindhearted when really he was a liar. He’d known what the green book was all along. She could only guess what else he’d lied about.
All of it felt worse today, and she didn’t want to think about why she was at the cemetery again, so she shut her eyes and thought of that Easter long ago, when she’d followed Ro into the woods. She knew now what Ro had been doing that day—but just before their granddad caught her, someone else had yelled from the trees. Someone else had been there with Ro.
She drew in a sharp breath, the memory taking shape, Ro’s black door bursting open.
Lance. It was Lance.
Mae dug her fingernails into her palms and glanced at Childers, standing solemn beside her dad. Even with his head bowed he loomed over everyone, his big hands folded in front of him. He’d said that one of his foals had gone missing that morning, that Lance was coming to the cemetery with Fern after he checked the fences. Mae dug her nails deeper, the pain helping her focus. If Lance showed his face here, she’d confront him. She wasn’t nervous anymore, she was hungry for it. She wanted him to show up like he was supposed to; she wanted answers.
“See that?” Childers mumbled to her dad.
Sonny turned his head, staring off at the woods. Mae’s heart sped up and she scanned the trees past the fence. Was it Cage?
Beside her, Childers was whispering to Sonny, and her dad’s jaw clenched as he looked back at the casket. Mae followed his gaze, the pastor’s voice like a tide at her ears. The words she’d heard before, at her sister’s funeral, came back. “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
Elle mouthed along, reading from the program they’d put together, and Mae felt her fingers twitch. She should paint the burial later, preserve every detail. She should focus on her granddad—this moment, before it slipped by—except her mind was veering out of control, her thoughts wild.
Lance should be here by now, but he wasn’t the only one missing.
She lifted her eyes past the casket and searched the woods again. All she saw were trees and the darkening sky. Everything had gotten away from her, yanked out of reach. Cage should have met her at the barn this morning. He hadn’t shown, probably because of what she’d said to him. Life was too short to stay quiet, she knew that now. So she’d done it—she’d told him how she felt, that she didn’t want him to leave—but it was just one more thing that had gone wrong. She hadn’t been able to fix anything. She didn’t have a truth about Ro that her dad would believe, and the anniversary of her death was today, which meant she was never coming back. And Mae had been so wrapped up in the green book that she’d let her granddad die alone. She kept playing it out in her mind: How he’d waved to her from the window, wanting her to come up and see him. How she’d ignored him, thinking she could do it later. That was the thing about life—people always assumed there’d be more time. More time to say hello, more time to say I love you. More time to say I’m sorry. Until there wasn’t. Now he was shut inside the casket, his freckled hands across his chest, his cane beside him. She stared at the headstones, the lightning tree, the scattered clouds at the horizon. Anywhere except the casket.
A warm breeze was in the air, but she shivered. She squinted at the pastor, who was saying how Grady Deacon Cole VI was the last of his name, a legacy that began over a hundred years ago on this very land. The clouds were darker now, and the pastor kept glancing overhead, as if praying it wouldn’t rain. Or maybe he was imagining the upward path of the soul, since no one could say for sure what happened when someone died. Were all thoughts extinguished at the moment of death, or did a person’s memories, feelings, all their dreams, continue to roam the world? Maybe those closest to the dead inherited their desires—like a hand-me-down sweatshirt, an old red car, a ring, a book, a lover.
The pastor raised his hands. “Grant unto him eternal rest,” he boomed.
“And let perpetual light shine upon him.” Elle’s voice was loud and fast as she read the response, and Mae glanced down at the program again. The cover had a photo of her granddad as a young man, his blond hair and pale blue eyes shaded by a hat, a little twitch at his mouth like he was trying not to smile. Inside was the passage her dad had picked—“Requiem,” a Stevenson poem he said was her granddad’s favorite.
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
He must have taught it to Ro, since she’d recite part of it every time she saw Cage. She could see her sister now, a thumb hooked into her pocket as she leaned against the porch, one long leg bent at the knee, foot resting on opposite shin, flamingo-style, that grin as Cage walked up the drive.
This be the verse you ’grave for me:
“Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.”
Here he lies where he longed to be. It reminded Mae of what her granddad had written in his letter—to let him rest. Her chest was aching. The coffin lurched on its ropes and her dad stepped forward, his hand raised.
“Now hold up just a minute.”
Mae turned toward him. The pastor kept his face composed, but Elle and Childers looked as shocked as she was.
“I brought something,” Sonny continued. He stepped to the edge of the plot and grabbed the memory drawer in the lid of the casket. It creaked on its rails as he slid it open. “His Bible,” he said. “He never goes anywhere without it.” He pulled it out from his suit pocket.
Mae’s breath caught and she stepped forward without thinking. His Bible. The one always by his side. The one that’d been on his lap when she’d found him in the attic, the letter clutched in his hand. The answers you seek can be found in King James.
She touched her dad’s elbow and his face flashed with surprise. She caught the scent of whiskey, it was coming off him in waves.
“May I keep it instead?” she asked, loud enough that he wouldn’t be able to ignore her. She could see Elle tense up beside Childers, probably worried Sonny would lose his temper, but she had to know for sure if this was the Bible her granddad meant. “To remember him by,” she added. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d asked her dad for anything, and she had no idea what he’d do.
For a long moment it seemed like everyone was holding their breath. Her dad was looking at her with confusion in his eyes, Elle’s mouth was open just a little, and Childers had his head down, embarrassed for the both of them. The pastor stared at the casket politely, a peaceful expression on his face.
Mae could hardly swallow she was so nervous. She needed that Bible. If her dad refused her, then she’d never know for sure. The answers might be buried with her granddad.
“Well…” Sonny cleared his throat. “You always did take care of him, Mae.” Her heart lifted, but he set the King James in the drawer and pushed it shut. “I just think it belongs here.”
And then the words were out of her mouth and she didn’t want to stop them. “I told you I’d like it,” she said firmly. “It’s important to me.”
Before he could protest, she reached into the drawer and pulled out the Bible. Pressing it to her chest, she turned, expecting her dad to yell as she stepped back from the casket. But Sonny only looked at her with raised eyebrows and nodded. “All right,” he said. There was a hint of a smile on his face. “He’d like that.”
Mae felt a swell of gratitude, her eyes flooding as the coffin lurched again and began to lower. This time there were no protests and no one called out, even though she wanted to with all her heart. She imagined her granddad squeezing her hand, imagined hearing his cane through the hallways when they got home: tap tap, tap tap. Her eyes felt hot, and when she opened them again the pastor was walking away.
Childers grimaced as he set some flowers by the grave. After he stepped back, Mae heard him whispering into the two-way radio he wore at his hip. There was the sound of a car door slamming, an engine firing up. The burial was over.
“Almost ready,” Sonny said to Childers. He lit a cigarette. “You girls doing okay?” His speech slurred, running together, and he swayed closer to them, reeking of smoke. “Let’s say our goodbyes and go.”
Elle nodded, and Mae remembered the bundle of pink lantanas she’d brought. She took them out of her bag and bent down next to her granddad’s grave. When she looked up, she glimpsed movement at the edge of the trees.
A shadow. Someone was crouched behind a nearby bush.
She waited, holding still. It was Cage, it had to be. He’d finally come to say goodbye. She stayed kneeling, her legs going watery. Her granddad’s Bible was still in her hand, but she couldn’t look at it yet, not here. Her palms felt sweaty and cold at the same time.
Sonny nodded toward the grave and then walked a few paces away, stopping next to Childers. “Find out who it was last night?” she heard him ask. “And Fern,” he said, stomping out his cigarette and lighting up another one, “what was that all about?”
Mae scrambled to her feet, didn’t risk glancing toward the trees again.
“Just crying wolf.” Childers let out a sigh as the radio on his belt crackled. “If it was him last night like Lance thought, we’ll get him.”
Mae’s stomach tensed. If Cage had almost been caught by Childers and Lance, then—
“Get who?” Elle asked, lowering the phone she’d been using as a mirror.
Both men turned to her. The knot in Mae’s stomach twisted tighter. Fern had said she knew secrets, so maybe she knew about Cage too. And now she wasn’t here, and neither was Lance.
Sonny shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly. “You two ride with us to the house.”
“But I’ve got my car here.” Elle gave him a pointed look. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”
“Later, if there’s something worth telling.” He ground out his cigarette slowly, like he was thinking. “Drive back with Mae, but go straight home.”
Elle was already heading toward the parking lot. “Fine,” she huffed. Mae had no choice but to follow her. It had to be Cage she’d seen in the woods, watching them. Surely he knew to keep his distance right now. Her granddad’s Bible nearly slipped from her hands and she wiped her palms on her shirt and then got into the car.
It was warm inside, the air thick, pooling like stagnant water. Mae rolled down the window, took in a breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Elle fiddling with her phone. “I’ve got a bar,” she said, staring at the screen. “Give me a minute.”
Ahead, their dad’s truck shot off down the road, fishtailing and sending up dust, Childers’s dog tied up in the back. Mae turned away from Elle and opened the Bible. Genesis stared back at her. In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.
No, no, no. She needed it to be something more. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but it wasn’t this. She slammed the book shut and then stifled a gasp. Just past the opening section were a series of yellowed pages, the gilding on the edge stripped away. Her pulse quickened as she flipped to that section. Instead of print, there was handwriting.
She stared at the pages, her heart skidding in her chest. It was the missing part of the green book. Her granddad had sewn it into the spine of his King James.
She glanced over at Elle. Her phone was pressed to her ear, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel as a number rang. Mae looked back at the hidden section in the Bible. January 1860 was written on the page she’d turned to. It seemed like a journal; each entry was dated. She scanned the writing, faster now, but there were only the entries—no rituals—so she turned all the way back to the beginning. To the page she’d missed a moment ago. The page directly after Genesis.
Chana 4 chana, it said at the top. Her heart leaped into her throat. Chana. The word she’d seen everywhere—in the house, on the ring, in the ritual, and now in this hidden part of the book.
Right below the phrase was a sketch she recognized. It resembled the one in the attic tunnel, only it was slightly different this time. A transparent woman in a dress was rising toward the moon. She was hovering over the ground where another figure stood, this one darker, more solid, alive. And next to this figure was someone else, someone who hadn’t been part of the drawing in the tunnel. It was a third woman, only she was lying on the ground, like she was sleeping or—
The car engine revved up, startling Mae. Hot air blew out of the vents and she coughed and slid the Bible to her side so her sister wouldn’t see it.
“I know what you’re doing,” Elle said as she pulled away. Mae eyed her warily; she didn’t know what to say. “You’re never around anymore,” her sister accused, glaring out the windshield. The iron gate was behind them, the dirt road winding into the trees ahead. “You’re keeping things from me.”
Mae didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t tell the truth either. “Is that why you’ve been distant lately?” she asked, stalling.
“I’ve been distant?” Elle asked. “I’ve been distant? I don’t believe this.” She shook her head. “No, I’ve been mad. Because you’ve been distant.”
Mae knew she should explain, but now wasn’t the time. “It’s going to rain,” she said instead. “Looks like a sto—”
A shadow leaped in front of the car and Elle shrieked, swerving and hitting the brakes all at once. There was a loud crack and the sound of metal crumpling as something dark swung up onto the hood with a force. Mae pitched forward, the belt searing her waist as the windshield smashed in, spraying glass. A black hoof came right at her face, barely missing her head.
The car rocked to a stop and the deer fell forward, sliding off the hood to the ground. For a moment there was silence, both of them staring in shock, and then Mae’s breath was back and she could move—her hands were fumbling with her seat belt.
“Is it? Did I…?” Elle started. She was rigid in her seat, looking at the broken windshield and the smear of blood. There were small scratches across her cheeks and forehead, but otherwise she seemed fine.
Mae threw open the door and ran around the car. She knelt down beside the deer, taking its head in her hands, watching its lungs going fast as it panted, a shard of glass in its neck. Its heartbeat thudded against her, echoed inside her, fainter and fainter.
“Mae?” It was Elle, her hand was on Mae’s shoulder. “Is it dead?”
The deer was warm and heavy and trembling, and Mae couldn’t move. Part of her wanted to shut everything away behind the black door in her mind, keep the pain at bay, but that wouldn’t stop the deer from dying. The clouds threw shadows over the blood on the ground and she felt a thrumming in her body, a tingling down her neck that told her to look closer. She remembered touching Ro’s body when Lance had carried her to the house. That brief moment of hope when she thought she was only asleep in his arms. But Ro’s hair had been wet, the water running in rivulets—in blood-red ribbons down her back. And now this animal was bleeding, the life seeping out of it. It looked like the deer in the cemetery last night, the one that had appeared after the ritual. The same deer she’d almost thought was Ro…
“Did I kill it?” Elle asked.
Mae didn’t answer. This was the deer that she’d thought was Ro—she’d mistaken it for her sister, raised from the dead. Somehow, that was important. She thought of the shrine with the four animals in the pantry, that phrase scrawled on the floor. Chana 4 Chana. The same phrase had been written in the book, next to a row of equivalents. RC = AC, J = E, H = GCI.
Her mind was racing. They were initials, maybe? RC could stand for Rose Cole, except she didn’t know who AC was. But GCI, that could be Grady Cole I, and H could stand for Hanna. Grady Cole I equals Hanna? The answer evaded her, swirling in her head like smoke and dissipating, and she thought of the engraving on the ring. Your chana is my life. Her heart was going fast now, she felt like she might faint. She heard Elle calling her name, but she sounded far away.
Mae looked into the deer’s dark eye and thought of the sketch in King James. The ghost rising up toward the moon, and the two women below it. One of them standing, one of them lying on the ground. Her arms tightened around the deer. When she’d first seen the charcoal sketch in the tunnel, she’d thought the figure that was floating was the one being raised, but maybe the ghostly woman was coming down, entering a body again. The answers you seek can be found in King James. The ghost was forming into flesh, while another body bled out on the ground.
Mae sucked in a breath. That was why the ritual hadn’t worked last night. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember everything Cage had recited. Then save the most brutal for last: chana for a life, since all should be equal.
She hadn’t known what it meant. That word—chana—that was the missing piece. Chana 4 chana. A woman alive, a woman dead and bleeding. Human life for human life.
The deer’s blood was slick in her hands and she stared at the shard of glass in its neck. That was why her granddad had split the green book in two. He knew, when Ro inherited the book, that she’d be suspicious if the raising ritual wasn’t in it. He knew she’d remember it from when she’d stolen the book as a child. He hadn’t wanted her to try it again, not in its entirety—so he’d halved the book and halved the ritual, rendering it harmless. Except Ro and Lance had remembered it anyway, her sister hiding a copy under the gift cherub. Mae could see it all unfolding, all of the grisly colors interweaving, all of the things her granddad had been afraid of.
She gently set the deer’s head on the ground as Elle hovered, her phone out. “Why won’t you get up, Mae? What should we do with it?” Her sister crouched down and grabbed her shoulders. “You’re in shock, aren’t you? You’re all covered in blood.” And then Mae thought of Lance, how Ro had initiated him. He’d always followed Ro around, did everything she did, hung on her every word. He’d do anything to have her back, but he’d need a human life. He’d need—
Fern.
Fern had said that Lance’s secret would come true today on the beach. The day of Ro’s anniversary. The last day to bring her back.
Mae’s heart seized. If Lance knew the ritual, he wouldn’t give up. He’d tried it before, she was certain now. But his earlier rituals had been powerless because he hadn’t known what chana meant. Maybe he’d finally figured it out, just like she had. Lance, the initiate. Lance, who was in love with Ro—who’d do anything for her. He’d said so himself.
And then Mae could move and she scrambled to her feet, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Elle, hand me that.” Her sister glanced down at the deer, and when she did Mae tugged away the phone. “I’ll meet you back at the house,” she said, and then turned and started sprinting.
“Hey!” Elle called out. “Where are you going? Dad wants us home; we’ve got to—”
But there wasn’t time to fill her in, not now, so Mae kept running into the woods, heading toward the beach. Her ears were ringing, and all around her the leaves seemed to flutter in the wind so that everything had a green shine to it, a blurry green shine as she ran. The back of her neck was tingling and she felt cold, a chill was all through her, and she knew she had to hurry. Fern was in danger.
Then, just ahead, there he was—stepping out from behind a tree.