Before she even knew she was moving, Heather had crossed the short space between them and thrown herself at the stranger’s back. They collided and fell together with an oof, crashing into the leaves and mud with more force than Heather realized she was capable of.

“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”

The figure scrambled, trying to buck her off violently, but Heather drove her knee into its back, and they slumped into the dirt again. Grabbing the coat by the shoulder, she yanked the mysterious figure around to face her, bringing her knife up to the throat.

Lillian glared back at her, with her teeth bared.

Heather blinked, her hand growing loose around the knife. She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing; it was her mother’s neighbor, except it wasn’t. There were more lines on her long face, and there was a deep scar on one cheek, white and puckered-looking in the gloom.

“Lillian?”

The woman underneath her grinned, her body going slack. She looked, abruptly, unhinged.

“God, look at you,” she spat. “Exactly as much of an idiot as the rest of your pathetic family.”

“What?”

Taking advantage of Heather’s surprise, the woman shook her off and scrambled to her feet. The hood fell back, and Heather saw that her hair was a shade darker than Lillian’s, and her face was a subtly different shape; the nose a little longer, the jaw a little narrower. She stood up, the knife back at her waist.

“Who are you?”

The woman shook her head in disgust. “My sister did say you were weak minded. So easy to manipulate. You’re asking all the wrong questions, Heather Reave.”

“Shut up!” Heather brought the knife up, the moonlight flashing along the blade. “What do you know about that?”

“Make up your mind.” The woman grinned again, dots of spittle on her lips glinting wetly. “Do I shut up or explain everything?” Before Heather could reply, she continued. “You don’t have time, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

The woman who was not Lillian nodded back toward the cottage. “Go inside and find out. Don’t call the police or go running off to get help—I can tell you now that your friend doesn’t have time for nonsense like that.”

“Where the fuck is Nikki?” For a dangerous second, the edges of Heather’s vision turned dark. She sucked in a breath and clenched her fist around the handle of the knife. Her knuckles were turning white. “What the fuck have you done?”

The woman stepped backwards. “Always the wrong questions. It’s not what I’ve done that you need to worry about. I—”

“Where is she?”

“Oh, you know where she is. I practically told you, you fool. He’s waiting for you. Hurry up now, little wolf.”

With that she dashed back into the tree line. Heather jerked, her whole body singing with the need to go after her, but …

“Nikki.”

She crashed back through the cottage door, wanting more than anything to see her friend standing in the kitchen, yawning in her pajamas and complaining about the noise, but the place was dark and silent.