Margot snapped up, surprised, her mind flicking back to the dog door in her home. “My parents…?”

“Always loved goldens. They had a girl, Clementine, when you were little. Gave me one of the puppies way back, and a few generations later, we have Marsh.”

Her mind turned to her scars. They couldn’t have been from the family pet, surely? Especially not if Clementine had been as friendly as Marsh. Margot buried her fingers into the thicker fur around his neck and kissed the top of his head. His breath wafted over her face, wet and sweltering with the scent of saliva and dog food, and Margot smiled despite herself.

“Witchety comes around once a fortnight to perform a blessing on the land,” Kant said. “I thought you might like to continue the tradition, so I didn’t cancel her.”

A blessing?

Kant had seemed so comfortable around every part of the estate that Margot found it impossible to imagine him thinking that was necessary. He’d told Margot the place’s history unflinchingly. Not even the barrels made from the hanging tree had fazed him.

But of course, Kant wouldn’t have been the one to hire Witchety. That would have been her parents. Maybe Margot’s superstitious streak had been inherited. Maybe they, like Margot herself, had felt deeply uncomfortable about the property’s past.

“We pay her for her work,” Kant added, “but you wouldn’t need to worry about that. It’s a business expense.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t imagine what kind of gymnastics Andrew had to pull to make a blessing against evil tax deductible.

Then Margot’s mind flashed to a different angle. Witchety was old. At least eighty. Her clothes, while not dirty, were worn to the point of growing thin in places. Her hands appeared arthritic. Even the shawl looked to have been mended many times over.

Maybe Margot’s parents hadn’t actually been nervous about the land. Maybe, instead, this was their form of kindness. A way to give some money to a widow who would have been embarrassed to accept charity. The property’s reputation simply gave them an easy excuse to hire her services.

If that was the case, Margot wasn’t going to turn her away. “Of course. I’d love you to continue, please.”

“Smart girl,” Witchety said. “It’s bad land. A lot of suffering bled into this soil. You’ve got to do everything you can to keep the evil at bay.”

Margot glanced at Kant, but he didn’t return the look.

“Would you mind if I came along, or do you prefer to work alone?” Margot asked.

“I’m not alone. Not as long as I have Marsh with me.” Witchety’s smile was brief and crooked. “I’ll never turn down some extra company, mind.”