“Show us mercy.” Witchety had her eyes closed. Margot’s attention was torn between the ritual and watching the ground ahead, fearful that Witchety might misstep and break an ankle on the rocky earth. The woman coughed, the noise dragging through her chest like a rasp, before continuing. “Turn your anger from us. Let us have peace.”

Kant, following behind both of them, walked with his head down. Whether he was in quiet contemplation or simply tired, Margot couldn’t tell.

Strands of pure-white hair had come free from Witchety’s braid. They coursed behind her like gossamer pulled by the earthy, pollen-laden wind. A trickle of the blessed water ran down her thumb and formed a drip at her wrist.

“We mourn for your bones, lost in this earth. We wish only peace for you.”

Kant said the convicteds’ bodies may have been buried on the land. The realization hit Margot: if the remains had never been recovered, they would still be here somewhere. She might have walked over the unmarked graves without ever knowing. She might be walking over them right at that moment.

Marsh’s low panting blended in with Witchety’s labored breaths. She’d been sick only recently, Margot remembered. Pneumonia, she had said at the reception. Margot probably shouldn’t have let her perform the blessing. At the very least, she should have deferred it.

But then, Kant hadn’t told her to come back another day. He must have believed she was well enough for the visit. And he knew Witchety better than Margot could presume to.

“Show us mercy. Slumber another night.”

They had reached the property’s corner. Witchety stopped, flexing her shoulders back to loosen them. In the closest patch of trees, small birds bickered and then fell silent. Margot thought, unexpectedly, that the land was quieter than it should be. No insects hummed. No sounds came from the distant gathering of buildings. They had been walking alongside the road for close to ten minutes, but not a single car had passed in that time.

Witchety abruptly turned toward Margot. “Do you still have the Watcher?”

“The, uh…?”

“Big statue. Deer skull.” Witchety placed her spread hands above her own head, miming the shape. “You can’t miss it.”

“Oh. The effigy. Yes, that’s, uh, in the house.”

“Good.” Witchety shook the talisman in her hand, and the bells and pieces of metal clattered together. “Keep it close by. I made it for your parents years ago. It will ward away bad things.”

I should have guessed. The talisman Witchety carried—made of bones and metal and scraps of nature—was like a little sibling to the hideous monster in Margot’s home.