“Not if they’re dead,” Vera rebutted.

“We all have a purpose.” Mary’s voice was melodic, her eyes raised to the cloudy skies. Hadn’t it been sunny a moment ago? A seagull screeched above them, shooting off the roof toward a flock of four others. There was no perfect V, no graceful synchronization; the birds careened off one another, swarming and flapping in chaos above the house, cries overlapping, staccato trills echoing off the asphalt. “We all have our own winding paths. We were chosen to spread His word. And you. Oh, Vera, your moment is coming!”

“I…I have nothing to do with this,” Vera stammered. And for the first time, Max heard fear in her voice. He stepped close enough that his shoulder butted hers. He might not be able to protect his demonically ravaged mother, but he could protect this human girl from human monsters.

“You don’t understand, but you will. All these years, all our offerings. The spirit finally walks among us.” The woman’s ugly floral sleeves flapped like wings, her eyes empty as grommets as they turned to Max. “Your mother chose this. Don’t you see? She was in so much pain, but now that’s over. She is the supreme offering. And you, Vera!” Her thin lips pulled into a sinister grin. “Our great healer is coming for you next!” She pointed a wrinkled finger, her nail sharpened to a point as her face burst with hysterical excitement.

Vera slinked behind Max.

“It is time to join us!” Anatole called, spit splashing from his lips.

“Oh, Vera, I wish I could be there when it happens,” the woman cried. “You’re going to be so beautiful! It wants you! It wants you!”

“Let’s go.” Max grabbed Vera’s quivering arm and tugged her to the truck. She stumbled behind, wordlessly.

“Yes, go! Go!” the woman cried. “The hour is near!”

Max guided her robotic figure into the passenger seat with a bloody hand, grateful she always wore black, and spied a random hard hat tumbling onto the floor. Where is that from?

Vera sat, unblinking, mouth hanging open as the Durands cackled on the street behind them. Max threw the stick into Drive, stomped on the gas, then blew through a stop sign.

“I smashed the chalices,” he blurted, waiting for a response. She didn’t twitch. “Not all of them, but most of them. Vera, can you hear me? What should we do? Go to your house? My house? The rally? Vera!”

She remained a statue, her skin ash-white.

She said nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Vera

Vera could see her hands shaking. She sat in Maxwell’s truck as he drove, probably too fast, and watched as her fingers batted in time with hummingbird wings. Wow, look at them go!

“Vera, are you okay?” he asked.

Blood roared in her ears. He sounded underwater. Veeeera, aaaarrrre yooooou ooookaaay?

Silly. They weren’t in water. They were on dry land. How did her ears do that? Or was it his mouth?

Her seat belt locked, digging into her collarbone as the truck jerked to a halt beneath a hulking tree on Elm Street. Huh, Elm Street. Perfect for nightmares.