“‘I see her, frailblood,’ Laure whispered. ‘That sweet daughter of Lorson, floating beside thee like a shadow. I smell her, dripping like blood from thy guilty hands. If thou hadst but been there, ye might have protected her. If thou hadst but gone with her into the woods that day as she asked thee, thy sister Amélie might still be alive.’ “Laure’s eyes bored into mine, and her voice was a knife in my chest. “‘Instead, she met me.’
Shut the front door
