by Mia Sheridan
Kandace moved her mind away from what was being done to that baby girl right that moment. Kandace’s gaze stopped on two scrawled words under Dr. Woodrow’s notes: signs of sin.
Sin? Who did that refer to? The mother or the infant? And either way, really? A doctor, a so-called medical professional, diagnosing sin? A deep shiver moved down her spine.
Kandace closed the file and opened the next one, noting the photo of the blonde and turning the page. Pregnant. Adoption facilitated by Lilith House. Dr. Bill Woodrow again making note of: signs of sin. Signs of sin. Signs of sin? What was this? Kandace flipped back to the photo of the girl, the blonde from Mason, Ohio, thinking of her boy. Sin? The fact that he had different colored eyes? All three of them had been deemed sinful, unadoptable, for some physical quality none of them could control and relegated to the basement of Lilith House for it? Why hadn’t they simply killed them? Was it because they weren’t quite throwaways, not quite, just like the girls of Lilith House who served a purpose despite their sinful natures?
God, what had it been like for them? To be openly pregnant at Lilith House? To give birth there and then not be sent home, perhaps because your own family still didn’t want you? Still thought you needed “redemption”? Had they been trotted out—or maybe strung up just like her—in front of the other students? Used as examples? Of course they were.
Sickness overwhelmed her. She had no adequate word for the evil story these folders told.
A small squeak sounded outside the door and Kandace’s breath stalled as she froze, waiting to hear the doorknob rattle. It didn’t. She let out her breath. She needed to get out of there.
Kandace glanced back at the open drawer. She couldn’t put these back inside. She needed them. They were her proof. She’d take them to the authorities, to the girls themselves if she could find them, the girls who likely believed their children were with loving families.
She began to stuff them under her nightgown, but hesitated. Before she left this room, she had to know what was in them. If she was caught on the way back to bed, if they were taken, the information had to be in her brain where no one could touch it.
Trembling now because she’d spent too long as it was, she quickly opened the folders and looked at the final pages. All featured a similar police report signed by Sheriff Carson.
Though Camden’s mother had arrived—and given birth—a year before the others got there, the girls had all run away from Lilith House together. What the hell? Kandace scanned the lines, skipping some and reading others. There was a search, it was feared they’d been injured or they’d met with foul play. It was short and concise. The search had gone on for three days and then the case had been closed. Apparently, no one had put too much effort into finding three previously drug-addicted screwups who had shown up pregnant, signed their babies away—product of sin that they were—and then hit the road.
A small bump came from within and Kandace brought her hand to her belly. A certainty fell over her. If she revealed this pregnancy—no. A streak of protectiveness shimmered through her. Yes, there was more than just herself to consider.
She had to escape. She had to take these folders and leave Lilith House the second she could.
Kandace stood quickly, gathering the folders. She turned and closed the file cabinet drawer, re-engaging the lock at the top. Then she removed the chair from beneath the door handle, placing it back where it’d been. She tucked the folders in the back of her underwear so they lay flat against her back. She held her breath as she quietly turned the knob, opening the door a crack and peeking out. The hallway was empty. Kandace turned the lock from inside and then shut the door as silently as she could, only releasing the air from her lungs when she’d started walking hurriedly toward the stairs.
She cringed when she made it to the second floor where she knew she’d been taken that night, and heard a man’s grunt coming from a room close by. Oh God. Kandace gritted her teeth and turned the other way, hurrying to the staircase and climbing to the third floor, and then to the attic above. She slipped into the quiet of her darkened room, relief flooding her. She’d made it. She was safe. And she’d gotten just what she needed.
Kandace removed the folders from her underwear and walked quickly to her bed, slipping them beneath the mattress. She’d have liked to read them more closely, but the room was dark and she didn’t dare turn on a light. There would be no more risks tonight. She had a feeling, she’d used up all her luck for the moment.
She got beneath her covers and lay there, thinking about the absolute evil she’d discovered. The girls, their children, supposedly marked by the sin of their parents. She could hardly wrap her head around the fact that these people had convinced themselves of such a thing. Not only convinced themselves, but fucking acted upon it.
Yes, Kandace needed to leave. But she needed a plan. She was in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t even know which direction to head. And even more concerning, she had a feeling the three girls who’d escaped had tried that too, only they were never heard from again.
Another chill went through Kandace and she brought her hand to her swollen belly again. “I’m going to figure this out,” she whispered into the silence of the room. “I’m going to get us out of here.”
She didn’t know how, but she’d just made a promise, and she intended to keep it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Scarlett opened her eyes, turning toward Camden in the dark and finding his side of the bed empty. She sat up slowly, catching sight of him standing at the balcony, his masculine form outlined by the glow of city lights. As her eyes adjusted, she saw he wore only his boxer briefs and held a water bottle at his side. She took the opportunity to watch him unaware, to drink in the athletic grace of his body, the beauty he seemed almost completely unaware of. She understood why now. He’d practically reached adulthood without ever being taught of his appeal. Instead, he’d been isolated, shamed, a terrible vision of what sex was presented to him in his tender, formative years. He was damaged, yes, but he was also strong. Stronger than he realized. He was good and honorable. Loyal.
Scarlett got out of bed, wrapping the bedsheet around herself and approaching him from behind. When she slipped her arms around his body, he startled slightly, then chuckled, the sound low and deep. She turned her nose into his back, breathing him in and then kissing the smooth skin of his shoulder.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. Well, maybe. I think I sensed you were gone, even in my sleep.”
He smiled down at her as she dropped her arms and came around his side. He lifted the bottle of water, still half full and offered it to her. “Thirsty?”
She shook her head and he draped his arm around her, pulling her into his side. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
She heard his smile even though he was turned away. “Just reliving what we did in that bed in there.”
“Yeah? What part are you at?”
“I’m stuck on the moment you did that swirly thing with your tongue.”
She laughed. “That swirly thing, huh? You liked that?”
“Like doesn’t seem like quite the right word.”
She laughed again, dragging a finger down his chest. “You know, there’s a small chance you can relive it in body, not just in thought.”
He grinned and her chest constricted. Even in the dimmest of light, he was so beautiful he made her heart ache.
“Come back to bed,” she invited.
He followed her into the room where they made love again, the sounds of the city drifting softly to them from the open balcony door, the cool night breeze whispering over their heated skin.
Camden gathered her in his arms and they lay in silence for several minutes, his fingers running up and down her arm. She sighed. “I assume this isn’t what they meant when they asked you to keep tabs on me,” she said wryly.
Camden let out a soft laugh that quickly faded. “No.” She looked up at him, his features etched in wor
ry. “What’s going to happen when we get back?” she asked. She hadn’t wanted to burst their happy little bubble with talk of guilds and missing girls, but it was reality, it was his reality especially, the one he’d lived most of his life, and this was no time to bury their heads in the sand for too long either.
Camden sighed, unwrapping his arm from around her and sitting up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, stretching his neck. “We can’t be seen together, Scarlett.”
She sat up halfway too, bringing the sheet to her breasts and leaning back on one elbow. “We can’t be seen . . . why not?”
He looked back over his shoulder so she could only see his profile. “Because if I have any hope of becoming a guild member, a woman like you wouldn’t make an acceptable prospect.”
Hurt spiraled through her and it took a moment to swallow down the lump in her throat. He turned before she could speak. “They’re not my rules. But I have to play by them if I have any hope of gathering the information I need, if there’s even any information to gather.”
Scarlett took a deep breath. She had to be reasonable about this. She had abandonment issues; she acknowledged them. But she couldn’t let her own self-doubt get in the way of the bigger picture. Camden had been honest with her when it could have cost him everything to do so. He’d trusted her not only with his secret, but with the secrets of two people he’d grown up with. Two people who craved the same justice he did. She chewed her lip for a moment. She wanted to help, but she also wanted to be clear about where she stood. Especially if it was going to mean pretending she didn’t know him in public.
“The woman whose house I saw you leaving that morning, you said she’s a good friend—”
“Georgia.” His back was still to her so she couldn’t see his face.
“Yes, Georgia.” She paused, considering her words and in the end just diving in. “She considers you hers.” She’d seen the look on her face both at the hardware store, and as he’d left her house the morning she’d driven by. She’d replayed it in her mind. Far too many times.
For a moment he was silent, still, but finally he nodded. He looked back over his shoulder and she saw the conflict in his expression. “Sometimes I think she’s right to, you know?”
Scarlett’s ribs tightened.
“It seems like . . .” His words faded away, as though he didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
“Like you owe her?” Scarlett asked. She tried to imagine what it must have been like for them, those three against the entire world, bonded in a way she probably couldn’t even imagine.
Camden let out a staggered breath. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Someone does.” He paused for several moments. “We were told one of the reasons our mothers gave us up was because we were born damaged. Our mothers’ sin was passed along to us in the form of something physical.”
“Something physical?” She frowned.
“Georgia was born with a cleft palate. The man who became Georgia’s guardian paid for her surgery. Mason has heterochromia.”
“Those are signs of sin?”
“In Farrow they are.”
She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around what he was telling her. This was all so unbelievable. So . . . outside anything she’d heard of before. Were there other places like Farrow? Towns still lost in time, operating under archaic, irrational beliefs like the ones that had fueled the Salem Witch Trials? Even laws? Did they really believe such things? Or were their physical abnormalities an easy excuse to treat them in any manner they pleased and in whatever way was convenient? “And you?” She’d seen every perfect strip of him. “What in the world is your sign of sin?”
“I don’t know. I never knew what mine was. I worried.” He paused. “I wondered if it was something they knew but never told me, some illness I couldn’t see or feel but that might one day show itself. I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “In any case, even beyond the disability, Georgia suffered the most, more than either of us, just by virtue of being female.” Something dark came into his eyes and Scarlett’s heart went out to him. And Georgia. She didn’t have to wonder what sort of treatment Georgia received from the members of the guild. From those who were accessories to the crimes taking place inside the walls of Lilith House. She understood why Camden was torn about his feelings for her. He didn’t want to hurt her more than she’d already been hurt.
She crawled forward, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and turning his face to hers and saying very gently, “You can’t force yourself to feel something you don’t, any more than you can stop feeling the things you do. I had to accept that.” She turned her gaze from his momentarily. “It’s why I didn’t try to force Haddie’s father to be part of her life. Love by force or . . . obligation . . . guilt . . . is not love.”
He turned his face into her palm, kissing the hand that lay on his cheek. “I know,” he breathed.
“So try to stop feeling guilty for not loving her,” she said gently.
Camden raked a hand through his hair. “Dammit, I do love her, Scarlett. Just . . . not like that.” He whispered it like a confession. “The things I feel for you, the things I want . . . I could never feel them for her, no matter how hard I tried. It’s like . . . that fate you talked about. That pull. I feel it every time you’re in the room. I have since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He exhaled, taking her face in his hands and leaning his forehead on hers.
She understood his conflict now, understood why he’d said it would be easier not to feel the things he felt for her. If only feelings could be planned and organized to suit what was most convenient. Or perhaps that would be the most tragic thing in the world.
“We can’t help the way we feel,” she whispered back. “Like you said about nature. It just is.”
He gazed into her eyes for a moment and then he kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her nose, and she laughed softly. He smiled back. “Will you tell me more about why you sought out Royce and what happened when you saw him at that party?”
Scarlett sighed, sitting back. She drew her legs up and told him about Haddie’s doctor’s appointment, about reading the article on the man her daughter shared genetics with, about spotting the hotel in the background of the photo. She described Royce’s behavior, his obvious inebriation, and the way he’d seemed to believe she was nothing more than a dream. “I can’t say whether he was just highly intoxicated, or whether I was seeing signs of his illness, or both. But either way, I knew I wasn’t going to get any answers from him. Not in the state he was in. Probably not ever.”
He appeared to digest what she said, finally asking, “Does it matter?”
“What? Whether or not he has a mental illness?”
“No, whether Haddie has a predisposition. What will you do?”
Scarlett shrugged. “I would know better how to treat her.”
“It seems like you’re doing just fine, Scarlett.”
Her first reaction was to bristle. He was being almost . . . dismissive and not acknowledging the seriousness that her daughter might be suffering from a mental illness. Or if she wasn’t now, that she might in the future. But as she looked in his eyes, she realized that his was the reaction she should hope for. She should hope that someone, anyone for that matter, learning that Haddie had a mental illness, would react with calm reassurance, rather than feverish hysterics. He’d never judge her, she realized. He knew exactly what it felt like to be judged and determined as less.
She took a deep breath, letting it wash through her. He was right. So what if her daughter’s Haddie-isms were based on some genetic abnormality? Then . . . she’d love that abnormality. It was part of what made her her. Did she really need some label when she was only seven years old? A label that might or might not come to fruition? And if some specific diagnosis became helpful later, whether because she suffered from something genetic, or for some random curveball life threw at them, then she’d deal with it. She laughed softly. “G
od, I’m an idiot.” She smiled at him. “Thank you. You’re kinda good at advice.”
He moved forward, taking her in an embrace. “Yeah?” He grinned. “Did I earn one more round of that swirly thing?”
Her laugh was cut off by his mouth meeting hers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Ever since they’d returned from Gram’s house, Haddie had been thinking about the horned thing she was so frightened of. She’d been thinking about the way he’d eaten all the Skittles, and then started skipping the green. She’d been thinking about the little boy in leg braces, and the one in the wheelchair. She’d been wondering about a lot of things. And Haddie wanted to find the answers. She wanted to understand the things that were only starting to be clear. She thought . . . she thought it might be very important. Haddie set her iPad aside, going into the hallway on the second floor where her mommy was hanging long strips of wallpaper with blue and gold flowers on it. Her mommy had been smiling a whole lot since they got back from LA, but she wasn’t smiling now. Haddie didn’t think the wallpaper was going very well for her mommy because she was muttering bad words under her breath and the one strip she’d hung was crooked and half falling down. She tapped her on the back and she jumped, laughing as she spun around to see Haddie standing there. “You okay, baby? You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Oh. Well. Don’t repeat those words, okay?”
“I won’t. Can I play outside?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It rained earlier. The grass is all wet . . .”
“I’ll wear my rain boots.”
Her mommy looked at her for a minute before sighing. “Okay, but promise me you’ll stay in the yard, only to the edge of the woods, okay?”
Haddie nodded, her fingers crossed behind her back. She hated to lie to her mommy, but this was important.
“Okay.” She glanced at the piece of falling-down wallpaper. “I’ll probably leave this to Mason’s crew before I waste any more of this expensive wallpaper. I think I should stick to baking.” She smiled. “I’ll be in the kitchen working on the computer and I’ll leave my headphones off and the window open. If you stay out back, I’ll hear you if you need me, all right?”