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I reach out and tug on his mask and place my finger in front of my lips, gesturing for him to be quiet.
No. More. Questions.
Plus, I hear something.
I lean my head on the door and hear soft humming and weird babble. Peeking through the keyhole, I see a woman kneeling on the floor.
What the hell? This lady’s bat-shit crazy.
Bax looks around, frazzled. “What the hell is that? What is she doing?”
I grab the knife and motion for him to stay put and start the countdown with my fingers.
One. Two. Three…
Glass shatters everywhere as I smash the window by the door with the hilt of my knife. I reach around and kick the wooden door in and barge through it, causing it to crumble.
Didi’s mama is wearing a housecoat, sitting on her knees by an old sofa with a bunch of candles lit around her, praying.
She screams and her eyes go wide, her face pales, and she clutches a wooden cross. I take a second to look at her, noticing the way the firelight catches her hair, the way she’s barely wearing anything under her robes. Diana’s albinism is the only visible difference between her and Didi; otherwise, their resemblance is uncanny.
“Who are you? Get out of my house,” she demands.
Didi’s mama’s face is aged, but not gracefully. Deep lines rut between her brows, and her lips are pursed like Mrs. Holly’s. I was hoping they would look nothing alike, given Diana is the kindest and gentlest soul I’ve ever met. Her inner darkness marred what could’ve been beauty.
No wonder she’s trying to steal the light from her daughter, because she doesn’t have any.
Her fear manifests as a subtle movement in her throat. Otherwise, she looks pious and defiant, gripping her cross like a weapon, lifting it like it will protect her and God will strike me down.
She waves her hands. “Get away from me or I’ll call the authorities.”
Empty threats. She doesn’t even have a phone.
I take a menacing step forward, then another, saying nothing as I circle her, taking in the rest of her house.
The walls are bare, the wallpaper peeled, and dark stains mar the floor. This entire place is dilapidated. Empty of anything that’s holy. The stench of rotted death seeps through the walls. I want to laugh at her, mock her, and punish her just for existing.
Her eyes flick to Bax, and she shutters a breath. “What are you? Some sort of devil?” Bax moves behind me. His lanky arms are anything but menacing.
Her left eye flickers, and I spot the knife on the floor where she is kneeling. “Oh, hell no,” I growl, charging towards her and kicking the weapon aside. “I don’t think so.”
She freezes, her face turning white as she squeezes her eyes shut and mutters some gibberish. Bax hangs back by the door as I circle the couch where she kneels.
I jerk my head to Bax. “Tie her up.”
She gasps and opens one eye, then starts muttering again as Bax takes a hesitant step toward her.
Yeah, lady, you pray. Pray for your soul, you stupid evil bitch.
But prayers aren’t going to save her, not when I unleash what’s coming if I don’t get what I’m here for.
Bax, with the zip tie I gave him in his pocket, eyes me and approaches the trembling woman. “Please,” she pleads. “Don’t kill me.” She flails her arms and legs, scratching and kicking him.
“Damn, woman, I’m not going to kill you,” Bax mutters. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
I swear, Bax is the least scary masked man in existence.
“Get your hands off me, you devilish boy!” she snaps, yanking the cross from Bax’s grasp as he tries to grab it. She spits at him, and he cowers back. “Curse you, boy.”
