We both froze.
Another noise hit my ears. A shuffling sound. Not from Gigi’s shoes — this was coming from inside the cabin. Coming closer to the door. I braced for whatever was about to step through it. Sensing my tension, Socks began to growl — a low rumble that was surprisingly foreboding, given his typical disposition.
The door screeched open, dragging against the floorboards on uneven hinges. A figure stood in the threshold, leaning on the frame for balance. There was a makeshift splint on his ankle, made from wood slats and strips of cotton.
His mouth opened to speak.
And what he said was?—
“Mom?”
* * *
He was covered in dirt.
His neon green costume was in tatters.
But he was alive.
He was breathing.
We’d found him.
Rory.
His eyes were wide as saucers as they swung from me, to Socks, and finally, to his mother — at which point they filled to the brim with tears. Georgia made a strangled sound — half shout, half wail — and launched herself at his tiny frame. She covered his dirt-streaked face in a flurry of kisses. His cheeks, his forehead, his jaw. Everywhere her lips could reach. Between kisses, she chanted his name over and over. Like a mantra. Like a spell.
“Rory… Rory… Rory…”She was sobbing, now, her voice a broken whisper. But I knew they were good tears. The best tears. Tears of a woman granted her dearest wish. “Oh, Rory. You’re here, bub. My god, you’re here. I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
His spindly arms lifted, closing around her back as he hugged her. His voice was a croak. “Mom…”
Tears filled my own eyes as I watched their reunion. I had to look away to keep them from falling. Deep inside me, joy and gratitude warred for dominance. My heart felt as though it might burst within my chest, unable to contain everything I was feeling.
Socks whined and strained his leash.
I thought he was trying to get to Rory. But when I looked down, I saw he was staring toward the tree line on the other side of the clearing. My own gaze swung up, following his. My body locked with alarm, all my joy vanishing in an instant. The blood in my veins turned cold as ice.
There was something — someone — standing in the shadows, under the twisted sycamore by the edge of the estuary. I couldn’t make out much detail. Only the vaguest silhouette of a human. I could almost be convinced it was just a trick of the light. That there was no one standing there at all.
Except for Socks.
He saw it, too.
Saw her too.
A woman. One with wild hair and a lopsided frame. The living fragment of a whispered legend.
The Witch of Salem Wood.
She was real.
Somehow, she was?—
The unmistakable whir of helicopter blades drew my gaze suddenly skyward. On the horizon, flying low, a police chopper was headed our way.
Clearly, Florence and Gwen had found cell service.
My heart lurched as I saw the helicopter coming closer. I didn’t have many dollars in the bank, but I’d bet every last one of them that Cade Hightower was sitting inside it, those piercing blue eyes scanning the marshes below for signs of life.