He ignored her. Gas would pump at the speed gas would pump. And their reasons for coming to town would wait until they got around to them.

  On the front seat next to the wife, a plastic-bound paperback entitled Child Psychology and the Effects of Violence in the Home lay neatly positioned as though it were a centrepiece in the car. Meant to be seen and noted.

  In the backseat one of the children, the boy, inched up to ask his mother a question and caught sight of the book. He looked at it with disdain and thought better of asking, settling back into his seat and staring out the window instead.

  The girl broke the silence. “Do we have to take him home?”

  “We’ve been over this already,” the mother said, testy.

  “I already don’t like him. He lives here with a bunch of fish. I’ll bet he smells,” the boy said.

  “That’s enough.”

  The father reentered the car, and silence fell. No one challenged his purpose as he hit the accelerator and drove smoothly on toward the village.

  * * *

  April saw the car enter the village streets from her perch on the roof. She’d fallen asleep up there, dozing in the sun with Mary checking on her worriedly every now and again. She wasn’t really sure what woke her. But there it was, a long sedan that almost looked like it belonged to an earlier era, like a sleek money car from the ’60s, purring into town and reeking of not belonging there. The fishing village didn’t care much what era it belonged to; it was a little world of its own. April liked that about it. But this car didn’t feel right.

  Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she watched it turn and disappear down the hill, motoring off to the east into one of the village’s poorer neighbourhoods.

  To Nick’s house.

  Where that insight came from she didn’t know. But April had eyes to see. When she knew things, she just knew them. It was a gift—part of what being Oneness meant to her.

  She cleared her throat to call out for Mary or Richard and realized they weren’t going to hear her from the roof. Gingerly, she picked herself up, keeping the blanket wrapped around her, and walked the flat ledge to the window where she eased herself through. “Mary?” she called. No answer met her ears.

  The house, large enough to house a large family comfortably, with four bedrooms upstairs and an extra one down, a big kitchen and a common area designed for meetings and time together, was mostly empty. The Oneness cell in the village was tiny. For years it had been just Mary and Richard, then April. Diane had never lived with them. Even now, she confessed her Oneness only grudgingly. Reese was the newcomer—the one who had brought Diane back into the fold. And Tyler was only newly One. He chose to stay with Chris in their little cottage up on the cliff, overlooking the bay and their history together. No one questioned that it was the right place for him to be.

  All of which was why, even though the cell had nearly doubled, the house was still so empty.

  “Mary?” No answer again. April poked through the rooms on the ground floor, looking for either of her housemates, but they were gone. Reese, she thought, was out with the boys.

  Vaguely guilty because she knew Mary had only stepped out for a few minutes—the cell leader had kept herself within calling distance of April at all times since bringing her home from the killing cave—April pulled a hoodie over her usual tank top and track pants and headed out the door. Nick’s neighbourhood was a relatively short walk—only about a mile. And it was a beautiful day. She could make it.

  What exactly she was planning to do when she got there, she had no idea. But something about that car had been . . . wrong.

  April smelled demons. Danged if she was going to let a little boy deal with them alone.

  She didn’t think to leave a note.

  Read the rest of Hive here!

 
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