Chapter 7: Ethan and Lila’s Discovery
Lila’s Spying
Lila waited until Margaret's trotted off down the street, clad in spandex for her morning run, before making her move. She'd been watching the house for three days, noting Margaret’s patterns: morning runs at 6 AM, weapons practice in the backyard at noon, and occasional evening outings that sometimes lasted until dawn. Today was her chance.
Slipping through the backyard, Lila approached the rear door. She'd noticed during her previous reconnaissance that Margaret sometimes left the kitchen window cracked open, something about "clearing negative energy." Today was no exception.
"You'd think she’d have better security," Lila muttered to herself as she jimmied the window open wider and squeezed through. Inside, the house was a study in organized chaos. Weapons mounted on walls in bizarre patterns, books stacked in precarious towers. Lila eyed the stuffed raven and gave the bird a wide berth. Something about its glass eyes made her uneasy, like they were following her movements.
"Focus," she reminded herself. Margaret had to have records somewhere; research about Cedar Lane, about the weird HOA, about why her parents had changed so much over the years.
The study door was ajar, revealing a room lined with filing cabinets and a desk buried under maps and ancient-looking books. On the wall, a large corkboard displayed what looked like a timeline of Cedar Lane, with photographs, newspaper clippings, and handwritten notes connected by red string.
Lila approached it, her breath catching as she recognized faces in the yellowed newspaper clippings. "Local Developer Promises 'Eternal Community' at Cedar Lane Groundbreaking," read one headline from 1900. The photo showed Evelyn Whitmore cutting a ribbon, which was impossible. "What the hell?" Lila whispered, examining more clippings.
Another photo, dated 1975, showed an "HOA Leadership Announcement." The same woman stood at the center, though with a different name: "Barbara Whitcroft, HOA President, introduces new community initiatives."
And then a more recent article from 2000: "Cedar Lane Community Turnover: New Members Welcome as Several Families Relocate." In this one, Evelyn stood smiling beside a younger version of Lila's mother, who looked nothing like the vacant-eyed HOA devotee she'd become.
Lila's fingers trembled as she touched a list titled "Disappeared: June 2000." The Hendersons' name was circled in red, with a note beside it: "Last family to vanish. James Chen reported Henderson asking questions about 'neighborhood efficiency systems' before disappearance."
A spiral-bound notebook lay open on Margaret's desk. Lila flipped through it, finding detailed notes about something called "the collection network" and diagrams of what appeared to be pipes running beneath every house in the neighborhood. As she turned the pages, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped, and a chill ran down Lila’s spine.
"The entire neighborhood was designed as a ritual site," one page read. "Each house positioned at specific energy points, with the central grove as the focal point. The blood collection system harvests minute amounts from residents over time, feeding into a central reservoir for periodic ritual use."
Lila's stomach turned as she read further. "Blood Magic Applications in Suburban Settings: How Cedar Lane's HOA maintains control through ambient exposure. Microscopic extraction points in doorknobs, faucets, shower heads collect trace amounts without residents noticing."
She photographed everything with shaking hands—the timeline, the notes, the maps showing pipes beneath her own house. The final page in Margaret's notebook contained a list titled "Purge Events":
1950: 14 families disappeared, HOA leadership "reorganized"
1975: 11 families vanished, Barabara Whitcroft becomes Karen Whitmore
2000: 12 families, including the Hendersons, disappeared. Karen becomes Evelyn, "rejuvenated"
A noise from downstairs made Lila freeze. Someone was in the house. She quickly put everything back in place and slipped behind a large bookcase. Through a gap in the shelving, she saw Margaret enter, accompanied by Claire Parker.
"There's something off about the power distribution in this neighborhood," Margaret was saying. "The electrical grid follows the same geometric pattern as the street layout, and look—" She pointed to a map on her desk, exactly where Lila had been standing moments before. "Every house with a committee member has a different power signature."
"Including the Roberts house?" Claire asked. Lila's heart pounded. They were talking about her family.
"Especially the Roberts," Margaret confirmed. "Their power usage spikes every full moon, and there's an unexplained drain that doesn't correlate to any normal household appliance."
"It could be something innocent, right? Maybe they’re growing weed?" Claire sounded concerned.
"Maybe. But I don’t think we should accept anything as a coincidence when it comes to this cult. I’m concerned about Lila.
"Like what Ethan's been saying about her? That she's been mapping the neighborhood, tracking suspicious activity?"
"Exactly. She's onto something, but she doesn't know how dangerous these people really are. If they realize how much she's figured out..."
Lila didn't hear the rest. She was too busy planning her escape, and more importantly, her next move. The Henderson house—the last family to disappear, asking questions before they vanished. That's where she needed to look next. Ethan would be easy to talk into this little adventure.
The Abandoned House
That evening, Lila bounced on her heels as she crouched behind a hedge, motioning for Ethan to join her. The abandoned house loomed before them, its windows dark and accusatory against the setting sun. Unlike the other homes in the development, this one hadn't been painted in twenty-five years of HOA-approved shades. Its original beige had faded to a sickly gray that made it look like a corpse among the pristine houses surrounding it.
"Nobody talks about it," Lila whispered, her eyes bright with excitement. "Like, at all. Mom freaked when I asked about it at dinner once. Started talking about proper dessert portion sizes until I changed the subject."
Ethan studied the house. Like other houses in the neighborhood, the windows faced odd angles, like they'd been designed to look at something that wasn't there anymore. Or maybe something that hadn't arrived yet. All of the windows and doors appeared to be tightly boarded up. It was an unusual eyesore in an otherwise immaculately maintained neighborhood.
"Why's it empty?" he asked, ducking lower as a neighbor's porch light clicked on with mechanical precision.
"The mass exodus. Twenty-five years ago, right before Evelyn took over the HOA?" Lila pulled a small notebook from her pocket, its pages covered in her cramped handwriting. "Twelve families vanished in one week. Just packed up and left. No forwarding addresses, no goodbye parties. Nothing."
"And this was one of them?"
"The Hendersons." Lila flipped through her notes. "Last ones to go. Mr. Henderson worked at the library. He started asking questions and a week later: poof. Gone."
A patrol car crawled past. One of the HOA's "neighborhood safety volunteers" making their rounds. Ethan and Lila pressed closer to the hedge, barely breathing until the car turned the corner.
"They watch it," Lila continued once the coast was clear. "Not obviously, but if you pay attention? There's always someone keeping an eye on this place. And every time someone tries to buy it, the sale falls through. Something about 'deed restrictions' and 'historical preservation.'"
"You think the disappearances are connected to whatever Evelyn's doing now?"
"I think this house knows what happened to those families." Lila's voice dropped even lower. "And I think I found a way in."
She led him around the back, staying low and moving between the growing shadows. The yard was overgrown, with weeds having long ago taken over the uniform grass and flower beds. As they reached the back, Ethan saw what Lila meant. Boarding over a basement window had come loose and warped with moisture just enough to create a gap.
"The last storm did that," Lila explained. "HOA's been too busy with their 'special meetings' to notice. Another patrol car's headlights swept the street. They froze, pressed against the house's weathered siding, until the lights passed.
"Ladies first?" Ethan offered.
Lila grinned, already sliding toward the window. "Such a gentleman. But if you call me a ‘lady’ again I’ll break your arm. Now come on, before the next patrol. They time them exactly seven minutes apart, just another totally normal thing about this totally normal neighborhood."
As Ethan followed her through the window, he couldn't shake the feeling that the house was watching them. Not with eyes, exactly, but with something older. Something patient. Something that hadn’t been fed in twenty-five years.
The Discovery
Inside, their flashlight beams caught years of dust swirling in the air. The basement smelled of rust and something else; something metallic and organic that made Ethan's nose wrinkle. Water damage from recent storms had left dark stains spreading across the walls like ink blots in a psychiatrist's test. \
"Over here," Lila whispered, moving toward where the drywall had begun to peel away. "The storm did most of the work for us." She pulled at a loose section, revealing something that made Ethan step back involuntarily.
Behind the damaged wall, an intricate network of copper and silver tubes ran in precise geometric patterns. The pipes were etched with strange symbols that seemed to glow faintly in the beam of their flashlights. Some of the tubes were as thin as drinking straws, while others were the width of garden hoses, all converging toward what appeared to be a central collection tube that flowed downward.
"That's not normal plumbing," Ethan muttered, leaning closer despite himself. "Holy shit," Lila breathed. "It's some kind of collection system." The tubes ran in all directions, disappearing into the ceiling and floor, and branching out toward the neighboring houses. Near the main junction point, a control panel had been built into the wall, with small glass viewing ports and valves labeled with house numbers. Through the viewing ports they could see a red, flaky residue. Lila took out her phone and snapped several pictures.
"Wait," Lila said, her voice tight. She fumbled in her backpack, pulling out what looked like a homeowner's manual. "These layouts... they're in my parents' records."
She opened the manual to a page marked with a black ribbon. There, sketched in precise detail, was the same tube network they'd found in the wall. The diagrams were labeled with cryptic notes about "optimal extraction rates" and "feeding cycles”. The diagrams showed connections between some homes in the community.
"What the hell?" Ethan leaned closer, watching as a drop of condensation ran down one of the tubes, following the carved symbols like it was being guided. "Why would your parents have drawings of whatever this is in their home maintenance manual?"
"I don't know, but..." Lila pulled more drywall away and moved her flashlight beam along the wall, revealing more tubes spreading in every direction. She turned back to the diagram. "I think that’s my house on this map. And that’s the Chen’s. I think these are the houses of the special committee members. Except for your dad."
"He’s been talking about doing some home renovation," Ethan realized.
"There’s also this." Lila's hands shook slightly as she pulled out another paper she'd taken from her dad's office. "I found it this morning. It's some kind of maintenance log. Listen: 'Collection proceeding according to schedule. House 17 showing reduced output, requires inspection. Maintain precise timing for optimal extraction.'"
Ethan felt his skin crawl as he traced one of the tubes with his flashlight. "What are they collecting?"
Before Lila could answer, they heard another sound, something moving in the tubes, like liquid flowing through pipes that shouldn't be active. The symbols etched into the metal seemed to pulse with a faint red glow, as if responding to their presence.
"They're not inspecting for structural problems," Lila said softly. "They're maintaining this... blood network. Feeding into something." She trailed off as her flashlight caught a small glass viewing port, the interior of the tube slowly filling with thick, red liquid.
The port was labeled "Monitoring Station Alpha," and beneath it, in smaller letters: "Direct Feed to Ceremonial Chamber."
Lila's flashlight beam followed one of the larger tubes to where it disappeared into the floor. "I think this was some kind of control hub. Something must have happened with the Hendersons."
As if in response to her words, a single drop of dark liquid fell from one of the overhead tubes, landing with a soft splash on the concrete floor. In the beam of their flashlights, it gleamed a deep, unmistakable red.
The Journal
Lila ran her fingers along the damaged wall, following the dripping patterns. "There's something behind here," she whispered, pressing against a section of drywall that bulged oddly. "Help me with this?"
Together, they pulled at the crumbling material, revealing a narrow alcove carved into the wall. Inside, wrapped in plastic and tucked between the house's bones, sat a leather-bound journal tied with what looked like human hair.
"Property of Sarah Chen, HOA Secretary," Lila read from the water-stained first page. "Wait... Chen? Like Mrs. Chen from three doors down?"
"Her mother," Ethan said. "Remember? She disappeared during the last—"
"Community exodus." Lila's hands trembled slightly as she turned the pages. "Look at this. She was documenting everything."
The journal's neat handwriting grew increasingly frantic as they read:
March 15, 2000 Another successful feeding. The collection network is performing perfectly. Karen was right about using fresh blood—synthetic alternatives simply don't achieve the necessary resonance. Our communion grows stronger with each ritual. Soon we'll be ready for the final summoning. The other board members don't fully grasp Karen’s vision, but I do. She's chosen me as her confidante, her most trusted ally. Together we'll transform Cedar Lane into something glorious.
April 3, 2000Preparations for the grand ritual continue. The neighbors who volunteer their homes for collection points believe they're participating in a "community infrastructure project." Their ignorance is almost touching. If they knew what flowed behind their walls, what they were really feeding... But Karen says the truth would break their small minds. Better to let them believe our HOA bylaws about "proper plumbing maintenance" are just suburban bureaucracy. Better to let them sleep easy, not knowing their blood sustains something greater.
"Keep reading," Ethan urged, his flashlight beam catching more pages.
May 21, 2000Everything we worked for, destroyed in moments. He appeared at the height of the ritual. A stranger who knew things no outsider should know. He walked through our defenses like they weren't there, speaking words that made the collection network seize and fail. His eyes... there was something ancient in them. Something that recognized what we were attempting and found it abhorrent. He called us children playing with forces beyond our comprehension. He said our blood magic was "totally amateur hour." The worst part? Looking at him, at the casual way he unmade our years of work, I knew he was right.
May 22, 2000Karen’s rage is terrifying. The stranger ruined everything—our network, our ritual, our chance at transcendence. But he also showed me the truth. The way he spoke about blood magic, about the price of power. What have we been doing? What have I been helping Karen do? The "donations" from missing neighbors and vagrants, the children who grew mysteriously anemic. I was so devoted to her vision that I ignored the cost. But the stranger knew. He saw our "grand ritual" for what it was: neophyte practitioners drunk on borrowed power, feeding something we couldn't possibly control.
The next entries were stained with what looked like tears:
June 1, 2000The purge has begun. Karen says we need to "clean house." Families are disappearing. She calls it "community turnover," but I see the truth. Anyone who witnessed the stranger's interference, anyone who questions the collection... they vanish. Their houses stand empty. I'm trying to placate her, hoping her anger doesn't turn against me.
June 15, 2000She knows I kept records. She knows I've been watching. The collection tubes in my walls pulse with hungry intent. I hear footsteps outside my door at night, but they're not human steps. They move with terrible purpose.
The final entry was rushed, the writing barely legible:
June 16If you find this, don't trust the HOA. Don't trust the plumbing inspections. Don't trust the patterns. She's coming. I hear her on the stairs. The tubes are draining me through the walls. They're hungry. They're always so hungry. And Karen, she—
The entry ended in a violent scrawl that dragged across the page.
"That's it?" Ethan asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"That's it." Lila closed the journal carefully. "Mrs. Chen never talks about her mother. Just changes the subject whenever anyone asks." She looked up at the walls where the collection tubes continued their rhythmic pulsing. "Now we know why."
Getting Caught
"Your phone's tracking is still on, sweetie."
Lila's head snapped up at her mother's voice and she hid the journal behind her back. Mrs. Roberts stood in the basement doorway, her cream-colored cardigan perfectly pressed even at this hour. Behind her, Lila's father filled the doorframe with his broad shoulders.
"Are you kidding me?" Lila's voice cracked with indignation. "You guys Life360'd me? That's a total violation of—." Her outrage faltered as she processed the situation. "Why aren't you freaking out about the, you know?" She gestured at the walls.
"Oh, honey." Her mother's laugh was like the soundtrack from a horror movie. "We’ve known about this for a long, long time." Mrs. Roberts tilted her head and winked dramatically.
Mr. Roberts moved further into the basement, examining the exposed pipes with the kind of casual interest usually reserved for checking the mail. "The craftmanship is quite impressive in this section. The newer collection pipes are all made of PVC. Efficient, but they lack the kind of heft and quality these babies had. But the new stuff requires less maintenance. Keeps the feeding schedule on track."
"Feeding schedule?" Ethan's voice was barely a whisper.
"Community donations," Mrs. Roberts said brightly, as if discussing a PTA bake sale. "So important for maintaining proper flow patterns. Evelyn has it all very carefully organized."
Lila gently pressed the journal backward, toward Ethan. He moved to her and took it, as surreptitiously as possible, stashing it inside his hoodie. "Mom, what are you talking about?"
"Your special role, of course." Her mother's smile was radiant and terrible. "We've been preparing you for this your whole life. The proper iron supplements, the careful dietary restrictions..."
"The blood quality tests," her father added proudly, adjusting his committee pin. "Building up your hemoglobin levels. Evelyn says you'll be perfect for the ceremony."
"Ceremony?" Lila stepped to the left and backed up, bumping into the pulsing wall. A dark droplet oozed from one of the copper pipes and splashed onto her shoulder.
"The Ascension." Mrs. Roberts clasped her hands together like she was announcing a sweet sixteen party. "It's such an honor, really. Evelyn specifically requested you. She says your spirit will add just the right energy to the ritual."
"Now then," her mother said, checking her watch, "we should get you home. You'll need your rest. The preparation chambers require quite a lot of energy, and the first donation process can be taxing."
The Separation
"I am NOT going into any preparation chamber!" Lila shouted, kicking out as her father lifted her bodily off the ground. Her combat boot connected solidly with his shin, but Mr. Roberts didn't even flinch. "Mom, this is way worse than when you wouldn't let me join the swim team!"
"Honey, this is nothing like swimming," Mrs. Roberts said soothingly, while efficiently blocking the basement exit. "The chlorine would have damaged your skin. We couldn’t have you damaged prior to the ritual. And we’d have cared more, before you became a heinous teenage bitch."
Ethan launched himself at Mr. Roberts, managing to land a solid punch to the man's kidney. Mr. Roberts grunted and dropped Lila, who immediately tried to bolt for the door but was caught by her mother.
"Now that's the kind of spirit we need in the Youth Cultivation Program!" Mr. Roberts said cheerfully, right before driving his fist into Ethan's solar plexus with the kind of precise force that suggested the HOA offered boxing classes alongside their ritual sacrifice seminars.
Ethan doubled over, the air driven from his lungs. He stumbled backward, his foot catching in a large crack in the concrete floor. He went down hard. The journal stayed safely hidden in his jacket, but his ankle twisted painfully as he tried to pull free.
"Such enthusiasm!" Mrs. Roberts beamed at him while efficiently restraining her daughter.
Mr. Roberts scooped Lila up and put her in a bear hug. "Mom, stop recruiting my friends for blood magic!" Lila thrashed harder in her father's grip. "This is why I can't bring people over!"
"It's important to play an active role in your community, sweetie," Mr. Roberts said with the patient tone of a suburban dad explaining a trivial fact to a small child.
"Go fuck yourself in the face!"
Ethan tried to stand, but his foot was properly wedged now. He watched helplessly as Mr. Roberts carried Lila up the basement stairs, her protests echoing through the house. She thrashed in her father's grip, her voice a mixture of genuine fear and defiant anger.
"Mom, stop this!" Lila shouted, kicking out as her father maintained his firm hold. "You can't be serious … this is insane! Let me go!" Lila's voice cracked with desperate fury as they disappeared from view.
"The preparation chamber will adjust that attitude," Mrs. Roberts called after her cheerfully. She turned to Ethan with a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring but looked more like a shark that had taken a self-help seminar. "Don't worry about Lila. She won’t know or care about any of this soon enough."
She followed her husband and daughter, leaving Ethan alone in the basement. Through the ceiling, he could hear the Roberts discussing the logistics of Lila's "preparation" with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for planning a birthday party.
"We'll need to calibrate the humidity levels," Mr. Roberts was saying. "And make sure the feeding tubes are properly aligned—"
"I already picked up her ceremonial robe," Mrs. Roberts added. "Though she might need restraints for the first few days of cultivation—"
"I HEARD THAT!" Lila's voice cut through. "AND I'M NOT WEARING BEIGE!"
“Oh, kiddo, you don’t get it,” Mrs. Roberts said. “After the Ascension you’ll be dead. Fashion concerns of any kind will be behind you.” She turned to her husband. “The struggle is really bringing out her fiery side, Evelyn will be so pleased..."
After the voices had faded and long minutes went by, Ethan finally worked his foot free, wincing at his sprained ankle. He checked the journal hidden in his jacket, its secrets now feeling both more vital and more terrifying.
Mom, Help
Ethan raced home as fast as his twisted ankle would allow, which wasn't very fast. His dramatic escape was more of a determined hobble. The stolen journal bounced against his ribs with each limping step.
He circled back toward Lila's house, trying to stay in the shadows while also avoiding the lawn sprinklers that seemed determined to catch him in their synchronized jets. His heart nearly stopped when he saw her bedroom window. Metal bars had already been installed. They gleamed in the moonlight.
A line of cars pulled up to the Roberts' house. Figures emerged carrying what looked like medical equipment, but the containers they unloaded glowed with a sickly light.
Through Lila's window, he could see shadows moving. Something dark crept across the glass in geometric patterns. The bars seemed to writhe in response, looking like they were auditioning for a role in a much higher-budget horror movie.
Ethan pulled out his phone with trembling hands. He scrolled past "Dad" – who was probably still at his "special committee meeting" with Evelyn, learning proper cultist posture or whatever. His thumb hovered over "Mom" for a moment before pressing ‘call’.
She answered on the third ring, somewhat breathlessly. "Ethan? Where are you?"
"Mom?" His voice was tight with panic. "Something's wrong. It's Lila. They've taken her."
Through Lila's window, he saw the shadows take shape. The bars pulsed faster, now doing a full geometric jazzercise routine.
A scream echoed from Lila's window, quickly muffled. The chanting grew louder.
"Mom," Ethan whispered, "we need leather-jacket-wearing-badass-witchy-Margaret. Now. And we need to figure out what the fuck is going on with dad and get him to pull his head out of his ass."
"Slow down, honey. Where exactly are you?" His mother's voice had shifted into crisis mode.
"Across the street from Lila's. They caught us in the abandoned Henderson house. There's a blood collection system in the walls, Mom. Her parents are in on it. They're taking her to some 'preparation chamber' for the 'Ascension.'"
He watched as more robed figures entered the Roberts' house. Through a downstairs window, he could see what looked like medical equipment being set up. A tube system, disturbingly similar to what they'd found in the Henderson house, was being connected to a modified hospital bed.
"They're setting something up," he continued, ducking lower behind the hedge. "It looks like... some kind of transfusion equipment. But weird. Like someone who only understood blood donation from horror movies tried to recreate it with parts from a Home Depot."
Something about the tubes made his skin crawl. They seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the sprinklers, as the streetlights, as the synchronized patterns that had haunted Cedar Lane since they moved in.
"We found a journal," he added, patting his hoodie. "From someone that was on the committee before she disappeared. She documented everything."
Another scream from Lila's window, this one weaker. The chanting inside grew louder.
"Stay where you are," Claire said firmly. "I'm with Margaret now. We're coming to get you, and then we're getting Lila out. Do not try to go inside that house, do you understand me?"
"But they're—"
"Ethan, listen to me. If you barge in there now they’re going to have two hostages instead of one." An angry huff came over the line, but Ethan didn’t argue further.
From inside Lila's house, he heard Mrs. Roberts' voice, unnervingly cheerful: "Now, sweetie, this is just the preliminary extraction. After the proper purification period, you'll be ready for the main event. Isn't that exciting?"
"Mom," Ethan whispered, "hurry."
Failed Rescue Attempt
Claire's hands clutched the steering wheel as she sped toward the Roberts' house, Margaret beside her checking weapons with practiced efficiency. Ethan's panicked call still rang in her ears.
"How many did you see?" Margaret asked, sliding extra crossbow bolts into her jacket.
"Ethan said at least five people in Cedar Lane maintenance uniforms," Claire replied, her voice tight. "Medical equipment. Setting up what looked like a blood extraction system."
They rounded the corner onto Cedar Lane and immediately saw the problem. The street in front of the Roberts' house was blocked by three HOA "safety patrol" vehicles. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered, forming a human barrier.
"Shit," Margaret muttered, directing Claire to pull over two blocks away. "They've mobilized half the neighborhood."
Claire scanned the crowd for Ethan, finally spotting him crouched behind a hedge across from the Roberts' place. She texted him quickly: Don't move. We see you. Too many guards. Fall back to Margaret's.
Through her car window, she watched her son read the message, his face falling in despair before he nodded once and began to retreat through the backyards.
"We can't get through tonight," Margaret said grimly, observing the scene through binoculars. "Not without casualties. They've tripled security since they took her."
"But Lila—"
"Will stay alive," Margaret finished. "They need her for the ritual. They've been preparing her for weeks."
Claire's hand tightened around her phone. "So we just abandon her?"
"No," Margaret's voice was firm. "We regroup. Plan properly. Get the right equipment." She placed her hand over Claire's. "We'll get her out, Claire. But not tonight. Not like this."
Reluctantly, Claire put the car in reverse. "Ethan's heading to your place. He'll be devastated."
"We all need rest and a better plan," Margaret said. "My house is safer anyway. The only safe place in this hellhole of a neighborhood."
By dawn, they had sketched out a more careful rescue plan. Ethan had finally collapsed on Margaret's couch after hours of frantic pacing and planning, exhaustion claiming him despite his determination to stay awake.
"He needs proper rest," Claire said, pulling a blanket over her son's sleeping form. "And so do I. I should head home, get changed, gather supplies."
Margaret nodded, though concern shadowed her eyes. "Take the back routes. They'll be watching the main streets."
"I'll be careful," Claire promised, gathering her things. "I'll be back in a few hours. Keep an eye on him?"
"Of course."ter 6: The Cult’s History