Page 62 of The Wolf

“Julia.” Meg’s sharp voice cuts through the haze, and my head jerks up. “Help me. Now.”

I blink, my vision blurry, and look at her. She has already grabbed a flat sheet off the bed, and now pulls it over the witch’s body. Her movements are quick and efficient, but her jaw clenched tight, her eyes hard.

“Come on!” she urges. “She can’t stay here. We need to move the body and bury her.”

My legs feel like lead. My chest tightens until I can’t even get a full breath. The reality is slowly sinking in.

She’s dead. Just like that. Gone, leaving two children behind.

“I—I can’t,” I whisper, stumbling back. My breath quickens, and my hands shake as I clutch at the edge of the dining chair.“I can’t do this, Meg.”

“You don’t have a choice!” she snaps, yanking the sheet over the woman’s legs. “Pull yourself together. We need to do this.”

But I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My heart pounds against my ribs, my chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps. Theroom feels like it’s closing in on me, the air too thick to push through.

“Julia,” Meg barks, standing up and stalking toward me. Her eyes are furious. “We seriously don’t have time for this.”

Tears spill over, wet and hot, streaking down my face as I start to sob. “He’s dead, Meg! She’s gone! And those kids—those kids—how are they going to—what if—”

Meg’s hand flies up, and the sharp crack of her palm against my cheek snaps me out of the spiral. “Calm the fuck down!” she shouts, her face inches from mine, her breath hot on my skin.

I stare at her, stunned into silence, the sting of her slap burning my skin, but it’s the only thing anchoring me.

She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her, her voice firm but quieter now. “I know this is awful. I know it’s horrifying. But we don’t have time to lose it right now. Do you understand me?”

I nod, trembling, my breath still hitching but slowing slightly.

“Good,” she says, letting go of me. “Now get over here and help me. You can cry later.”

Her sharp words cut, but they ground me. Wiping my face with shaky hands, I force myself to step forward. Together, we wrap the body in the sheet, the body feels heavier than it should, the coldness of death creeping through the thin fabric.

“Grab her legs. I can’t do this by myself. We’re almost done,” Meg mutters, her tone softer, like she’s trying to coax a scared animal. “Just a little more.”

Finally, the body is wrapped and hidden from sight. I step back, hugging my arms around myself, my body shaking as Meg adjusts the last edge of the sheet.

The door creaks open, and Clara peeks inside. Her face is tight with worry. “The little ones are playin’ farther away. Y’all done in here?”

Meg looks at me, her expression unreadable. Then she nods. “Yeah. We’re done.”

Clara steps in, her eyes flicking between us. “Julia, honey, are you okay?”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat heavy, and I nod, though I know my red, tear-streaked face tells a different story.

Clara places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “This ain’t gonna be them. Not Alexander. Not Edwin. Not my boys. You hear me?”

I nod again in agreement, but I feel emptiness inside.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” the gargoyle rumbles from a distance.

“Okay, on three, you lift.” Meg directs. “One—Two—Three.”

I lift from Tabatha’s legs, and Meg from her head. She’s steady but my arms are strained and trembling as we slowly begin to move the body toward the door.

Clara starts breaking down and she storms out without a word.

“Julia, you’re slacking,” Meg complains again as I maneuver through the tight space. “Get a fucking grip!”

We manage to drag the woman’s body out of the cottage, and the gargoyle steps in, seeing our struggle—well,mystruggle. Meg is fine. And unbothered.

---