NINE
As Ursula approached the town, she knew something was wrong. It was too quiet. At this time of the afternoon, there should be the clonk of bells at milking time, the giggles of children playing, the shouts of adult voices as they reprimanded their children or greeted one another, the sting of smoke in her nostrils as kitchen fires were stoked to cook dinner...
There was no smoke. On a snowy day in Berehaven, it was tantamount to sacrilege – suicide – to let the house fires go out.
So if the home fires weren't burning...everyone was already dead.
Ursula choked back a sob.
What kind of monster was Vauquelin, that he could s*******r everyone in the valley, and leave like it was nothing?
But he hadn't slaughtered everyone. Ursula squared her shoulders and straightened her spine.
