The Cove Sisters

The church basement reeked of mildew and candle wax. Evelyn traced her sister's initials—M.H.—carved into a pew, the letters weathered but deliberate.

Ronan's flashlight beam danced over the far wall. "There." He pressed a rotting panel, revealing a hidden door.

The chamber beyond was a reliquary of women's rage. Quilts hung floor-to-ceiling, their patterns forming a snarling tapestry of wolves, storms, and drowning ships. At the center stood a stone altar, stained dark.

"The Sisters' meeting room," Ronan said. "Where they planned their offerings."

Evelyn touched the altar. Her fingers came away rust-red. "Blood?"

"Wine, perhaps. Or desperation." He nodded to a quilt depicting a woman crowned with thorns. "Each leader added a panel. See the signatures?"

Tiny initials stitched into the corners: C.V. (Clara Voss), M.H. (Meredith Hart), and newer ones—L.K.

Liam's mother.

"She's one of them," Evelyn breathed.

"A High Sister. The weaver of webs." Ronan's tone sharpened. "But webs can be cut."

A sound echoed above—footsteps.

Ronan blew out the candles. "Someone's here."

They crouched behind the altar as the door creaked open. Lamplight spilled down the stairs, followed by the click of heels.

Liam's mother hummed as she lit fresh candles, her reflection warped in the quilts' glassy threads. She laid a bundle on the altar: a lock of auburn hair, tied with red string.

Evelyn's hair.

"Soon, dear," the woman murmured. "You'll join Meredith in the tapestry."

As she left, Ronan gripped Evelyn's wrist. "Your turn. Burn it all—or become part of it."