The afternoon of the full moon found the women preparing the cellar for George. They’d already emptied the shelves of glass jars and cut tall grass to pile on the hard-packed dirt floor to make a bed.
“I don’t recall sleeping the last time until after I’d killed poor,” she stopped, recalling the horror on Maurice’s face. “Well, until after I’d killed.”
“But you won’t have anything to kill this time,” Pete told her, “and Eli is going to dose you heavily with that tea. Maybe that—along with my calming spell—will help you to get through the night better.”
George rolled her eyes. “I beg the Mother you are right,” she said with a deep sigh. “But I still want the two of you far from here so the beast can’t smell you. I fear that with that all-consuming hunger I remember, just smelling a human
