Chapter 109
“No,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe it. Immediately, the women set about cleansing the camp of the wickedness we foreigners have brought. They pour out water from all the pitchers. I see some of the women placing small bits of bread in their pockets, which Brigid has told us wards off bad luck. Damion offers me his hand, and I take it. “The men you saw in the woods—now you see they were not specters but flesh and blood. They had come seeking revenge on the Gypsies.” I want to believe him. I would do anything to have it all explained away with easy assurances, like those from a governess patting a fretting child’s head. “And the windows?” “A vision. A most unusual one. You said yourself that things are changing.” He combs his fingers through his thick curls, which I know he does whe
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