Chapter 9: The Bruxa Pact and What the Elder Buried

The mill smelled of flour and old water and something underneath both that Serafka identified before they crossed the threshold — the faint, sweet-rotten edge of marsh vegetation carried on clothing and skin and the particular way guilt sweats out of people who have been holding something too long.

She paused at the door. Arthur watched her nostrils flare slightly, the way a cat will stop and sort through a room with its whole face before deciding whether it wants to enter.

"He's been here recently," she said. "Tomak."