by Nicole Snow
“Aw, really? I’ll blame it on home. We don’t get sun in the Seattle area,” she teases, then tilts her head back into the breeze, eyes lidding, as she breathes in and spreads her arms with the flowers dangling from one hand. “That’s why I love it out here. It’s so bright.”
You’re the real brightness, firefly, I think. Then I shake my head and make myself turn away and begin the walk back to the trail.
After a while she follows me, catching up to walk side-by-side, watching me curiously and twirling her flowers. Pointedly, she picks one out to tuck in her hair, baby blue nestling against sunny blonde and bringing out the light in her sky-blue eyes.
“Was this what you wanted to show me? The cliff?”
“Ah...” I clear my throat, mind going into overdrive.
Shit. I’d forgotten about that.
I don’t even know what I’d intended anymore.
To bring her out here, show her the ruins, and tell her the truth? Show her how preposterous I can be? Show her why she should stay the hell away from me, maybe.
Too bad those memories went crashing down, the words locked up inside me, the second I saw what’s left of Paradise.
“Yes,” I answer slowly after a hesitant moment. It’s better this way. “The view. Most people never see the bottom of the cliff or take it in up close and personal.”
“I like it.” She accepts my bull with a bright smile, just that easy. “So,” she continues, “are you going to the theater this weekend?”
I frown. “Why would I? What theater?”
“The old one’s reopening in town, I heard.” She shrugs. “Apparently, Peters overhauled it. Felicity’s really excited.”
Then she stretches up on her toes, reaching up, and something cool kisses behind my ear.
One of the flowers, I realize, a pink one, its stem tickling, and its petals nestling into my hair, her soft fingertips brushing the curve of my ear, making it tingle before she pulls away, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Good goddamn.
For once, I can’t quite focus on her allure. Not when my body goes cold despite the day’s balmy heat.
She knows how to focus my attention, I’ll give her that.
She also knows exactly how to make sure I’ll show up to keep an eye on Peters.
It’s evening by the time I’m alone again.
Our hour is more than up. It’s time to reopen the clinic.
Ember and I dance around each other for the rest of a day that’s mercifully busy enough to keep us from being alone together, but just slow enough to give me time to think.
To notice little things like the way her hair skims her jaw when she turns too fast, or the flare of her lab coat against those slim, pale legs on steps that make her flit like a butterfly.
A blue morpho. That’s what she is to me.
This bright, rare, delicate thing, flitting through my life, soon to be gone again. Far too capable of delivering the worst case of smurf-blue balls I’ve ever had in my life.
I ignore the ache below my belt line, waiting for her to finally go home for the day.
Then it’s just me and the secret panel in my office. That shoebox with the burner phone inside on a shelf, perched next to the lethal freezer.
Plus one secret flask of emergency whiskey I keep in my desk drawer, the taste of it scouring, bracing, giving me courage to dial the only number programmed into the cheap phone.
It takes me half the flask before I take a deep breath, find my courage, hit Call, and wait.
There’s a hard knot in the pit of my stomach. It only tightens like a spring as the line rings – then clicks.
At first, I’m not even sure it worked. Maybe the damn thing went dead or goes to a disconnected number now.
Then I hear it. The sound of harsh breathing, and an even harsher voice, gravelly and seared. “Yeah?”
“Hey,” I say, my throat dry. “Long time.”
He chuckles. “That’s been your choice. I’ve been here all along. Doing my thing.”
“Yeah...” What the fuck do I say?
After a long silence, he says, “You need something, don’t you?”
“No. Not quite. Not me.” I lean my elbow on my desk, staring down at the shine of the lamp off the silvery metal of the flask. If I close my eyes, I can almost forget, if it wasn’t for the thickness, the scrape of his voice, the sound of permanent damage to his vocal cords. “It’s more like I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“That the battle-axe and the weasel are back?”
I smile faintly. “You see everything, I guess.”
“Not everything. Enough.” He pauses, then says, “I don’t know what they’re doing in town. It worries me a lot.”
“I don’t know either. Fuchsia keeps trying to corner me away from the town to tell me something apparently too important for a phone call or five minutes at a gas station.” I snort bitterly. “And Peters, he’s playing the philanthropist, buying up and renovating struggling businesses in town.”
“Heart’s Edge is half-dead businesses,” he grinds out. “Is there such a thing as majority ownership of a town?”
“Politically, that’s a technical no. Doesn’t change the fact he’d have enough economic power to influence decisions about the town if he wants, without a—”
Fuck. I almost say the word mayor. Heart’s Edge hasn’t had a mayor since...
Yeah.
But I can’t bring that up to him. Not now.
He knows what I’ll say, and there’s no point in hurting him more. I clear my throat and continue on. “With three councillors standing in for local government, it’s not hard for him to win a seat on the board. Or, hell, full control if he pumps enough into their re-election campaigns.”
“The question is why. If he wants to use Heart’s Edge as a staging ground again, he’s out of his fucking mind.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I whisper, taking another rough swig of the whiskey. “And that I won’t be able to stop it this time. Listen to me, man...”
“Yeah?”
“I...” Fuck. I drag a hand over my face, then press my face into my palm, forcing out words I’ve held onto for years. “I’m sorry. For everything. For the way it went down.”
Whatever else I expected, I’m not expecting a laugh.
Rough, gritty like sandpaper, but still he laughs, and it’s good-natured and teasing.
“The fuck are you apologizing for, Gray?” he asks. “You’re not the one who did this to me. You’re not the one who turned me into the monster of Heart’s Edge. You saved me. You pulled me out of the fire. And now maybe it’s my turn to return the favor.”
Before I can ask what he means, the line goes dead.
I’m left staring at the phone, the blank screen, with a strange, sick feeling in my chest and a sense of foreboding building up inside me.
A storm is coming to Heart’s Edge. No doubt whatsoever.
I just fear for the people caught in its wake.
13
Dog Eat Dog (Ember)
That creepy-ass woman is back.
I part the blinds of the examining room in the back of the clinic, the one we almost never use because it only has the one tiny window and seems too cramped for some of the bigger animals. I try to be sneaky about peeking out, but of course, I stumble and shake the blinds so violently I give myself away.
Fuchsia isn’t trying to be sneaky at all. She just cruises past the clinic in a pitch-black SUV, driving so slow it’s obvious she’s watching the place.
It’s been obvious for three freaking days. That’s how long she’s been doing this. And Doc either hasn’t noticed or he’s actively ignoring her.
Really, I’ve been afraid to ask him about it. He seems heavier since that day at Charming Inn and our walk through the valley. So many things weighing on his mind, on his soul, and I don’t want to make it worse for him. I’ve already pried enough.
But deep down, I’m dying to know just what’s going on with
him and Heart’s Edge. Sometimes this town feels like a great big oyster clamped shut around a pearl, holding in all its secrets.
Is it bad that part of me just wants to know?
Meanwhile, another part of me tingles intuition. Something’s coming, something potentially massive, and I need to be ready. I get the same sensation now as I did when I was ten years old, on a road trip with my parents to Branson for this special music festival.
Dad barely kept our car ahead of the unsettled sky descending over the Iowa plains. Later, we heard those green funnels reaching down became violent twisters.
That time, I had Dad’s good judgment and happy distraction singing to make everything okay, to override the sick, rising fear in my belly that made me wonder if anything would ever be okay again.
Not here. Not now. Even if Doc makes me feel a thousand times safer, I have to be ready to protect myself. Protect Felicity, too.
Even return the favor and protect Doc, if he’ll let me.
I guess that’s why I don’t say anything about Fuchsia when I notice her. That, and he’s said he has it under control.
Still...she has to know he’s not here.
He’s out on a house call for someone’s horse at a ranch a bit farther away on the outskirts of town. His car’s not even in the lot. Pam and I do our best holding down the fort. It’s a quiet day with the practice so empty it’s almost dead.
But she’s there, comically conspicuous, gliding down the street like some kind of stalker, and I wonder if it’s not Doc she’s checking out at all.
Does she have some interest in The Menagerie?
Does she want to use the building for something – or want someone inside? Even – oh, God – me?
I can’t imagine, but since I have no clue what Doc’s history is with her, my brain is happy to supply possibilities.
Maybe she’s a secret government spy. Or a terrorist planning to plant a bomb here. The veterinary practice is in a fairly central location in town, as discreet as it looks on the outside. If Fuchsia wanted to do as much damage as possible, the blast radius around the building would be ideal. But—
But ugh. Listen to me going off the deep end.
What could any terrorist or femme fatale spy possibly want here in Heart’s Edge?
What would they get out of blowing things up? The only people who’d truly care about the lives lost are the good people in town, and it would hardly be a blip on the national radar.
Maybe that’s why.
They wouldn’t want to send a message.
They’d want to go unnoticed.
Whatever it is…maybe Heart’s Edge is a testing ground before they go bigger with—
“Oh my God, Ember, stop,” I whisper to myself. I sound like some kind of Tom Clancy novel. Or like Mom.
I’ll blame it on my nerves.
Even if I know I’m being silly, it doesn’t make this easier. Or change the fact that she’s there, hidden behind the blackout windows of the SUV, terrifying as ever with her oversized shades and flat, almost mannequin expression.
Eventually, though, when she does another cruising drive-by of the clinic, she doesn’t turn at the end of the block like she did before. She just keeps going. Where?
I peek over my shoulder. No one else here except Pam. Impulse feeds nervous excitement into my veins as I go dodging out to the reception area, shedding my lab coat.
“Taking my lunch a little early!” I call, diving out the front door. I have to hurry before I lose her, damn it. Even if she keeps up that low, creepy-crawly speed, she’s putting plenty of distance between her vehicle and the clinic. At this rate, I’ll have to burst my lungs trying to catch up to her on foot.
My car’s too noticeable.
I guess now I’m trying to play spy myself.
Pam barely has a chance to bark out something muddled after me before I’m spilling out into the late morning sun and sprinting down the street, running parallel to where I’d seen Fuchsia’s SUV. I catch a glimpse of it, sunlight glinting off black like it’s a shiny beetle. I pick up speed, panting, lungs scouring as I go chasing after her.
Fuchsia takes a turn off toward a place where the hills part, and an old service road winds down toward the valley. I think there used to be a hotel or something there, but it burned down ages ago, the ruins still standing there like sticks of kindling.
I lose sight of her for a second, but there’s only one way to go on that service road.
Ignoring the branches scratching at my bare arms, trying not to make too much noise, I dive into the trees along the roadside, taking cover in the brush. Fighting to keep out of sight as I plunge on after her.
It’s quieter now.
Every so often, through the trunks, I hear the sound of her engine or catch a glimpse of the truck...right before it turns off on a narrow path that vanishes into the trees at the base of the hill.
I slow down, trying to calm my heaving, noisy breaths, and creep forward, careful not to make a sound. I can see something through the trees, a regular, hard-edged shape at odds with all the fuzzy soft edges of leaves and bushes and branches.
It’s a cabin, I think? Yeah.
One that’s been left in awful shape, hidden away off the service road. One of its walls looks caved in, the roof sagging, the glass long broken out of the windows. I guess it’s been abandoned forever, but I wonder...is this where she’s been staying?
There’s a large luxury military-style tent next to it, tons of camping supplies, even a fire.
Holy hell. I try not to gasp, realizing this elegant, lethal woman has been camping out in a derelict cabin like some kind of drifter.
The idea makes me dizzy. Confused. Something here isn’t adding up at all.
Especially when I catch sight of her, just past the collapsed wall and...she’s not alone.
There’s a man with her. A huge, hulking bear of a man, who’d dwarf even Doc – who’s a tower, a Titan – wearing a thick hoodie that covers most of his body. I can only see him from behind, but he’s got his sleeve pulled back, baring his arm.
Then I see the whorls of scars and ink burned into his skin like storm fronts. He’s a human hurricane engraved with damage branded forever into his flesh.
Just like Doc’s hands? I shudder.
Looking closer, it seems like this man covered over his scars with tattoos, turning himself into a brutal work of art.
Fuchsia is wearing gloves – sterile nitrile just like the ones at the office – and she’s holding the man’s arm steady while she inserts a syringe just inside the crook of his elbow. It’s some kind of...exam?
There’s an old table next to them, so broken it’s tilting to one side. But holding steady enough to support a number of vials, many of them already filled with what I guess is his blood, judging by the dark red liquid shining inside.
That ice-cold chill rockets up my spine again. I catch my breath, pressing a hand to my mouth.
What’s she doing to him? Some kind of experiment?
Whatever it is, I don’t think I should be seeing this. I feel like I’ve just walked in on some arcane ritual run by a witch who’ll probably kill me if she finds out I’m here. But I want to know, I need to know just what in blue blazes is going on?
Holding my breath, pulse jackhammering, I back away slowly, ducking down low.
Just in time to hear a twig crack as I hunker down. Crap.
Fuchsia stiffens. The beast-man whips around to look over his shoulder, his face just an angry shadow under his hood.
It takes a second to dawn on me that it wasn’t my clumsy feet that made the sound. A second later, I don’t get a chance to think about anything at all.
Over half a dozen men in suits and sunglasses come swarming out of the trees like angry hornets, weapons drawn, moving low and purposeful with bad intent in every line of their bodies. Holy–
I let out a little scream because I just can’t help myself, and I freeze in place, lifting my hands, waiting to be shot, shou
ted at, told to hold still.
But they don’t even look at me.
They just keep coming in.
They close in on the house, surrounding it, as quick and efficient as a SWAT unit. One man stops mid-stride, head whipping toward me. So, this is how my life ends.
I keep waiting for the inevitable gun to go up and fire before I even know it. But he cocks his head, looking confused, like he’s seen something totally out of place. Taking another hesitant step toward me, he pauses, jerking his gaze back to one of his companions as they bark out an order I can’t quite hear.
Now – now, or I’m never going to get another chance.
Cold sweat beads out all over my body. It’s the only thing I’m aware of as I turn and run.
I get about five or ten feet. Too bad klutz karma catches up with me and snags my heel on something gnarled. I trip over a fallen branch, tumbling down onto my face in some leaves.
Damn!
Fear ricochets through me. There’s a painful twinge in my ankle, but not so bad it stops me from pushing up on my hands, scrambling to my feet, and taking off again. Panic does wondrous things to the body.
I don’t even try to hide my movements this time. There’s nothing but the searing burn of my lungs and a voice roaring go go go in my head.
My only thought is escape, and I go crashing through the trees, shoving branches and bushes and God knows what else out of my way, ignoring the nasty sting as they whip back against me and scratch open my arms, my face, my legs.
I never should’ve come here.
I never should’ve pried into Doc’s business.
I don’t know what I thought I was doing, trying to be smart and clever and brave following Fuchsia.
I just know I’ve got to get back into town, safe around other people, safe from this nightmare.
Pausing for a second, I glance around. Frantically looking for the path Doc and I followed that leads back up the hills and around the cliff back to Charming Inn. It’s got to be around here somewhere, there’s only so much valley and so much forest, but I’m not seeing it. I’m flipping lost.