Sounds like a vampire.
Miranda kept the thought to herself. She was trying to lighten the mood, not bring up horror movie monsters.
“And that’s why he commissioned you to make him a moon garden,” she said. “So he can enjoy it at night.”
“Exactly.”
Miranda grinned. “But how do you explain the pot on his head?”
“He’s a very free spirit.”
That’s one word for it.
They both laughed, and Miranda found herself liking Shade even more.
“He’s been more involved in the process than most clients,” Eden said. “He works with me in the garden every night. The company has been…nice.”
Eden’s smile dimmed and a tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. Miranda had seen that grim look before. She figured it meant Eden was thinking about her illness.
Usually, Miranda would try to distract Eden with a funny story when it showed up. Based on the picture of Shade in the plastic pot hat, it looked like he’d been doing something similar.
Miranda’s voice was low as she asked, “Does he know?”
Eden’s smile vanished completely and she looked away. “He doesn’t need to know. In a week, I’ll be gone from his life.”
Miranda bit her lip to hold back tears that yet again threatened to spill over. How soon would Eden be gone from Miranda’s life as well? She’d known Eden would live to see the garden finished—and not much past it. From how the garden looked in the pictures, the work was almost done.
Miranda had a sick feeling in her stomach. Coupled with the stress from the accident, she could barely keep a lid on her emotions.
When Eden reached out and gently touched Miranda’s hand, her future trickled into Miranda. Everything was gray. Eden’s future was shrouded in a thick fog that Miranda couldn’t see through.
The nausea increased. Her heart felt like her chest was collapsing in on it, the weight of her emotions crushing her. She had never known someone who was nearing death. She hated that it was Eden—one of the most beautiful people Miranda had ever met. Even more, she hated not being able to do anything about it.
Days. She only has days.
“It’s okay,” Eden said. “It really is okay.”
Miranda pulled her hand away. She couldn’t look at that fog any longer—couldn’t think about losing Eden so soon.
“I’ll call your order.” Miranda started to stand, hoping to have a moment to get ahold of herself, but her joints locked up, muscles still stiff from the accident. She tried not to wince as she sat back down.
“You are not fine,” Eden said. “I can tell you’re in pain.”
Thinking about her own troubles after Eden’s made them seem small in comparison. Miranda just needed to work extra shifts to buy a new car and pay for her ambulance trip. She’d have the time to do so. But she knew her friend wouldn’t stop until Miranda had explained what was wrong.
“Okay, I’m not fine,” she said. “I had a prophetic dream this morning. There was going to be a bad accident, and people…” She shook her head, willing the memory of the family’s original fate from her mind. “The only person who stood a chance of surviving was me, so I took their place.”
Eden inhaled sharply. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just a little banged up. I wish I could say the same for my car. It was totaled.”
Without a hint of hesitation, Eden said, “You can have my truck.”
“What?” The word came out as a gasp.
“The garden is pretty much done,” Eden said. “I’ll be walking Shade through it tomorrow night.” Her voice grew quieter. “I’ve wrapped up all my other business. If you’re okay driving me around every once in a while for the next month or so… I won’t need my truck after that.”
Miranda’s heart seemed to seize in her chest again.
“No.” She shook her head. “No way.”
“Why not? Please, Miranda. Let me do this for you.”
It seemed like too much. It would be a constant reminder of Eden. Of her absence.
Or of what it’s meant to have her in my life.
Miranda nodded, blinking away tears. Her throat was too thick to let words escape. She’d been driving her mother’s car for years—until today. Now she’d be driving Eden’s…
A shadow blocked out the lights above her. She looked over her shoulder. Jack was standing right next to her, leaning on the back of the booth and staring at her with his shielded obsidian eyes.
He was huge—tall and broad enough that his presence was like a cloud passing between the earth and the sun. His beard was decidedly salt-and-pepper, but the close-cut hair that hugged his scalp was still black. Lines were etched into his rich brown skin—some from age, and some scars that she had never worked up the courage to ask about, even though she’d known him for as long as she could remember.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Did I hear you say you were in a car accident?”
“What? That’s…” Miranda let her voice trail off and laughed.
Jack had been close friends with her parents and was sort of looking after her, even though she was absolutely old enough to look after herself. He kept a strong emotional distance, but still wouldn’t be happy she hadn’t told him about the accident.
He worked every night shift with her. Since neither of them had any other family, they even spent holidays together at the restaurant, giving the other wait-staff as much time off as possible. He always said The Red Thread needed to stay open so that everyone would have a place to go.
“Miranda.” His voice was a low rumble, like thunder.
She sighed. “How could you possibly have heard me from the kitchen?”
“I keep up with what’s happening in my place,” he said. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
There was no point in trying to lie to him, even if she would have been comfortable with it—which she wasn’t. She just hoped that was all he’d heard.
“Yes, I was in an accident,” Miranda said. “But I’m fine. The hospital released me and everything.”
He leaned closer and tapped the side of his nose as he sniffed. “Bullshit.”
Eden snickered, picking up her napkin and covering her mouth as if that could mask the sound. Jack stood back up and shifted his hand so that it was on Miranda’s shoulder.
He had never touched Miranda before. Not once. Her stomach flipped like it was on a roller coaster as she felt his warmth and strength. Her eyes filled with tears again.
Darren rescuing her, Eden giving Miranda her truck, and now Jack’s supportive gesture… Miranda had forgotten what it was like to not feel isolated.
I shouldn’t let myself get used to it.
Jack’s deep voice was yet another comfort. “I see you most nights when Miranda calls in your order, but we haven’t been introduced.”
“I’m Eden.” Eden held out her hand and he shook it.
“Call me Jack. You want your usual?”
“Yes, please,” she said.
“I’ll have it right out.”
Miranda shook her head. “I’ll take care of it. I’m supposed to make the salads.” She tried to stand, but his grip on her shoulder didn’t budge.
“You forget, I’m the boss,” he said. “Right now, your job is to sit here and keep your friend company.”
“I can—”
“Miranda.”
He rarely used her name. There was a weird thrum of power to it, like her dad had described when fairies used people’s names to cast spells on them. A shiver passed through her at the thought.
“I work the night shifts because that’s when the really weird stuff usually goes down.” Jack’s gaze was mesmerizing, along with the low, smooth cadence of his speech. “I want to be here in case I’m needed. So I can help.”
She remembered the few times people had wandered in looking for trouble. All he had to do was walk out of the kitchen. Sometimes he’d be wiping his hands on a towel when he sen
sed trouble in the dining room, sometimes sharpening a knife.
Once he’d come out holding a heavy iron skillet filled with eggs and vegetables—the restaurant’s specialty. Somehow, that had actually been the most menacing she’d ever seen him. The people looking to make trouble had always turned around and left. Immediately.
“People like feeling needed,” Jack said. “They like to help others. Let me take a turn. Okay?”
She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Jack sauntered off, leaving her alone with Eden. Miranda had been so caught up in her own mission to help people, she hadn’t even noticed Jack and his.
The Red Thread was one of the only all-night restaurants in town. People often showed up who were struggling and needed help. Miranda would bring them coffee, read their futures when her intuition told her to, and sit and help them work through things. Sure, she wasn’t using her powers to save the world, but—
Her stomach suddenly felt like the floor dropped out from under her. That…was a bad sign. She had a feeling that crashing her car was about to look like a walk in the park.
“It really is okay to let others help you,” Eden said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Another shiver passed through Miranda. This one wasn’t a chill, though. It felt more like a heavy weight falling away—like making room.
For what, she didn’t know.
“Something big is coming.” The words came out before Miranda realized she was speaking. She lowered her voice so Jack wouldn’t hear.
“Another vision?” Eden asked.
“Not exactly. It’s more a feeling.” Miranda shook her head. “It could be leftover nerves from the accident.”
“You would know if it was.” Eden reached across the table and took both of Miranda’s hands in hers. “Take a few deep breaths and relax. Close your eyes and let it come to you.”
Eden was a natural at coaching Miranda through visions. And with so little future left, Eden’s own fate didn’t tend to distract Miranda from whatever vision was trying to come through.
She pushed away the morbid thought and relaxed her mind. Eden’s future flitted on the outskirts of her awareness—the gray fog that was starting to feel familiar.
Whatever vision was trying to come through, it probably wasn’t attached to any one person’s future. It was too big for that. Maybe the biggest vision she’d ever had.
The fog wasn’t retreating like it usually did when Eden helped Miranda like this. Why couldn’t she see anything?
And then she felt it. Felt the fog touch her skin.
It caressed her, enveloped her—not cold, but warm.
She’d never had any physical sensations in a vision before. It wasn’t unpleasant…at first.
Then the fog started to burn. Pain seared its way into her awareness, flooding her body, consuming her.
Is this what death feels like?
The pain suddenly vanished. Miranda still couldn’t see anything past the gray, but she felt a sense of peace and belonging—like she was with family again.
Her eyes flew open and she jerked her hands back.
“What? What is it?” Eden’s eyes were wide.
“I’m going to die,” Miranda said.
“What? How?”
“I’m not sure.” She’d never had such an obscure vision—aside from the ones about Eden. Before Miranda could think better of it, she said, “Your illness isn’t contagious, is it?”
Eden’s face hardened. Miranda had never seen that happen before. She regretted her question immediately.
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It isn’t something you can catch.” Eden shook her head and let out a laugh. There was a trace of bitterness to it. “I’ve always trusted your visions. I believed you when you told me about what you saw and your abilities. But if you think I’m some sort of Typhoid Mary—”
“That’s not it at all. But whatever’s happening to you, it’s going to happen to me, too.”
“That’s not possible.”
“My visions are never wrong. I mean, sometimes I can change things, but I never figured out how with you. But now I see the fog coming for me as well.”
Eden shook her head. She grabbed her purse as she stood. Miranda tried to jump up to follow her, but her hips sent stabbing pain through her as she tried to force them into quick action. By the time she rose, Eden was halfway to the door.
“Eden, wait! I know why you’re not afraid now. The fog wasn’t scary. The other side of it felt more like… I don’t know, like home.” Miranda was desperate, grasping at straws. “It’s the same fog. I’m sure of it. If your illness isn’t contagious, maybe the gray doesn’t mean death after all. Maybe it means a cure. Maybe I can cure you somehow.”
Eden paused, her hand gripping the handle of the door. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I work really hard to be okay with what’s going to happen to me. Every minute of every day. It’s a struggle.”
Eden looked over at Miranda with an expression so bleak that it sent a chill through her. She’d never seen such hopelessness before.
“There is no cure,” Eden said. “There is no stopping this. And the only thing worse than that feeling of despair is false hope. I’ve been there before. I won’t do it again.”
“But my visions—”
Eden shook her head. “You aren’t always right. I am absolutely terrified.”
“Eden…”
“I can’t deal with this right now. I’m sorry.” One of the bells tinkled as she threw the door open and half-ran into the night.
Miranda wanted to run after her, but knew she couldn’t catch up. Even if she did, what could she say after that? She slumped back into the booth.
How could she have been so wrong? The pain in Eden’s face as she left would stay with Miranda until the day she died. Which, depending on what her vision really meant, might not be very long.
The gray that shrouded Eden was coming for Miranda, too. If it didn’t mean a cure for Eden…it meant death for Miranda as well.
She thought of the feeling of warmth and belonging that waited for her on the other side and tried not to be afraid.
She really tried.
Chapter Four
Darren felt like he was walking into an execution as he walked with her partner down the hallway that led to the CEO’s office. Scott barged through the door without knocking, too quickly for Darren to stop him. Mrs. Ford was sitting behind a sleek desk made of glass, chrome, and polished black plastic.
Something about her had changed.
She and Scott had the same gray-blue eyes and pale brown hair. Hers hung around her face in its usual carefully styled waves. It only took Darren a moment to realize what was different.
The streaks of gray that had been abundant in her hair were nearly gone and her skin had smoothed considerably. She looked ten years younger. He had seen her yesterday.
He filed that observation away for later. The current shitstorm required his full attention.
As always, Blake Morrison was standing within her arm’s reach. His shoulders were squared and his hands clasped in front of him. The stance was casual, but Darren knew Morrison was ready to act in a split-second to defend his boss.
He was a head taller than Darren, and thick with muscle. The designer suit hid what it could, but Darren had seen Morrison sparring in the company’s training centers and knew not to underestimate the guy.
Morrison looked different, too. He hadn’t shaved his head or face in long enough that a layer of dark stubble was visible. Normally, he was impeccable in his grooming. His amber skin was blanched and his eyes had a haunted quality when he briefly met Darren’s gaze. He pulled himself up straighter and stared over Darren’s shoulder.
What the hell is going on?
Darren noticed that one of the chairs opposite her desk wasn’t empty just as Scott said, “Mom, I swear to you, we’re going to find out who did this and make them pay.”
> She silenced him with a glare, keeping her stiff smile firmly in place as she stood and smoothed a hand over her skirt. “I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.”
The stranger slid from the chair with a grace that didn’t seem to match his large form. Darren logged details quickly.
Brown hair, shorter on the sides than the top, made to look disheveled intentionally. Dark blue eyes. Crows feet, laugh lines, and a smile friendly enough that Darren found himself wanting to like the guy.
Probably a con man.
Expensive suit. Very expensive suit. Silk scarf and long jacket—loose enough to conceal weapons. Not bulky enough to conceal the size of the guy. If he’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he would have fit right in at a construction site.
Maybe something else?
“I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Reece,” Mrs. Ford said.
“No.” Scott’s tone was petulant, and her smile became even more strained.
Mr. Reece extended a hand to Scott, who ignored it. Darren stepped forward, accepting the greeting on Scott’s behalf.
“Ambrose Reece.” The man’s smile deepened.
“Ambrose?” Scott said.
Mr. Reece’s smile grew, like he was thinking of some private joke. “It’s a family name.”
“I’m Darren Calverton,” Darren said. “That’s Scott.”
“Yes, Scott Ford.” Mr. Reece released Darren’s hand as he turned to Mrs. Ford, and said, “I see the resemblance to your lovely mother.”
She cleared her throat a bit awkwardly while Morrison cast a baleful look at Mr. Reece.
Office gossip said Mrs. Ford and her personal bodyguard were a couple, and Darren was pretty sure that was accurate. They never did or said anything affectionate, but there was an unmistakable chemistry between them. A colleague had made a joke in front of Morrison about him liking older women, and Morrison had dislocated the guy’s arm in their next sparring practice.
“Ambrose Reece,” Darren said. “That name is familiar.”
“Mr. Reece is one of the foremost experts regarding antiquities.” Mrs. Ford walked around her desk to stand next to the group. Morrison followed at a not-so-discreet distance. He was definitely rattled by something more than Mr. Reece’s flirting.
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