Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
A t seven in the morning, I abandoned all pretense of sleep.
Despite Vale’s wishes, I’d tossed and turned all night, no rest for the weary.
I kicked off the covers and wandered to the window.
The silver crescent moon had been replaced by a burnt orange horizon, a peaceful reminder that I’d lived to see another sunrise.
There’d been a time when most of my days were like yesterday—fueled by violence and righteousness.
In the beginning, I’d relished my role. I’d performed a public service and was very good at it.
I struck a match and lit a candle for Gary, wishing him well on his journey to the next realm. The vampire would be free of his worldly ailments there. It had been difficult to watch him suffer; I could only imagine how Gary felt.
To think the Thread-Thieves would’ve taken the fate-threads of more Neighbors if given the chance.
Anger coiled tight in my stomach. It was bad enough the Thread-Thieves took anyone’s fate-thread, but targeting Neighbors because they were older and one step closer to death—it was abhorrent.
These residents were living, breathing people.
They weren’t cars; their lives weren’t worth less because there was more mileage on them.
They deserved to die in their own time and with dignity.
The cold, accusatory fingers of guilt crawled up the back of my neck.
Once upon a time, I’d been responsible for catching Thread-Thieves and bringing them to justice.
If I’d caught this band of thieves years ago, Belinda and Judd would be alive.
They’d be looking at the silver crescent in the sky, filled with gratitude for the gift of another day.
I focused on the burning wick, unwilling to jump down that rabbit hole.
I’d been right to leave my old life behind.
There would always be Thread-Thieves, just as there would always be other criminals.
I wasn’t responsible for the theft of fate-threads because I failed to bring each and every thief to justice.
Thread-Thieves. Unwoven. Thornborn.
I wondered what Vale would choose to do with the faerie—whether he would turn the killer over to the Fates or some other authority.
Flashes of my old life had come roaring back in a short span. Evermore was supposed to be my safe space. I shouldn’t have ventured to the mainland. Too many people. Too many connections to the world I’d fled. Not to mention I’d put myself directly in the path of a demigod.
I drew a steadying breath. There was no reason to see Vale again. The investigation was over. I’d stay on the island; he’d stay in Savannah. No need for our paths to cross.
To his credit, he’d been willing to put himself in harm’s way to help me, a relative stranger, which was more than I could say for the Fates, who forced others to do the hard work for them.
The sisters wouldn’t dream of dirtying their own hands in mortal soil.
They liked the power, but not the day-to-day responsibilities.
I closed my eyes in an effort to shut down my tangled thoughts. No more Vale, Fates, fae, or any other threat to my existence.
Why did I have to choose a job in security?
I could’ve been a bartender at Sweet Briar and avoided this whole mess.
Sure, customer service wasn’t my strong suit, and I would’ve had to learn how to mix drinks properly without overdoing the alcohol, but I would’ve made it work.
Now that I’d drawn attention to myself, I had to tread very lightly or risk starting over again.
The thought filled me with dread. I curled up on the sofa with Jinx purring softly behind me. Her favorite spot was nestled between my shoulders and the back cushion of the sofa. Occasionally, her claw would attack my hair, then fall still again.
“If you’re going to be spending more time indoors, we might want to consider a litter box.”
Jinx responded to the reasonable suggestion by using my head as a springboard to get to the floor.
“Your feelings have been noted,” I told her.
Old fears bubbled to the surface. I didn’t want to leave Evermore. What would happen to Jinx? Who would take over as security director? Without Judd, the Neighbors needed me now more than ever, and I’d worked too hard to create a safe haven for myself.
I blew out a breath. Nobody knew who I was.
Yes, the Archivist noticed my barely there fate-thread, but I offered a feasible explanation.
And nobody on Evermore would think too hard about my flaws, at least for now.
I solved the murders; that would be top of mind when they thought of me.
Maya August was an asset to the community.
No reason to dig any deeper. Besides, I’d meticulously covered my tracks.
It would take someone like me to find me, and we were a rare breed, almost nonexistent, which was also the reason they wanted me back in the fold.
I was a far greater asset to them than I was to the Neighborhood.
I was an investment. Property to be disposed of at their will.
Somehow, I managed to fall asleep on the sofa, drowning in a whirlpool of anxiety.
The clang of the doorbell startled me awake.
Jinx zipped to the front door like her company had arrived.
I wasn’t a fan of unexpected visitors, or surprises in general.
If someone can surprise you, it means you’re unsafe; safety was my primary concern.
That was the primary reason I’d chosen a role in security—I could watch my back while watching everyone else’s.
For five years, that seemed to work out, until now.
I scratched the dried drool from my cheek and peered through the curtain to see Meemaw on my porch, along with Margie, Louise, and Joan. I opened the door. “Ladies,” I said, by way of greeting.
“Hope we’re not interrupting anything.” Meemaw held up a cake. “We wanted to bring you a little taste of goodness to show our appreciation.”
My mind drew a blank as I accepted the cake. “Appreciation for what?”
“For solving the murders, Maya. What else?” Joan looked ready to snatch the cake back as punishment for stupidity.
“I was just doing my job.”
“No,” Meemaw said. “Your job is to figure out who’ s stealing undergarments from the locker room in the clubhouse. The Neighborhood security team isn’t equipped for serious crimes.”
I glanced at the cake, covered in dark chocolate frosting. “Thank you for thinking of me.” They stared at me expectantly. I’d shown appropriate gratitude. What else was there? “Is there something else?” I finally asked, when they showed no sign of leaving.
“You can’t eat that whole cake on your own,” Meemaw said. “Invite us in to share it with you.”
“You want to be invited in?” The concept was so foreign to me, I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“We’re not vampires,” Margie said, “but we do stand on ceremony.”
I stepped aside. “Please, come in and share this cake with me. I’ll never finish it on my own.” In truth, I could demolish the cake in two days flat, but I spared them the details of my sugar addiction.
“Would you like tea?” I asked.
Louise’s one-eyed gaze swept the kitchen. “I don’t see a kettle.”
“Relax. I have a kettle. I’m not a barbarian.”
The witches bustled around my kitchen, looting the cupboards and drawers for the required items.
“Where’s your cake knife?” Meemaw asked, after opening the final drawer and finding it lacking.
“I don’t own a cake knife.”
She scowled. “Who doesn’t own a cake knife?”
“Someone who doesn’t bake cakes?”
“What do you have on your birthday?” Margie asked.
“Whatever the restaurant is serving,” I lied, because the truth would’ve sounded even worse to them—I didn’t celebrate my birthday. The annual milestone only served as a reminder of the world I left behind. It was, in fact, an earlier birthday that changed the trajectory of my life.
“We can improvise,” Joan said, as she pulled a large dagger from the back of a drawer.
Meemaw whistled. “Interesting.”
“I’m allowed to keep weapons.”
“Yes, but in your junk drawer?” Meemaw gave me an appraising look. “Honey, we have all been on edge since the murders, so I get it, but you can put that back where it belongs now.”
Still gripping the handle, Joan approached the cake. “After we’re done with it.”
Joan sliced through the cake with expert precision. She seemed a little too happy to hold a weapon in her hand.
We carried our plates to the table, and I returned with four cups and the teapot.
“What are your thoughts on Hannya?” Now seemed as good a time as any to repay Hannya for saving my life.
“Her leggings are atrocious,” Margie said. “I think she wears the ugly ones for attention.”
“Okay, first, I think she genuinely likes them. Second, not what I had in mind.”
Margie licked the frosting from her fork. “Yours was a broad question. Care to narrow it down?”
“I know she’s a demon with certain physical characteristics that some might consider undesirable, but?—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Meemaw said. “You’re talking to a witch who sported a giant wart on the end of her nose for the better part of a hundred years. I don’t have any issue with Hannya’s appearance.”
“What happened to your wart? A spell?” The growth was long gone by the time she arrived on the island.
She chuckled. “A spell. Sweetie, if it had been a spell, I would’ve been rid of it long ago. No, my old dermatologist was able to remove the big one without leaving a mark. Not all progress is bad for us.”
“Then why don’t you include Hannya in your book club or card games?”
“Nothing personal, just never occurred to me. It isn’t like we invite every woman on the island. There isn’t enough space for that, unless we reserved one of the large ballrooms, but then we’d lose the cozy feel of the event.”
“Would you mind inviting her to the next one? She’s competitive, so she might prefer cards, unless you’re hosting a read-a-thon.”
“I’ll speak to the other ladies who aren’t here and get a consensus. I don’t have the authority to make unilateral decisions that change the dynamics of the group. Any good coven leader knows that offering a vote goes a long way toward establishing trust.”
For Hannya’s sake, I hoped their votes were guided by kindness. It was a horrible feeling to be excluded. People tend to associate that sort of behavior with children, but in my experience, some kids turned into adults without doing the work of growing up.
“I appreciate the effort, regardless of the outcome.”
“Didn’t know you had a soft spot for the demon,” Joan remarked.
“I didn’t either.”
She gave me a wry smile. “Must be the ghosts of Judd and Belinda, telling you to get your act together in this life or suffer in the next.”
“The only thing Judd would tell me is how disappointed he is that there are no more rules to follow.”
Meemaw’s laughter morphed into a hiccup. “Bless our sweet Judd. He sure did like his rules, didn’t he? ”
So much so that he died for them.
“So, I guess this means Gary’s place is available,” Louise said. “If Bernice continues to get on my nerves, I might request a transfer.”
No one responded.
Louise looked at us, apologetic. “What? Too soon?”
“Belinda’s room is vacant too,” Joan said slowly.
“Evermore has a wait list,” I told them. “We’ll have two new Neighbors very soon. You can count on it.”
“Any chance we can put in a request?” Margie asked.
“For a specific occupant?”
“It would be nice to have a djinni,” Margie said. “Or even a wizard.”
Meemaw scowled. “Definitely not a wizard. They’ll steal our spells and take all the credit.”
“Well, another magic user would be nice,” Margie amended. “How about a mage? Bonus points if he’s handsome.” Margie swiveled in her chair to face me. “Your father was a mage, wasn’t he? Is he still alive?”
“Afraid not.” I diverted the discussion before she could ask any follow-up questions. “Send your request to Justine at the HOA. No promises, but she’s your best bet when it comes to the wait list.”
“I don’t know why you bother,” Joan told her. “Men are a waste of time and energy. These are our golden years. We should enjoy them without needing to put the toilet seat down multiple times a day.”
“I’m trying to enjoy myself,” Margie replied, “but I find it difficult without a male companion.”
Joan sipped her tea. “Honey, that’s a ‘you’ problem.”
Margie slid her fork into the cake and tore off a large chunk. “I’m well aware.”
Jinx sat at my feet, listening to the conversation and occasionally rubbing against my leg.
I gathered my fears into a ball and stuffed them deep in the pit of my stomach.
The die had been cast, and there was nothing to do about it.
For now, I would enjoy the cake and the company.
Like a famous lady from Georgia once said, tomorrow is another day.