Chapter Twenty
The Island Listens
The evening stretched gold over Avalon, guilt and secrets braided tight in the fading light.
None of it would fully disappear with the morning.
Music drifted from the pier, and the smell of fried fish clung, heavy as memory.
Life moved forward because it had to. Bad happened daily.
They couldn’t allow the fear to swallow them whole.
Cass and Harmony strolled along, enjoying the peaceful moment.
“Do you know what we need?” Cass asked. “Normal. We need margaritas, dancing, and zero homicide.”
Harmony smiled. “Is that your definition of normal?”
Cass sighed, turning. “It’s something that doesn’t involve unknown numbers and texting from the abyss.”
“Maybe the abyss needs company,” Harmony said. “And we’re polite enough to answer.”
Cass shot her a look. “Stop making killers sound poetic.”
Laughter spilled from the sidewalks; visitors drifting past without a clue of the danger surrounding them.
At El Gallion, they found Torie at the bar, eyeliner smudged, drink nearly empty, eyes burning with restless energy. Candy sat nearby, tuning her guitar, humming to herself—soft chaos and glitter wrapped in human form. The two women couldn’t have been more different.
“You’re on soon,” Torie said. Her words slurred. “The crowd’s drunk enough to think you’re Stevie Nicks.”
Candy didn’t look up. “That’s always the goal.” Miracles happened—apparently, the two of them speaking was one.
Torie smirked. “You always sing like you’re saying goodbye.”
“Maybe I am,” Candy said, adjusting a string.
“Who to? Tosh?”
“To everyone.”
Torie glanced at Harmony, who gave her a smile. Torie then stalked off, pretending not to hover. Cass and Harmony joined Tosh at a table. Torie would pout for a bit, then reappear. She always did.
Cass whispered, “There might be another implosion coming.”
Harmony shrugged. “Nah. Probably just a minor burn. Nothing catastrophic.”
Torie finally looked over. “Writer on board,” she announced. “Everyone better watch what they say.”
Cass smiled sweetly. “Women who spew hate at other women usually do it because they wish they were everything they aren’t.”
Torie’s glare had no comeback.
Harmony looked at Tosh. “You know how to choose them.”
He sighed. “It seems I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“I can drink to that,” Cass said, laughing. Torie stormed out of the bar.
Candy took the stage. Her voice floated through the small room, soft and aching, making the island hold its breath for a full three minutes. When she returned, she looked fragile beneath the applause.
“Beautiful,” Harmony told her.
Candy gave a faint smile. “You should’ve heard it before I ruined it.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. You made the island stop breathing.”
“That’s a scary compliment.”
“Scary seems to be the theme lately.”
Candy’s smile faltered. “She’s going to kill me one of these nights.”
“Torie?” Harmony asked.
“Yep.” Candy stared at the black water outside. “She watches me when she thinks no one sees. The air changes when she’s nearby. She blames me for everything Tosh does wrong. I’m getting punished because I want to live free with no commitments, and she wants absolution without earning it.”
“Tosh does a lot wrong,” Harmony said. “Don’t take credit for that.”
Candy laughed weakly. “I’m serious, Harmony. There’s something . . . off about her. She’s been following me. I swear someone stood outside my window last night.”
“Did you see her?” Harmony asked.
Candy shook her head. “Just a shadow. But I know it was her.”
Harmony’s tone softened. “Tell the police.”
“No. I refuse to sound crazy. No one believes drunks and songwriters—we’re built for drama.” She tried to smile, but failed. “Besides, I’m leaving soon. I’m playing a private show at the Airport in the Sky. After that, maybe I’ll take the ferry and clear my head.”
“Good idea,” Harmony said.
Candy picked up her guitar. “I’m out. I can’t take the drama tonight.” She stepped closer, gaze sharpening. “If something happens, write about my death beautifully. Make it worth the ink.” Harmony didn’t like how easily the words fit the night.
Before Harmony could respond, Candy smiled, kissed her cheek, and vanished into the night.
While Harmony thought about Candy’s words, Torie stood alone on the hills looking down at the town. The wind clawed at her hair. Candy’s voice rose faintly from the bar below—haunting and impossible to ignore. Torie closed her eyes and whispered along with the lyrics she pretended to despise.
Her phone buzzed.
She’s still singing about you. She won’t be much longer.
Her fingers tightened.
“Not for long,” she whispered, tucking her phone into her purse and staring at the dark water.
On the other side of town, at the Glenmore, Mary sat beside a window, her phone lit with a new message.
Someone’s missing.
She smiled without humor, lifted her glass toward the reflection, and murmured, “Of course they are.”
Check the places no one looks.
A shudder ran through her.
The island was busy.
Too busy.
Plans were already in motion. One question lingered: who was pulling the strings?
The next question . . . How soon would it be until the rest of them felt the tug?