Chapter 21 Vivienne
TWENTY-ONE
vivienne
Six weeks after Winston Aldrich’s arrest, The Mystic Cup was packed.
Vivienne brewed her fourth pot of chamomile tea before noon. Some customers came for readings. Others wanted tea and conversation with the woman who’d solved the murders.
Mrs. Mayer sat at her usual table with Velta Wright, chatting with other customers about the case. Two tables over, families of the victims gathered weekly to share memories.
Mrs. Pennington still avoided the shop, which suited Vivienne fine.
“Another scone order,” Dawn called from behind the counter. “That’s eight dozen this week.”
“We’ll need to hire help.” Vivienne wiped flour from her hands. “I can’t bake and do readings and manage the shop alone.”
“Good problem to have.” Dawn grinned. “Though I could use the extra hours when I’m not at the park.”
“I’ll work out a proper schedule this weekend.”
The bell chimed. Brooks entered, badge clipped to his belt. Several customers waved—he stopped by most days for lunch.
“Coffee?” Vivienne offered.
“Please. And whatever you’re baking.”
She poured his dark roast and plated two lavender scones. They’d fallen into routines over the past weeks. Meals together. Walks along the beach. Quiet evenings where he read case files while she worked on her grimoire.
Not dating. But not not dating either.
“Sullivan wants you to look at something,” Brooks said quietly. “Another cold case. Woman who disappeared from the harbor in 1987. No body.”
“Does he think it’s connected to the Aldriches?”
“Not sure. Her sister’s been asking questions since Winston’s arrest.”
Vivienne considered. Her abilities had recovered, but she’d been careful not to overextend.
“I’ll look at the file. But I’m not making promises. If the spirits don’t want to communicate, I can’t force them.”
“Understood.” Brooks finished his scone. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Busy.” She refilled his coffee. “The nightmares have mostly stopped.”
“That’s good.”
“What about you? Any regrets about staying?”
“None.” His answer came immediately. “This is where I’m supposed to be.”
The shop bell chimed again. A young couple entered with cameras and nervous energy. Vivienne excused herself to help them while Brooks finished his lunch.
She’d just started their order when her pendant grew warm. Not burning like it had in the lighthouse. Just warm.
A presence nearby. Not threatening, but insistent.
Vivienne touched the silver stone. The temperature dropped a few degrees. She caught the scent of salt water and old wood.
Harbor, a voice whispered. More feelings than words. Soon. Watch.
The presence faded. Her pendant cooled.
Brooks appeared at her elbow. “You okay? You went pale.”
“Someone just warned me. A spirit. Something about the harbor.” Vivienne shook her head. “It wasn’t threatening. Just cautioning me to watch.”
“Watch for what?”
“I don’t know. The message wasn’t clear.” She finished the tourists’ order. “It might be related to that 1987 case. Or something new.”
“Want me to increase patrols around the harbor?”
“Not yet. Let me meditate on it tonight.” Vivienne handed the tourists their tea. “Sometimes spirits give advance warning. This felt like that.”
Brooks looked troubled but nodded. “Let me know what you find out. And Vivienne? Don’t investigate alone. We handle it together.”
“Together,” she agreed.
After the shop closed, Vivienne retreated to her reading room at the back. The small sanctuary lay hidden behind an ancient tapestry depicting phases of the moon. She cast a protective circle, lit candles, and prepared her scrying bowl.
She filled the obsidian bowl with blessed water. Three drops of rosemary oil. A pinch of mugwort. A single drop of her blood.
“Show me what you’re trying to tell me,” she whispered.
The water’s surface rippled. For a moment nothing came through—then images flooded her mind.
The harbor at night. A woman walking along the docks, her coat pulled tight against wind. She paused, looking over her shoulder. Then she turned toward the water.
Not a memory. A future event.
The vision shifted. The same woman, struggling in deep water. Hands reaching for her, pulling her down.
Vivienne gasped and pulled back. Her pendant burned against her skin.
Someone was going to die at the harbor. Soon. And the spirits were warning her in time to prevent it.
She grabbed her phone and called Brooks.
“I need you to come over. Now. I saw something.”
He arrived within ten minutes. Vivienne had the grimoire open on her kitchen table, cross-referencing symbols from the vision with her grandmother’s notes.
“Tell me,” Brooks said.
She did. The vision, the warning, the urgency that had only grown stronger.
“When?” Brooks pulled out his notebook.
“I don’t know. Soon. Days, maybe. Or tonight.” Vivienne traced a symbol in the grimoire. “My grandmother wrote about prophetic warnings. They usually come one to three days before an event.”
“Description of the woman?”
“Thirties. Dark hair. Navy coat. I’d recognize her.” Vivienne met his eyes. “This is different from the visions about Lily and Melissa. Those were echoes. This is the future trying to warn us.”
Brooks was already texting Sullivan. “I’m pulling Old Jack in for questioning tomorrow. He knows everyone who works the harbor.”
“Good. And Brooks?” Vivienne touched his arm. “Thank you. For trusting what I saw.”
“I learned my lesson about dismissing your visions.” He covered her hand with his. “We’re partners. That means I trust your gifts the same way you trust my investigative work.”
She felt the bond they’d forged in the lighthouse, strengthened through weeks of working together. His determination, his protectiveness, his faith in her abilities.
“I should let you get back to work,” she said, though she didn’t want him to leave.
“I’m off shift. And I don’t want you alone tonight, not with prophetic visions warning about danger.” Brooks glanced toward her sitting room. “Mind if I stay? I can sleep on your couch.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His expression was serious. “Something’s coming, Vivienne. You felt it, I feel it. Until we know what it is, I’d rather be here.”
She should say no. Should maintain boundaries.
Instead she nodded. “I’ll get you pillows and blankets.”
They spent the evening researching—Brooks pulling up missing persons reports from the harbor area, Vivienne searching through her family’s archives. By midnight they’d identified three suspicious deaths over the past decade, all women, all found in the harbor under circumstances ruled accidental.
“Could be a serial killer,” Brooks said.
“Or supernatural. The harbor’s old, Brooks. Built on land where the indigenous peoples had sacred sites. Mathilde wrote about strange currents and unexplained drownings even back in the 1920s.”
“So we’re looking at either a human killer or something supernatural that’s been claiming victims for a century.”
“Welcome to Westerly Cove.” Vivienne closed the grimoire. “Where the answer is usually both.”
She set up the couch with blankets while Brooks called Sullivan. When he finished, the apartment had settled into quiet.
“Get some sleep,” Brooks said. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
Vivienne paused in her bedroom doorway. “Brooks? I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
She left the door cracked. Through the gap she could see him settling on the couch, his badge and weapon set carefully on the side table.
He’d stayed. Chosen to be here, protecting her even when the threat was vague.
Vivienne pulled her mother’s journal from her nightstand and opened to a marked passage:
The gift flourishes with proper support. Alone, we burn out. Together with our anchors, we can sustain ourselves indefinitely. V. must not make my mistake. When her match comes, she must let him stay.
Her mother had seen this. Had known Vivienne would need someone who could handle her world without fear. Had written it down seventeen years ago.
Vivienne set the journal aside and tried to sleep. But her mind kept returning to Brooks on her couch, to the vision of the drowning woman, to the sense that everything was about to change again.
The next three days passed in vigilance.
Brooks increased harbor patrols. Old Jack reported suspicious activity—a man asking questions about women who worked the fishing boats, someone lurking near the docks after dark. But no one matching the description from Vivienne’s vision.
On the fourth night, Vivienne woke with her pendant burning.
She grabbed her phone. Three a.m. The vision had been clear—nighttime, moonlight on water.
Tonight.
She called Brooks. “It’s happening. Now.”
“On my way.”
Vivienne dressed quickly and met him at the harbor fifteen minutes later. Sullivan arrived with two officers. They split up, searching the docks and boat slips.
Vivienne let her abilities guide her, following the pull of spirits toward the north end. Her pendant grew hotter with each step.
There—a woman in a navy coat. Walking alone despite the late hour, heading toward the water’s edge.
And behind her, a figure in shadow. Following. Getting closer.
“Brooks,” Vivienne called softly.
He saw them immediately. Signaled to Sullivan. They moved quickly, surrounding the area.
The figure lunged. Brooks intercepted, tackling him to the dock. Sullivan secured the man while the woman in the navy coat stumbled backward, shocked.
“You’re okay,” Vivienne told her, steadying her. “You’re safe now.”
“I—I didn’t even know he was there. I work late shift at the processing plant, always walk home this way.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “How did you know?”
“The spirits warned me. The ones who weren’t so lucky.” Vivienne glanced at Brooks. “They didn’t want you to join them.”
Later, after statements were taken and the would-be killer was in custody, Brooks drove Vivienne home.
“He confessed,” Brooks said. “Admitted to four previous murders going back eight years. Said he was compelled, that the harbor called to him.” He glanced at her. “Was he lying? Could the harbor actually be calling him?”
“Both. The harbor has old energy, old spirits. They can influence the living, especially those already predisposed to violence. He chose to listen. He chose to kill.” Vivienne leaned back, exhausted. “But we stopped him. The spirits’ warning saved that woman’s life.”
“You saved her life. You listened when the spirits reached out. You trusted the vision.”
They pulled up to The Mystic Cup. Dawn light was just beginning.
“Come upstairs,” Vivienne said. “I’ll make tea.”
Brooks followed her up the narrow stairs, both of them running on adrenaline.
Vivienne put the kettle on and collapsed onto her couch. Brooks sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
“This is what it’s going to be like, isn’t it?” she said. “Working cases together. Me having visions, you investigating. Both of us trusting each other.”
“Looks like it.”
“I’m still scared. About pushing too hard. About ending up like my mother.”
“I know.” Brooks turned to face her. “But you’re not alone this time. That’s the difference. You have Dawn, you have the town, you have me. We’ll make sure you don’t burn out.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I won’t let it happen. And neither will you.” He touched her face. “You’ve spent six weeks proving you can use your abilities without destroying yourself. Setting boundaries. Knowing when to rest. That’s not your mother’s path—that’s yours.”
Vivienne leaned into his touch. “I don’t want to be careful anymore. I don’t want to keep holding back because I’m afraid.”
“What do you want?”
“You. This. Us.” The words came easier than she expected. “I want to stop pretending we’re just partners when we both know it’s more than that.”
Brooks smiled. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you for three weeks and didn’t want to push.”
“Then stop waiting.”
He did.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative. Then it deepened, becoming certain and real.
When they finally pulled apart, Vivienne felt the connection between them stronger than ever. Not just the bond forged in crisis, but something new. Something chosen.
“So,” Brooks said. “I guess we’re doing this.”
“Apparently.” Vivienne laughed. “Dawn’s going to be insufferable. She’s been telling me for weeks that I should just kiss you already.”
“Smart woman, your cousin.”
The kettle whistled. Vivienne stood to make tea, aware of Brooks watching her. Not just attraction or partnership, but real affection.
They drank their tea as the sun rose, talking about everything and nothing. Making plans for dinner that wasn’t work-related. Discussing whether Brooks should finally move out of his rental cottage.
“I should go home and sleep,” Brooks said eventually. “Sullivan wants a full report by noon.”
“Or you could stay.” Vivienne surprised herself. “Sleep here. The couch is still made up from last time.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He stayed.
And later, after Brooks had fallen asleep on her couch and Vivienne had retreated to her bedroom, she pulled out her mother’s journal one more time.
When your anchor comes—and he will come—let him stay. Let him see you fully. Let him ground you when the voices grow too loud. This is the secret the Hawthorne women learned too late: we are strongest not alone, but together.
Vivienne touched the words, feeling her mother’s presence.
“I’m letting him stay, Mama,” she whispered. “I’m not making your mistake.”
Outside her window, the lighthouse stood silent against the dawn. No longer haunted. No longer holding secrets.
Inside The Mystic Cup, a medium and a detective began building something new—a partnership that honored both their gifts, a relationship that acknowledged their fears while choosing courage, a future where neither had to face the darkness alone.
Whatever came next—and Vivienne’s gifts told her there would be more mysteries, more cases, more spirits seeking justice—they would face it together.