1. Small Mercies #2
Through the windows, I could see the magnolia tree, its crown spreading below me like a green-and-white sea. Beyond it, the preserve stretched toward the horizon, all tangled trees and shadows and Spanish moss and whatever was making those howling sounds I wasn't going to think about.
I was heading back down for boxes when a voice called up: "You must be Serena!"
The woman climbing toward me was somewhere in her sixties, silver-streaked hair swept back from a face that had probably been stunning thirty years ago and was still striking now.
High cheekbones. Eyes that were a peculiar shade of amber, almost gold in the afternoon light.
She moved with an easy grace that didn't match her age, taking the stairs like they were nothing.
She carried a casserole dish like an offering to some domestic god.
"I'm Rowena," she said, slightly breathless, smiling wide. "I live in the main house with my boys. Well, they're men now, but they'll always be my babies. There's three of 'em. Nothing prepares you for having triplets."
"Triplets," I repeated, thinking of the man with the axe. Of the face I'd glimpsed in an upstairs window. Three of them.
"Excessive, I know." She pressed the casserole dish into my hands, and when her fingers brushed mine, I felt a strange warmth spread through my palms. Not uncomfortable.
Not quite. But knowing, somehow. Like she was reading something in my skin that I didn't know was written there.
"Chicken and rice. It reheats well. Welcome to Magnolia Creek. "
Her eyes lingered on my face a beat too long.
Something shifted in her expression, a flicker of surprise, of recognition, of something deeper I couldn't read.
Her nostrils flared slightly, almost like she was scenting the air, and for a moment her pupils seemed to dilate in a way that wasn't quite human.
Then she smiled, warm and welcoming, and the moment passed.
"You look tired, honey," she said, and her voice was pure maternal concern. "Long drive?"
"Eighteen hours, give or take."
"Lord." She shook her head. "You get some rest. The boys will help with your boxes. I'll tell them to give you space today, let you settle in, but don't hesitate to knock on our door if you need anything. Anything at all. The Thornwood pack takes care of its own."
Pack. The word snagged on something in my brain, but she was already heading back down the stairs, moving with that same fluid grace, and I was too tired to chase the thought.
The man with the axe had to be one of her 'boys'.
In an upstairs window, a grin flashed—all charm and mischief. He had the kind of features that made women stupid: a sharp jawline, laughing eyes, dark curls that fell artfully across his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to push them back.
He caught me looking. He winked. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I looked away too fast, nearly dropping the box I was carrying.
Ridiculous, I told myself. You're here to disappear, not to flirt with the landlord's sons.
But I could feel his eyes on me all the way up the stairs. Could feel all of them watching, though I hadn’t seen the third brother anywhere. The weight of their attention pressed against my skin like the humidity, heavy and inescapable.
That night, I ate Rowena's chicken and rice straight from the dish, standing at the kitchen counter because I hadn't unpacked plates yet.
It was good. Better than good. The kind of home cooking that tasted like someone had put actual love into it, like every ingredient had been chosen with intention.
I couldn't remember the last time someone had made me food.
I texted Tara that I'd arrived safely.
Made it, I wrote. Place is beautiful. Landlords are... interesting. Three sons. Triplets. I'll call tomorrow.
Her response came immediately: TRIPLETS?? Girl. Call me NOW.
I sent back a laughing emoji and turned off my phone. I'd explain tomorrow, when I had words for any of this. When I'd slept, showered, and could think clearly enough to describe the man with the axe, the one in the window, the mother who smelled the air like she was reading secrets.
The magnolia tree was silver in the moonlight, visible through my window. I watched it for a long time, watched the way the shadows moved through its branches even though there was no wind. The blooms seemed to glow, holding light they had no business holding at this hour.
Something howled in the preserve. Then something answered. Then something else, until the night was full of voices, threading together in a way that sounded almost like harmony. Like music. Like a language I didn't speak but could almost understand.
I should have been afraid.
I'd driven a thousand miles to escape a man who tracked my every movement, who broke into my apartment while I slept, who left roses on my pillow like promises and threats in equal measure.
I was alone in a strange town, in a strange apartment, surrounded by strange people who looked at me with too much intensity.
Everything about this situation should have triggered alarm. But the howling outside my window was a lullaby, and I slept like a baby.
I fell asleep without checking the locks.
I dreamed about golden eyes instead, watching me from the darkness of a forest I'd never seen, patient as stone, certain as moonrise. There was a woman's voice, with a slightly accented voice, whispering words I couldn't quite hear.
I woke with the taste of something saccharin on my tongue and the strangest feeling that I was teetering right on the edge… of something.