Chapter 14 #3
His eyes are closed but I swear he nods.
I huff and bring the cup back to my lips to take in the scents of cherry and rose hip, now with a faint hint of seawater from outside. Then I breathe out all my insecurities and fears.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Sip the hot, tart, sweet liquid.
Repeat.
The cadence helps. So does Chessy’s weight against my hip.
I drink slowly, letting the tea’s heat spread through the hollow ache in my ribcage. That helps too.
But the way it fills my chest and floods my veins is nothing like what I felt when the stranger’s eyes fell on me from behind his mask.
My fingers tighten around the porcelain.
His hair was black as night, and his strong jaw was positively kissable—if I was willing to do that sort of thing with a customer.
In another life, I might’ve been bold enough to try.
Especially when he held me so tenderly with calloused and gentle hands, as if they were capable of both harsh and gentle things
“You’re safe with me.”
The way the fear in my chest had so easily dissipated was honestly unnerving. It was like he knew me and what I needed. As if he saw me beneath the makeup and glitter and fake name… and wanted to know more.
And I wanted him to know more.
But I can’t have that. I don’t want that.
Do I?
No. No, no, no.
I’m here for a reason, to protect my family by staying away and keeping secrets from Castle. The last thing I need is someone like Hatter deciding to break through walls I’ve carefully built to save everyone I love.
And yet…
Castle wants information from him, and already, with one simple question about the allergy medicine, I lied.
Why? I have no loyalty to the Hatter, so why lie for a guy I don’t know to a man I desperately need to trust me?
My gaze drifts toward my bag where the syringe is still hidden.
I should’ve given it back, but I panicked. Honestly, Frog’s lucky I didn’t use it on him in defense. Now that I have it, I need to research it myself instead of depending on Duchy—who, by the way, knows a suspicious amount about drugs.
But that’s not exactly easy when the only phones I’ve had for six months are burners that can barely send a text without threatening to keel over.
Smartphones are too easy to break into, and I’m sure the Furys have resources to find people too.
There’s no way I’m letting them find me because of my own stupidity.
Everywhere I’ve been, if I’ve wanted to look something up, I go to the local library instead.
The one across from Wander smells weird, and the heater only works half the time, but the internet’s solid, and that’s all I need.
I’ll go to the mainland as soon as I can, because Castle’s reaction to the Hatter having allergy medicine was very curious indeed.
I thought it was a harmless enough tip. I mean, everyone at The Rabbit Hole takes allergy meds.
Borderline prescription-strength antihistamines are practically part of Mari’s welcome packet with how thick the fog machines and hookah smoke get in there, and some nights, they still make me dizzy. But why did Castle care?
I sip the last of my tea, trying to figure it out while also trying to untangle the story I told Chessy.
It changes every time, but I wasn’t expecting the Hatter and the boy from Luna’s graduation party to morph into the same character. Then he became a Fury. That was new too. Why did my brain go there? Was it because of the syringe?
Or maybe… maybe it’s because they all scare me in one way or another.
The moment I felt Hatter’s gaze on me while I was on stage, my body remembered butterflies I’ve felt only one other time. When I danced with the prince from my story—the boy from Luna’s graduation party. The boy I danced with until he disappeared into the night.
The same night everything went wrong.
Maybe that’s actually why the Hatter freaked me out so badly. I wanted to dance with the boy from the party all night. And tonight, I wanted to talk to Hatter all night too, even though I had a job to do. One I failed miserably at.
If Castle’s right and he comes back, I’ll definitely need to get my head on straight—
Creeaaak.
Chessy’s head lifts, and I go still. My gaze flicks between the porthole and the door.
Something scrapes against metal outside, making the vibration sing.
Slowly, moving quieter than a whisper, I reach toward the porthole and ease it shut. Footsteps drift through the crack right before the window seals completely. Then I set my tea in the little space I carved out on the nearest shelf and lean over the bed to rifle through my go-bag.
The gun is cold and heavy in my hand, but it steadies me instantly as I wrap both hands around the grip.
Not even Chessy objects as I rise out of bed, trying not to breathe too loudly while the boat sways beneath my feet. Once I’m in the kitchenette, I peel back the curtain covering the door’s little round window.
But there’s nothing. No shadows. No angry Wildes or evil Furys standing there on the dock, waiting to kidnap me and use me against my family.
Just the wind visibly snapping boat flags, flapping tarps, and clacking oyster-shell chimes.
A vicious gust rattles the boat hard enough that I can unlock the deadbolt under the noise. Then I lock it again.
I wait for the next loud gust before repeating the process with the chain and extra latch.
I count to three then check outside again.
“Nothing,” I whisper more to myself than Chessy. “Just the night.”
But Chessy keeps staring past me at the door.
I keep my weapon trained at the entrance while backing slowly toward the bed, my eyes bouncing between the porthole and the locks. Then I crawl beneath the quilt in a way that I imagine looks like I’m moving in reverse of the way I left it.
Eventually, Chessy curls against my hip again, although his head always faces the door, and I slide the gun beneath my pillow. My dad would burst a blood vessel if he knew I’d gotten used to sleeping with it under my head.
Chessy begins to purr, and the heater murmurs in answer. Outside, the marsh water gently rocks Fancy’s Haven again.
My heart still races.
Trying to get my paranoia under control, I soothe myself by staring up at the moon glowing through the thin layer of condensation coating the porthole glass.
On this side of the island, Wander has almost zero light pollution.
Other than the dock lamps, which dim at night, the entire island—and even the mainland across from us other than the port—goes dark so it doesn’t interfere with the sea turtles during their hatching season.
It’s a yearlong rule so residents don’t forget, and the result is that for the first time in my life, I’ve realized the sky around the moon isn’t black or navy.
It’s the color of a brutal bruise mottled with deep purple and dark red so faint you almost miss the variation entirely.
The exact same hue as the Hatter’s eyes tonight under the club’s lights when he saw far more than I ever wanted him to.
Before sleep finally drags me under, those eyes burning into me are the last thing I see.