Chapter 56 Mo
Mo
Mo tasted a slice of chocolate-raspberry cake while she wrapped the baby hairs at her temple around her fingertip. The cold sweat from her nightmare had turned them curly.
In the night, she’d seen a young girl walking with bloody knees and a bluebell—growing taller and more tired, following a golden thread that ran slack through the middle of the flower like a bead on a string.
She walked until she could see the ocean, and there, by the sea, stood a boy—his eyes lit by the glow in his chest where the thread buried itself and anchored. The girl reached out toward him.
An ink black horse reared between them, and she saw the rider’s hand with cherry red nails gripping an onyx dagger.
The blade slashed downward and thrust up, then the world folded like it was made of origami paper.
The boy clutched at his chest where the golden thread had been severed as the girl was swallowed by darkness.
Mo’s foot tapped against her stool in the bakery as she took another bite. Not good, she thought, barely tasting it. Definitely not good.
“I think the lemon raspberry.”
“Good choice.” The baker winked and carried the crumb-covered sampling plates back toward the kitchen.
On any day before this one, the news that Lachlan was enamored with her niece would have sent her floating into the sky with excitement.
But last night she’d had the dream, and as Lachlan confessed his heart on the road, Mo felt the thread beginning to pull.
Even from where she sat tasting cakes, it tightened—like she could reach out and pluck the invisible thing.
Just do it, Mo, she thought.
She opened her email and found exactly what she’d expected. An onyx blade.
Maureen, she read, her eyes flying over the lines as quickly as her heart was beating. If she hadn’t had Deli, she might have tried to run. But Mo was determined not to make the same mistakes.
“Love’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” The baker entered totals into her cash register.
“Nothing quite like it,” Mo said, still alone after a lifetime of running from hoofbeats.