Chapter 47
On the last day of work, Whitley quietly counts a stack of dollar bills at our desk.
Her fingers flip through the worn edges while I gather the last remnants of my summer job, like orientation handouts and random doodle pads, and toss them into the recycling bin, clearing my desk for the next temporary worker to take my place.
Victor knocks on our cubicle wall.
“Good morning, Stetson,” he says, too chipper for my liking. “Whitley.”
“Morning,” I reply, my tone flat. A scowl sets deep into my face. He never answered my messages about the recommendation letter.
Whitley doesn’t even bother to look up.
“Last day, right?” he asks.
“It is.” I rub my hands along my thighs.
“It went fast.” He grins.
Not fast enough, I want to say.
“How many inspections do you got left?” he asks.
“None. I just promised Kim and Sheryl at Rainbow Valley Swim Club that someone would help them prepare for next year.” I pop in my earbuds, making it very clear I’m not in the mood for small talk.
“See? All that worrying you did at the start of summer, and everything there turned out okay. No one died.” He chuckles. “I guess it’s not as legendary as they make it out to be.”
A bitter taste rises in my throat. No one died there, sure. But two people were never seen again after swimming in their pool. If he only knew what really happened this summer at Rainbow Valley Swim Club. We are the opposite of okay.
I spin my chair away from him, hoping he’ll get the hint, when my eyes land on the last piece of paper left on my desk. It’s his coffee-stained map that was about as useful this summer as my truck without gas.
“Do you want this back?” I ask, extending the document to him. “I’m cleaning up.”
He scrolls through his phone. “Want what?” he asks. His attention doesn’t leave the screen.
“This map of Penango you gave me when I first started.”
“You can toss it. Or keep it if you want an old sewer map.” He smirks as he begins to walk off. “If you think pool inspectors have it rough, try working in the sewage department.”
“Sewer map?” I flip to the front page. It’s titled Penango Sewer Service Areas. I never noticed the name before. I unfold the layers to reveal a tangle of pipes and drainage lines, like a spider sprawled across the county.
My eyes immediately lock onto familiar places like the bend in the river behind Murray’s house, the road leading to Whitley’s, and the thick woods of the Gregor Preserve, home to the infamous coyote.
And then, a thick red line cuts through the trees. I check the map’s legend—stormwater runoff.
My fingers trace the pipe’s path, following it from the Ardor Tree right to Rainbow Valley. A sharp yelp escapes me. Seeing Penango from above makes everything clear.
“Whitley.” My voice shakes.
“Huh?” She barely glances up.
“Come here for a sec.”
“What?”
“Just come. Look at this map.”
She huffs, evens out her stack of bills with a pat, then shuffles over to my desk.
“What’s up?”
I point at the paper. “Where would you say the Ardor Tree is on this map?”
She squints. “Um, somewhere in this area.” She taps the tip of the red line.
“And if I said that line is a pipe, what would you say?”
She crosses her arms. “You mean, like, the pipe that the tree grows on top of?”
“I mean exactly that. This map . . . it’s like all the puzzle pieces are finally in one place.”
Her brows knit together. “I don’t follow.”
“The pool at Rainbow Valley? It’s not a coincidence between Xander, Dara, and me. It’s a connection. Like the pipes on this map.” My breath shudders. “The Ardor Tree isn’t just cursed. Its roots are spreading the curse through these pipes.”
She stares at me, the realization setting in.
The Ardor Tree may have cast its curse at its base, but its roots carried out the sentence. I was claimed by them in the woods, their grip swift and unrelenting, maybe because they were starved for a new victim after so many years without one.
But for Xander and Dara, it reached through the sewage system, extending its grasp beneath the pool’s surface where the pipes, and the roots’ passageways, opened.
It wasn’t a lightning strike or drowning child that took them before they blacked out.
It was the Ardor Tree claiming its next victim.