I’d seen the unmarked SUV looping down my block a handful of times throughout the day. The windows were too tinted to tell whether it was a cop making the rounds or one of the Gravewatch men. Frankly, I didn’t much care who it was, I was just happy to see them cruising past. Yesterday, with all that happened, I hadn’t had much time to properly process Eliza’s murder — or what it might mean for me. I thought about the message her killers had written in her blood on the side of the tomb.
TU ES PROXIMUS
You are next.
It was the Heretics. It had to be. It was a perfect match for the first message they’d left in my back alley. It was washed away weeks ago, but I could still see it burned into my mind, like a brand I’d never be able to remove.
RESURGEMUS
We shall rise again.
Their verb tense was worrisome. Not “we have risen” but “we shall rise.” Not past butfuture. There was still more to come. Another sacrifice, another ritual. And if the Bay Colony Coven ladies were right, if I was their intended final target…
A memory of Eliza’s body — stabbed through the heart, left on display in a graveyard like a macabre spectacle — drifted through my head and a shiver of fear moved down my spine, settling in the pit of my stomach like a ball of lead. I had no appetite, which was probably a good thing since Graham texted me around dinnertime, informing me that his situation at work was taking longer than excepted. Takeout night would have to be a raincheck.
Won’t be back until late,he’d messaged.Eat dinner without me. When I get there, I’ll eatyoufor dessert.
That dark promise had me determined to stay awake until he arrived, no matter how tired I was or how late the hour crept. But I was fighting an uphill battle — and losing. My mind was exhausted from running in circles all day. So, at eleven, fighting a yawn, I double checked the locks one last time, stripped off all my clothes, and climbed into bed with my Kindle to read until Graham got back.
I’d only made it a handful of pages into my book — poor Lady Scarlett was pregnant with Captain Tristan’s baby, but the mutineering crew was about to make her walk the plank in shark infested waters — before exhaustion took hold of me and I fell fast asleep.
* * *
My alarm began to chirp,bringing me out of a fitful doze. I’d been dreaming of Pirate Kings and bloody pentagrams, slaughtered animals and ornate knives. I looked around my bedroom in confusion, blinking away the remnants of slumber. No signs of Graham anywhere. I’d fallen asleep reading and, if he’d come in when he got back, he hadn’t bothered to wake me.
A current of displeasure frazzled through my nerve endings. Truth was, I missed him. It had been barely a day, and I missed him.
Gaia above.
How quickly I’d become addicted to the man. Rolling my eyes at myself, feeling like the ultimate lovesick idiot, I commenced with my typical morning bathroom routine, taking extra care to slather on moisturizer. The New England weather was getting colder with each passing day, and the blustery October winds were prone to chafing my cheeks. I pulled on my best attempt at outfit armor, given that I was rushing twice my normal speed — wool tights, suede boots, flowy skirt, corset-style blouse, handmade wooden jewelry I’d found in a funky boutique up in Newburyport last summer — and styled my hair in record time. By the time I hit the hallway, I was ready to tackle the day.
It was nearly eight. I needed to get to the store. There were a bucketload of things to tackle before we opened, especially with our unexpected Sunday closure. But when I peered into the room down the hall where Graham had taken to crashing — the sun-drenched one I’d always envisioned as my home library — I saw he was still fast asleep. His big body barely fit within the confines of his sleeping bag. Even with the spare pillows I’d given him from my bed, he looked deeply uncomfortable, a furrow marring his unconscious brow.
I swallowed a pang of guilt as I crept by, for the first time in my adult life seriously regretting my sleeping hangups as I made my way downstairs and started brewing a pot of coffee. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Graham had been right the other day — my issues were really only punishingmein the long run. It was my fault we weren’t able to spend the night cuddled together in my bed, like a normal couple just starting out.
Not that we were a couple.
I wasn’t sure what we were. Graham had implied there was an “us” but we hadn’t really defined anything. Was he my boyfriend? Friend with (mind-blowing) benefits? I had no idea, and I definitely wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Not unless forced by trained interrogators in a dark room, my fingernails pulled out with systematic violence by the roots. (Maybe not even then.)
I was halfway through my second cup of coffee when a warm arm slid around my midsection and I was pulled back against a solid chest.
“You didn’t wake me,” Graham rumbled into my ear, his voice still rough with sleep.
“I could accuse you of the same thing.” I turned on my stool to narrow my eyes at him. “I was looking forward todessert, Graham.”
His lips twitched as they brushed against mine. “Didn’t get back until past midnight. I poked my head into your room, but you were out like a light. Couldn’t bring myself to wake you.” He paused briefly, brows creasing. “Also… wasn’t sure you’d want me to. I know you don’t particularly enjoy the idea of anyone coming into your space when you’re asleep.”
That was so considerate, all my annoyance instantly evaporated.
“Why are you dressed?” he asked, eyes flickering down my form, taking in my outfit.
“Um… because I have work?”
“You’re not going to work.”
Just like that, my annoyance was back. “Excuse me? It sounded like you said I wasn’t going to work.”
“Seems you heard me just fine.”