A thick silence settles into the space between us, and Hart gets up to leave. But I grab his hand to stop him. “Wrynn told me something last night. It’s silly, but –” I feel my face flush. It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t even have brought it up, but now Hart’s staring at me. Waiting. “She said she saw the rougarou kill Elora.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Of course not,” I tell him. “But –”
“It’s Wrynn,” he says.
“I know. But she must have seen something. Right?”
“Greycie, Wrynn wasn’t even out there that night. She’s tellin’ you one of her stories.” Hart tries to smile, only his eyes don’t crinkle up at the edges. “But do me a favor, Shortcake, and stay inside tonight anyway.” He turns and heads off down the boardwalk. “Rougarou or no rougarou, I don’t want you out here in the dark.”
When he’s gone, all I can think about is air-conditioning. But Evie is waiting for me on the front steps of the bookstore. I figure she’s been watching us again.
Hart and me.
A breeze blows through, and I lift my face to find it. The sound of tinkling wind chimes cuts through the stifling afternoon heat. Now three homemade creations dangle from the overhang of the roof, right outside Evie’s bedroom window. The newest one is made from old silverware. Forks and spoons clink against colorful bits of polished river glass.
“Those are really pretty,” I tell her. “I bet Honey could sell them for you in the shop.” Evie’s uncle, Victor, is a shrimper. He has his own boat, but he doesn’t make much money, and I know they mostly do without. Like everyone else down here.
“Oh . . .” Evie turns to look at the chimes. “I could never sell them.” Her voice is even softer than usual, almost like she’s afraid they’ll hear. She offers me another half stick of that stale gum, so I take it and sit down beside her.
“Is Hart gonna be okay?” she asks. And there’s that new sound in her voice again. Like she takes special care of his name when it’s inside her mouth. She’s always had this intense hero-worship thing for Hart. Most of us have, honestly. But that naked longing in her words? That’s definitely new.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I really hope so.”
“Me too.” Evie takes a deep breath, and I feel her relax against me.
“Evie, can’t you tell me what was wrong last night? Did anybody hurt you or –”
“Nobody hurt me, Grey. I promise.” She slips her soft hand into mine, and I give it a little squeeze. “It was the Flower Moon last night. Did you know that?” Her head is warm and lazy on my shoulder. “That’s what you call the full moon in May. And it’s magic. The most powerful moon of the year. ’Cause everything’s in bloom.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say.
“The Flower Moon means change comes soon. That’s a thing my mémé used to tell me.”
“Why did you say that last night?” I ask her. “About the dead telling lies?”
Evie pulls at a long thread on her shorts. “Because everybody lies, Grey. Don’t they?” Those wind chimes sing out again, relentless as the biting flies. “It’s just the dead are harder to ignore.”
Honey calls me inside then, and I spend the rest of the afternoon helping her in the bookstore, scheduling appoint ments and working the register. Mackey stops by to drop off some French mulberry that his mama harvested, and we drink sweet tea from mason jars while he tells me about some girl up in Kinter that he has a crush on. I smile and tease him, but really, I’m stuck thinking about Evie. What she said about the dead telling lies. And what she was doing out there on the dock last night, crying into the fog.
For dinner, Honey cooks more of my old favorites, and it makes me feel loved.
Comfortable.
Safe.
And I’m grateful for that.
Before I get into bed, I turn off the light and move to the window to search the inky blackness. But there’s nothing there. No ice-fire eyes staring at me from the shadows.
No rougarou howling at the moon.
I double-check the window latch before I crawl under the sheets and close my eyes. But when I roll over on my side, I wince, so I sit up and flip on the lamp. Bruises ring my upper arms. Blotchy blue-and-purple fingerprints.
There are things out here in the dark, Greycie.
I turn the lamp back off and lie down again. Evie’s wind chimes whisper through the room like a ghost, and I wonder what Hart is so afraid of.