The whisper of wind chimes.
Wrynn’s little trinkets are still lined up on my windowsill, so I count to thirteen.
Thirteen shiny charms –
Thirteen years old the summer Hart kissed me – Thirteen Junes come and gone since Ember and Orli were drowned – Then I slide the window closed and lock it.
There’s been a shift. I feel it. Everything is different.
I think about the first time I saw Zale – outside my window – in the bright shine of the Flower Moon.
The Flower Moon means change comes soon.
I hold Elora’s ring to the light, then I take a deep breath and tell myself that Elora is dead. And I can’t be afraid any more.
Not of the rougarou.
Not of the dark.
Not of this power that is growing inside me.
Not of the questions.
And, most of all, not of the answers. No matter how ugly they are.
And then it’s June 16. The day I’ve been dreading for months. Seventeen years since they laid Elora and me side by side in that bassinet up in Honey’s bedroom.
The rain is still falling. And that seems right.
My birthday has always been my favorite day of the whole year. Better than Christmas, even. Because Elora and I always spent it together. A holiday just for us. But now all those shared birthdays press against my memory until I’m suffocating under the weight of them. The matching party dresses we had when we were five. Yellow taffeta and lace that made us itch in the bayou heat. A pirate-themed treasure hunt when we were nine. A weekend camping trip up at Grand Isle when we turned thirteen. Finally teenagers. And last year. Elora’s eyes when she unwrapped that pearl ring and necklace.
Sera and Sander and Evie and Mackey all make excuses to drop by that afternoon. Sander gives me a sketch he did. Elora and me sitting side by side on the front porch steps. “He drew it from memory,” Sera whispers, and I manage to tell him that it’s perfect.
Mackey cracks jokes. Tries to make me smile. All Evie can offer is a half stick of gum, but I take it, because I can see how desperately she wants to make me feel better.
At least all of them have the good sense not to mention what day it is.
Honey honors my request and doesn’t bring it up, either. She gives me plenty of space all day, and I appreciate that. But there’s still this pressure building inside me.
I feel it when I touch the little blue pearl on the chain around my neck.
It swells every time I twist Elora’s ring around my finger. I keep thinking about what Zale said. About how it was the most important thing she had to give. Because it came from me.
By nightfall, that pressure is crushing me, and I need to escape.
Late that evening the rain finally stops, so I grab a flashlight and head out the door. Honey and Sweet-N-Low both look up, but they don’t ask any questions. And that’s good.
Because I wouldn’t have any answers. I have no idea where I’m going.
My feet know, though. They carry me through the blackness toward the downriver end of the boardwalk. Toward the old pontoon boat. When I get there, I see movement down below me, in the dark. Something big. I suck in my breath from the surprise of it and almost lose my balance.
“Careful, Shortcake.” I click on my flashlight. Hart is sitting in the driver’s seat, boots propped up on the railing. “That’s a long drop for a little girl.”
I slip off Elora’s ring and hide it away in my pocket before I stick my flashlight between my teeth and make my way down the wooden ladder.
When I step into the boat, it moves underneath me and I almost lose my footing again. Hart holds out a hand so I can take it and steady myself.
The old pontoon usually sits in the mud at the edge of the gator pond – but it’s high tide, plus the water is up from all the rain – so tonight it’s floating, tethered to the dock by a rusting chain. Like a neglected dog tied up in somebody’s yard.
Hart has a case of beer, and by the looks of the empty bottles scattered around his feet, he’s already well into it. He uses the base of his cigarette lighter to pop the top off one, then he hands it to me. He’s shielding his eyes from the flashlight beam. “Jesus,” he grumbles. “Turn that thing off, will ya?”
I click off the light and take the seat across from him.
Hart is sopping wet. Soaked through. I figure he’s been sitting out here for a long time. Since before the rain stopped, for sure.
All day maybe. Probably. Just letting the water fall on him.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“Celebrating.” He’s drunk. If the empty bottles hadn’t told me that, the thick sound of his voice would have. “And waitin’ for you.”