And that has to stop with me.
“My mother,” I whisper. “She’s the one who started the fire.”
Overhead, there’s a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning so loud and so bright that I’m temporarily deaf and blind. My ears ring and I see spots. A surge of electricity rips into my elbow and up my arm to slam straight into my chest. It’s a white-hot burning. Immediate and violent. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I cry out in pain, and the force of the jolt knocks me backward. I land in the mud at the edge of the drowning pool, and I just sit there with my hand over my racing heart, gasping for breath. My muscles are cramping, and my vision is blurry. Everything tingles. And there’s a strange metallic taste in my mouth. Thunder rolls again. The power in it makes me shake.
“I’m sorry,” Zale tells me. “I didn’t mean – I’m so sorry, Grey.”
“I need to go home,” I whisper.
Zale holds out his hand to help me up, but I hesitate. I’m still struggling for breath. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “I promise.”
So I let him help me to my feet, but I’m too weak to stand. He scoops me up like I don’t weigh anything at all, and I wrap my arms around his neck. Zale’s skin is warm and soft. Alive with energy.
It’s fully night now, but he never stumbles. He carries me out of the woods and down to the edge of the water. But he doesn’t say a word. And then we’re in the boat.
Killer’s Island fades to black behind us.
Zale is taking it slow because of the dark, navigating the shallow channels with a sureness that Hart and Case would be hard-pressed to match. Like he’s lived here all his life.
Like he belongs.
“Are you sure?” he finally asks me.
“I saw her.”
“What about my father? Did you see –”
“No,” I say, and I reach out to brush my trembling fingers through his blond hair. “I’m sorry.”
We leave the boat at Holbert’s Pond again, and I don’t bother to go back to Li’l Pass for my flip-flops. I’m not as weak as I was, so I insist on walking. But Zale keeps his arm around my waist, and the buzz of that contact keeps me warm. He walks me all the way back to the boardwalk. Right up to the steps this time. He refuses to leave me alone in the dark.
We stand there staring at each other for a few seconds, then Zale pulls me to his chest. I feel his lips brush the top of my head. It’s so good. That tingling closeness. And his heart beating against mine. There’s so much I want to tell him, but I can’t find the right words. I don’t know how he can even stand to touch me, after what my mother did.
When he knows what she took from him.
“Grey,” he whispers, “look at me.” And he tilts my face up toward his. “Whatever your mother did, you’re not responsible for it.” I nod, but I’m not sure I believe him. His eyes are dark blue now. Like the night sky. “Did I hurt you bad? Before?” I shake my head, and he lets out a breath of relief. “I’m glad.” He lays a hand on my cheek. Little zips and zaps. Harmless. “I’d never mean to hurt you, Grey.” His eyes flash in the dark. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I tell him. “You’d never hurt anyone on purpose.”
He’s so gentle. More summer rain than lightning storm.
“I know,” he says, and the wind picks up. “But sometimes people get hurt anyway.”
Thunder rumbles low across the bayou.
Zale leans in close, and I think maybe he’s going to kiss me.
Really kiss me.
But he doesn’t. He just whispers in my ear. Four words of absolute truth.
“There’s a storm comin’。”
Then he disappears into the shadows, and I climb the wooden steps to the boardwalk. But before I go inside, I stand on the front porch of the Mystic Rose and watch the river for a really long time while I listen to the night singing of Evie’s wind chimes.
Elora is standing right beside me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can just almost glimpse her dazzling smile. That long dark hair. If I just turned my head a little . . .
But I don’t turn my head. Because what if I’m wrong?
Across from me, on the dock, someone has put up more safety ropes. The rot has been spreading all summer. One whole side is blocked off now.
I turn and pull open the front door of the bookstore. Not locked. Of course. It’s never locked. There’s no crime to speak of in La Cachette. Never has been.