The lobby is empty, the Rosalie feeling eerily quiet, and I jump when my phone abruptly trills from my back pocket.
When I see the caller is the hospital, my stomach fills with ice.
I answer only to learn that nothing has changed, that Edie isstill in her coma but “doing as well as can be expected,” and that they’ll be in touch soon should anything new develop.
I’ve just ended the call when I hear August ask, “Any news?”
Startled, I turn to see him standing in the hallway just behind me, his shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms folded over his chest.
I shake my head, shoving my sweaty hair back from my face. “Not really. Edie is still with us at least, but no telling when she’ll wake up.”
“And no telling what she’ll say when she does,” he replies. “I wonder if she’ll even remember Lo attacking her.”
“We don’t know that’s what happened,” I say, my voice nearly a whisper, but August only looks at me, his expression unreadable.
“If it wasn’t her, Geneva, thenwhowas it?” he asks, and I suddenly realize why I’ve been trying so hard to focus only on Edie’s recovery, not on what happened to her.
Because August is right. If it wasn’t an accident—which, based on the severity of Edie’s injuries, seems increasingly likely—it had to be Lo.
Butifit wasn’t Lo…
I watch as August retreats back down the hall to his book, and for the first time, I wonder if I’ve put my trust in the wrong person.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
August 3, 2025
1 Day Left
By the last day of July, there’s no doubt Hurricane Lizzie is headed straight for us. The TV in the lobby, the computer in the office, the app on my phone—all of them show her getting bigger and bigger, her turn almost graceful as she bypasses Cuba, her gaze instead focused on the Gulf Coast of Alabama.
On St. Medard’s Bay.
Edie, still unconscious in her hospital bed, would’ve already left town by now. And she would’ve told me to do the same.
But I stay.
August, Lo, and I are the only people left at the Rosalie. All the other guests have checked out or canceled their stays, so there was no reason to ask any other staff to come in until after the storm had passed. There’s barely any reason formeto be at the inn, but I don’t know what to do with myself except show up every morning, so that’s what I continue to do.
I make Walmart runs, stocking up on more bottled water,batteries, and an extra first aid kit. Our handyman, Ray, comes by to help me move some of the outdoor furniture to the storage shed, and I take down all the hanging plants. I even do my best to secure the Airstream because if—when—the storm hits, I’ll ride it out at the inn.
I tell myself that these are just smart precautions, that nothing may even happen, that hurricanes are notoriously unpredictable once they hit the warmer waters of the Gulf.
But I know.
It’s like a steady thrumming behind my eyes as the pressure gets lower, the air thicker, and I wonder if it’s some innate sixth sense I have, as a native of this town. Or could it be genetics, a spooky kind of inheritance? My rational mind knows that Lo and Edie and my mom were just little girls being silly when they called themselves the Witches of St. Medard’s Bay, but maybe there was more to it. Or could it be that my real father is sending me a message from beyond the grave, urging me to take every possible precaution so I don’t suffer the same fate?
My real father.
I try not to let myself indulge that line of thinking too often because I can already feel something giving way inside of me, some bulwark I hadn’t even realized was keeping my sanity intact, despite everything.
But it’s getting harder.
In the days leading up to the storm, I don’t see that much of August or Lo, but I sense them constantly, almost like they’re ghosts, haunting the place.
I hear August’s laptop keyboard clicking away whenever I pass his room, and it’s a reminder that he’s potentially prepping a nuclear bomb to drop into my life. And maybe he understands that, because he’s kept his distance ever since that morning in my office. The only real conversation we’ve hadsince was a few days ago, when I asked if he and Lo were going to leave.
He’d actually looked surprised, his eyebrows shooting up. “Are you kidding? And miss the chance to experience one of St. Medard’s Bay’s famous storms firsthand? I couldn’t live with myself if that wasn’t in the book.”
