"What made you think of him?"
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the silver coin, a black willow leaf falling to her lap, and ran the pad of her thumb over the raised caribou then held it out to him. He took it, finally dropping his eyes from her face which felt like a reprieve.
"You found a Canadian coin?"
"It was left as a tip at the coffee shop. For me. That was how we met. He came into my cafe in Florida apologizing when he realized he had left Canadian coins as a tip."
"But today, someone left this at the cafe, for you specifically," he said and she could read the tone of his voice. Disbelief. She was being crazy. Overreacting. She needed to calm down and get a better security system. She remembered everything the cops said to her. She remembered wondering if they were right and she was being sensitive. But then she remembered a man's hands had been around her throat, squeezing, his eyes hard and full of rage. She didn't remember how she got out of it, only that she was running outside barefoot in a tank top and underwear, crying and holding a hand to her burning throat until a neighbor woman found her and pulled her inside. She remembered thinking it was the most horror-filled moment of her life and the cops showed up acting like it was simply Tuesday.
And she was terrified of feeling that way again, of feeling silly, like a trifling woman with her outrageous emotions. She was scared of doubting herself again.
She couldn't bear that from him, too. His disbelief and off-handed way of telling her to shake off the thing that had changed something inside of her.
But when Taylor opened his mouth the words that came out were a world away from those cops.
"I want you to tell me everything about this man. Every single thing. No detail is too small. Down to his smell. If you don't want to make a report that's fine, but I suggest we do at some point and then I can reach out to the cops who handled your case in Florida and get anything they have sent to me."
"I don't think they'll have much to send you. They didn't take it very seriously," she barely got the words out, looking down at the black willow leaf in her lap, feeling small.
"Hey," he said and she looked up. Fury crossed his eyes, it was a flash and then it was gone. But she tasted it. Kindling just as it catches fire mixed with the sting of bourbon flared across her senses. She didn't feel fear of the man across from her, but she understood that anyone who made Detective Taylor White angry like this should. "If he is here, we will find him." She nodded.
"Did you say that you're sleeping outside?" His voice was cautious but tinted with danger she could taste.
"Yes, I sleep under the peach tree."
His silent stare made her smile. And her smile made his eyes narrow further. "Is this a magical, protective peach tree?"
"Actually, Crystal told me that the entire property has a protective spell around it, so, kind of."
When Crystal had answered her text as they were making dinner, there had been a moment of relief, though short-lived.
He considered that before he nodded muttering about spells and hexes as he stood and offered her his hand to help her up. It was the kind of hand that knew hard work but also how to be gentle. Once they were both standing his voice low and firm said, "I think you should tell Ursula about this."
She shook her head. "She'd worry and it would become a thing. And I'm not very good at talking about it."
She wasn't good at talking about the things that made her feel like she was vulnerable, defeated.
Ursula knew that well.
His eyes told her what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. "She loves you, and it already is a thing."
"I'll think about it," is where she landed.
Casper nudged her in the hip and let out a whine.
"What is it, boy?"
A chilled air swooped around their shoulders, like small hands grasping for their attention. She knew it to be one of the souls. She watched Taylor look down at his shoulder in question butthen his attention was drawn toward the graves as Casper was hunched and pointing to where they sat. A feeling overwhelmed the air, where it was still and chill before now there was a gusting presence that brought a chilling warmth, the kind that brings a body fever.
"What is that? Do you feel that?" Taylor's voice was pitched low, careful, and steady.
"Yes," she whispered looking around. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel something. Or someone.
"Is this," he started and shook his head. "Are the ghosts, the souls, here?"
"Yes, but this isn't them," she replied. Then Casper barked once, twice as a pop pop pop sounded, almost whimsical like popping bubbles in a cartoon. Dark red flowers pushed through the ground forming a wandering line from each grave to the next.
"Are those flowers?"
