I crack several eggs into a bowl, stealing quick glances at her the whole time. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead.” She winces without looking up from her phone. “Which probably isn’t reassuring.”
A corner of my mouth lifts.
I whisk the eggs. “Plans for today?”
“More library time.” She hesitates, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “Although—no offense to Crowsbridge Hollow and the lovely Mr. Baxter—I’m starting to think I should visit a larger library for some outside research.”
Dread coils in my stomach. Ishouldencourage her to leave, explore elsewhere. But my throat closes tight even as I consider how to line up the words. “Like what?”
“More…I don’t know. Esoteric?”
“Why?”
She slides off the stool and approaches me, setting her coffee on the counter, then hugging me from behind. Careful not to dislodge her arms, I pour the eggs into the pan.
“I…” She squeezes me tighter.
Not liking the hesitation in her voice, I slowly turn to face her. “What?”
She releases me and steps back. Worry pulls her lips into a wobbly line. “Nothing.”
I grip her hips and lift her onto the counter. “Tell me.”
“I’d rather kiss you.” She swoops in, crashing her lips into mine.
A groan of approval slips out of me. Without breaking the kiss, I lean over and flip the burner off. Eggs can wait. Kissing Emery can’t.
Emery gasps. Her whole body shuddering.
“Em?” I pull back.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyelids fly open and she stares at me, confusion morphing into embarrassment or fear, I can’t tell. She presses her hand over her heart. “I…wow. That hasn’t happened?—”
“What hasn’t happened?”
She rests her hand on my chestand glances down, her expression turning sheepish. “I should’ve told you this before. Sometimes…when we’re in the middle…no, when I’m about to…come, I see…things.” Her eyebrows pinch together and she stares at her arm. Although the mark hasn’t gone past her shoulder, the green is bright and shimmery this morning.
Dread takes up residence in my gut. “Whatthings?”
“I don’t know.” She folds her hands together in her lap as if this is a thoughtful, academic discussion. “Visions? I guess that’s what I’d call them.”
“Visions of what?” I stare at her mouth, willing different words to come out.
“I don’t know. They’re only fragments. A cemetery, I think. A woman’s tears.” She tugs at the key pendant around her neck. “An iron key. Water. A door closing. That one is really vivid.” She lifts her shoulders slightly. “Sorry, it’s not much more than that.”
My breath snags in my throat. What she’s describing doesn’t line up.Whyshe’s seeing it is even more unnerving. Is the Ridercoming for her, or was she marked for a different reason? And if so, what?
This is a stupid question—one I already know the answer to—but I ask anyway. “And you’ve never had visions before?”
She snorts, then shakes her head. “No, Declan.”
“But it just happened now? When we kissed?”
