“But,” he adds. “Wedidfind something out there. Something powerful.”
“And where’s the thing you found now?” I ask.
He nods toward Ash’s property. “Government can search this place all they like. Everything here’s circumstantial. But Ash’s place…” He shakes his head. “No way. Same with Mags, Clay. All the old families. Wildbloods, they call themselves.”
“Wildbloods?” My eyes catch his. “What is that? Like a family name or something?”
He searches for his next words carefully. “The difference. Slight but tangible.”
“But they never did hurt anyone,” Grandma adds.
The words don’t make me feel any better.
Grandpa pauses, breath catching. “Never questioned it. Known it my whole life. That some folks around here are unique. Maybe it would’ve bothered me more if I moved away.”
“Like Mom?” I ask.
He nods. “Which is what you should do, too. Now. Before this gets any bigger.”
It already feels far bigger than anything I can control.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. But we were so happy to have you home?—”
“Still are,” Grandma cuts in, patting my hand.
“Should’ve kept you away from those damn rocks. And my friend,” he says bitterly. “But letting you study this place felt like the only way to get you home.”
A sting hits the back of my eyes. I stare at the table until my eyes blur. “Is that really the only reason you think I’m here?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Grandma croons. “You know how Grandpa is. Not great with words.”
“Maybe not, but this you have to abide by.” He finally looks at me. “Promise me, Jo.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Promise me you’ll leave this place and these rocks. That you’ll never look back… and you’ll stay away from Ash.”
“Martin,” Grandma starts.
But he cuts her off with a hand. “Promise me.”
That’s when I realize I can’t feel him anymore.
Chapter
Fifteen
ASH
Idon’t look back. Don’t change into dry clothes. Anything. Just saddle Winnie and head for the Grange.
I recognize trucks I didn’t expect when I arrive, and Mags greets me at the door. Her face looks like she already knows too much.
Inside, the lights flicker, intimate. Almost too low. Dust and old tobacco linger like something that refuses to die.
“They’re inside already. Called them when I felt the air shift,” she whispers. Then, stops and looks at me long and hard. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, past words.
