Page 40 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“Screw it.” My stomach gives an unholy yowl at being deprived its dopamine fix.

Instead of turning around to give into its demands, I purposely stomp in the opposite direction, shrugging my jacket higher.

The wind tugs loose hairs free of the messy braid winding along my spine. I slide my hands in my pockets, purse hitting against my leg with every step.

Joggers hunch against the wind, two of them in bright neon pink and orange, working their arms in time with their legs. “Did you hear what happened at the Longship Festival yesterday?”

My gut takes a deep dive off a short plank and I stop to let them pass. And to eavesdrop.

“Yeah, some kind of earthquake?”

“I heard they’re calling it a problem with one of the gas lines.”

Their voices fade when they prance out of view but I gawk after them. What kind of fools would call a troll throwing a tantrum a gas line problem?

I shake my head, hands in my pockets.

There were plenty of other people there to see the same thing I did. Witnesses might not be credible but put enough of them together and no matter how you stretch the blanket of mass hysteria, it amounts to the same thing. A crazy, insane, ludicrous, and somehow miraculous truth.

Gossip buzzes between businesses opening up for the day.

I cast a wave at the couple who own the art gallery perpendicular to us, their heads bent together as they adjust planters full of burgundy mums.

They barely spare a glance at me, but the wind carries their whispers. Clean-up crews from the gas company will be assessing the scene soon. The cops are all over it.

I huff out a breath. So, what? The town goes on about their day as usual despite the heaps of evidence that this wasn’t a fucking gas line eruption?

Thorn & Candle takes up the entire first floor of one of the downtown buildings. I’m not sure if it used to be anything else. I only know that once upon a time, Barnes, being on the town council, saw an opportunity to snatch the deed out from the old owner and he’s held dominion on the space since.

I guess it pays to be part of the elite.

The town council rules everything in Nightshade Hollow.

Barnes is already here, and the antique scroll of the Open sign clangs against the glass door when I push through. It swings over the tattered red runner, another relic from a better time gone by.

A curving mahogany serving table acts as the checkout counter, the gold on the register faded by years of too many hands.

“You’re late.” Barnes coughs, the sound mingling with the echo of the bell above the door.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

He blinks at me, hovering behind the front desk in wait. “Excuse me?”

“The festival?” I shrug out of my coat and hang it on the nearest rack. “I’m not injured.”

A hush swallows the words. Dust motes dance in honeyed light, dim and golden but never quite warm.

My stomach drops at an alarming rate when he fails to react. My feet are glued to the floor as Barnes flips through the ledger on the front desk.

“Oh, yes. Well. I knew you would be, or the authorities would have called.”

Knew I…what? I’d almost died.

How could Barnes just forget…

Or has he brushed off…

I shake my head, the rest of me rolling in time with the motion. “What are you talking about?”