Page 31

I probably shouldn’t have typed ok when Damian asked me to meet him at a fire lookout tower in the middle of the forest. But there I was, trundling along a dirt road to go make myself vulnerable all over again.

The sun was already low and gold in the sky, throwing dappled light across the ground. The road cut a narrow ribbon through the redwoods, flanked by sword ferns.

At some point I lost cell signal and my fingers tightened over the wheel. But the map kept leading me there, and I stayed the course.

I had questions. I had an entire mental list that I’d been rehearsing since I’d started the engine.

The road climbed higher, and the trees thinned out. The car crested a ridge, and the view exploded open. Below, the land fell away in ridges toward a hazy blue, the Pacific a thin silver line between the green and the sky.

The road twisted upward once more, and then I saw it: a small, squat tower perched on the summit. The trailhead was just beyond it, a narrow path winding down the slope, disappearing into the brush.

I parked next to Damian’s jeep.

The cool air carried pine and dust and salt and wild sage. I took a deep breath and started toward the tower.

I didn’t see him at first, just the tower’s weathered stilts that stood about thirty feet off the ground. Then I looked up at the catwalk circling the cabin and he was standing there, leaning against the railing, and my pulse did the thing I’d told it not to do.

He looked like he’d spent the day outside, his dark green shirt wrinkled, his hair as disobedient as the day before, cuffs rolled on his forearms. His hand was still bandaged. He watched me ascend the steps, and when I met his gaze, there was a flicker of something raw, something almost broken in him.

“Thanks for coming out here,” he said when I took the last few steps. “We’ve still got a team out searching for a hiker. I need to stay within twenty minutes of command.”

“Sure,” I said, my shoulders relaxing. My body seemed to think that was a reasonable explanation.

In the distance, the cove was a roughly drawn half-moon, licorice-black scalloped by seafoam.

“Come inside,” he said, opening the door to the lookout cabin. My body was much too focused on the lack of distance between us as he held the door open for me. When I looked down so I didn’t stare at him, I noticed a jar of coarse salt and rusty nails just inside the doorway.

He saw the question pass over my face.

“For protection,” he said.

“Protection?”

“I’ll explain inside.”

As he shut the door behind us, I noticed another tattoo, this one on the other forearm from the one with the branch and nails. A small bird on a blackthorn branch.

The cabin was small, with windows on all four sides, a table and two chairs, a bunk along one wall, and a Coleman stove on a shelf. A strange, earthy, herbal smell wafted. More jars of salt and nails sat in every corner of the room. As soon as the door was closed, I saw his chest move, as if he’d finally let a breath go.

Damian grabbed a mug from a shelf and poured tea from the stove into it. “I’m guessing you didn’t drink that tea.”

“I did not.”

“Then you need to drink this now.” He held out the mug to me.

I took it from him but didn’t drink yet. “What the hell was in that cacao?”

“I don’t know the exact recipe—”

“You said that at the fire.” I set the mug down. “Aurora told us there was ceremonial-grade cacao, spices, maca, and herbs in it. The next morning Priya asked again, and she got cacao, spices, maca, salt, sugar, and the name of a supplier with a whole thing about moon phases.” I watched him carefully. “The herbs fell off the list. Aurora doesn’t mention them when we’re sober,” I said. “So which is it?”

He let out a small sigh. “There’s damiana in it. That’s the aphrodisiac. Henbane, mugwort, and blue lotus. A drop of toad venom. And a lot of bad intent.”

“Toad venom?”

“It’s a hallucinogen.”

“What do you mean, bad intent?”