“This all you’ll be needing, Mr. Ash?” Hudson said behind me.
“Mr. Ash?” she asked, taking a step nearer, still not seeing any resemblance between me and the creature she had met in the woods so long ago. “Are you related to the caretaker who used to work over at the bed and breakfast?”
“My father.” The lie slipped from my tongue easily.
Her expression softened and she held out her hand. I took it gently, held it in my palm, perhaps a moment longer than I should have, but she didn’t seem to mind. “He was a friend of mine, once,” she told me. “My family and I visited here. A long time ago.”
“Mr. Ash is the caretaker now. A fine one, too,” Hudson said.
Caretaker. Not the word I would have chosen.
“Really. Well, we might be seeing one another then. I just rented the same cabin my parents and I stayed in.”
I wondered if she was like them, if she would fill the rooms with the stench of alcohol and fighting. I didn’t think so. I had a feeling she was different. Her hands danced through the air when she talked, as if she were pulling words from the ethos. Steam and smoke curled from her fingertips—a phenomenon only my kind could see—and I tilted my head with curiosity, trying to look deeper.
It would have been much easier if she belonged to me.
“I’ll check in on you later,” I said. “Make sure you have everything you need.”
“Will you be staying for the Hunt—” Mr. Hudson asked, but I cut him off before he could finish.
She’s an outsider, you fool.
I shot him a quick glance and his eyes flashed wide at his mistake. He wore his sleeves rolled back and part of a long, jagged scar peeked out on his left forearm—my mark. He and about half of the town were mine.
He stammered for a moment, then righted himself. “I meant to say H—Halloween. Will you be staying?”
“No.” She didn’t seem to notice his awkward speech. “Not that long. We’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, meaning it. I glanced back outside and noticed that there was no husband waiting for her in the SUV parked at the curb. No ring on her finger either, although a band of white flesh told me that there had been one.
I pushed my groceries aside. “You can go first. I’m in no hurry.”
“Thanks,” she said as she set her things down on the counter. Her shoulder brushed against mine and I could smell the fragrance of her dreams, she stood that close. The hunger in my belly stirred and I longed to cast a spell of sleep right there and then, to stop time and take her in my arms, to lead her into that vast land of imagination where humans dwelled almost half of their lives.
The land I could never visit on my own.
I watched her every movement, quiet as a trespasser on gated property: the hazel eyes that shifted from green to brown; the hair that hung across her cheek until she brushed it behind one ear; the way she reached for her son’s hand and found it instinctively, without even looking; how she frowned unexpectedly when she opened her wallet and saw a photo inside that she must have forgotten about.
Her fingers grazed the picture of her son standing beside a man who looked almost exactly like him, a lake in the near distance. Both of them grinned and held fishing poles slack in hand, a tiny silver trout glistening at the end of the boy’s line.
This was the man who wasn’t in the car.
She took a deep shuddering breath, heavier than a sigh, then pulled out a credit card and closed the wallet. Mr. Hudson ran the card through a machine, and with a cheery voice, he handed it back.
“I hope you enjoy your stay, Mrs. MacFaddin,” he said.
She winced. “Miss,” she corrected him. “Miss MacFaddin.” Then she wrapped one arm around the paper sack, balanced it on her hip, turned and left the store, one hand still possessively clinging to her little boy. I continued to watch her as Hudson bagged my purchases. Dark hair surrounding her like a cloud, she put her groceries in the car, then strapped her son in the backseat. At that point she came back and untied the dog, pausing to ruffle his fur and kiss him on the snout.
Her fragrance grew even stronger then. Perhaps she had slipped back into her own world. A small host of transparent creatures emerged from the shadows and gathered around her, although these were different from the imaginary friends she’d had as a child. These had more substance, as if she’d spent countless hours—maybe even years—with them.
One thing lifted my spirits as she drove away and I left the shop, heading back toward the bed and breakfast. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, that much was certain. She now carried the sorrow of a broken life.
And now she was old enough to harvest.
Chapter 3
Deep Dark Secret