Thirty-Two and a Half Complications
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery; Romance; Fiction; Paranormal; Contemporary; Chick Lit; Suspense; Crime; Cozy Mystery; Contemporary Romance; Women Sleuths; Mystery & Detective
Description: There’s no denying trouble finds Rose Gardner like a divining rod finds water, especially when Rose lands in the middle of a bank robbery. But after the robbers steal her deposit bag — containing a large amount of cash — she soon finds out that trouble is threatening her business as well, thanks to her sister Violet’s financial mismanagement. To top it off, Rose’s ex-boyfriend, Joe Simmons, has moved back to Henryetta to fill the chief deputy sheriff position. Rose’s involvement as a witness is the perfect opportunity for Joe to reinsert himself into her life. But Mason Deveraux, Fenton County
Publisher: DGS

Let It All Burn

From the Ashes

Denise Grover Swank

Copyright © 2020 by Denise Grover Swank

Cover design: Damonza

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

For my readers—I never take you for granted.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Reader Named Characters

Also by Denise Grover Swank

Also by DG Swank

About the Author

Chapter One

My life turned to crap at a Tupperware party.

Considering that my life wasn’t great to begin with, that was saying something.

The kicker is that it wasn’t even real Tupperware. It was some cheap knockoff plasticware MLM party that my boss, Nikki, was hosting. I wasn’t sure it was legal to insist your entire office staff attend your Super Sort and Seal storage party, but the possibility of breaking laws had never stopped Nikki. She broke at least half a dozen a week.

“I can’t believe she made me come to this thing,” Parker said. He was an accounts manager at Lisman and Freud International Shipping, and I was the first to admit that he wasn’t part of Super Sort and Seal’s core demographic.

“I can’t believe you actually came,” I muttered under my breath. I was a forty-two-year-old newly single mother of three, who had been lucky to get my low-level assistant-to-an-assistant job after working as a stay-at-home mother for fifteen years and working part time the last couple of years for my best friend. It had taken two months to get this crap job—turned out no one wanted to hire a divorcée whose most recent job experience was limited part-time employment at her friend’s coffee shop—which meant I couldn’t afford to make waves. When Nikki said jump, I pulled out a mini trampoline to get higher than she requested. Parker, on the other hand, was thirty-three, also newly single, and extremely good-looking—he could afford to piss off our boss. Especially since she’d made no secret of the fact that she’d like to take advantage of his availability.

“I could use some new plasticware,” Kristie said with a sweet smile. She had the kind of optimism only possible for a twenty-seven-year-old who had lived a charmed life and married her high school sweetheart. She was my co-assistant and had taken me under her wing when I’d been a new hire four months ago. “Chris told me to order as much as I like. Plus,” she added, lowering her voice, “I think it’s fun to hang out with my friends outside of work.”

I glanced around the small living room packed to the brim with twenty or more people, all of whom worked for Lisman and Freud International Shipping. Other than Kristie, I wouldn’t exactly call them friends, and I definitely had better things to do. “For the first time in weeks, all three of my kids are home,” I told her with a heavy sigh. “Between Harriet’s dance classes, Elena’s music lessons, and Jack’s basketball practice and games, it’s a rare occasion.”

“Your son plays basketball? What position does he play?” Parker asked, shifting his weight on the thinly padded folding chair.

“Point guard,” I said.

He nodded his approval.

“How tall is he?” Kristie asked.

“Six foot and still growing,” I said. “And eating like a horse.” That boy could put away more food than both of his sisters combined.

“He goes to Ridgewood High, doesn’t he?” Parker asked. “They went to state last year.” I gave Parker a look of surprise, and he grinned, saying, “I graduated from Ridgewood. I keep up with their stats. I thought I recognized the name Weatherby. He’s a starter.”

“And only a sophomore. He’s hoping for a scholarship.”

“Did you play basketball, Parker?” Nikki asked as she walked up behind him, then rested her hand on his shoulder. She tried to make it look casual, but her fingertips lightly brushed his button-down shirt. I could understand why she was interested. Parker was a very attractive man. Tall, lean, short light-brown hair, soft gray eyes—quite a few women in the office were taken with him, even the married ones. While corporate took a lax stance on interoffice relationships, they still frowned upon bosses sleeping with their employees.

Parker’s eyes widened as he shifted from underneath her hand. “No. I was more into football.”

Nikki sidled next to him, pressing her hip into his arm. “I would have guessed that about you.”

Horror washed over Parker’s face, and he jumped out of his seat. “I think I’ll go check out the vegetable tray.”

I couldn’t blame him. Nikki was only a few years older than him, and she was likely most men’s ideal woman with her blond hair and big boobs, but her chipmunk voice and abrasive personality ruined it for her.

“When is the party supposed to start?” I asked, glancing around. The Super Sort and Seal demonstrator had been putting the finishing touches on her display twenty minutes ago, but I hadn’t seen her since.

Nikki looked down her nose at me—literally. “It’s not like you have much of a life to get back to, Darcie. Not since your cute British husband left you for that twenty-something in his bio class.”

My dormant anger ignited, and I clenched my hands to keep from throttling her. “My husband wasn’t my life.”

“No kidding,” she said dryly. “Which is probably why he left you.”

She’d gotten a few things right, but most of it wrong. Richard was British, although his parents had brought him to the U.S. when he was five, and at times, I was sure he worked hard to keep his accent since it gained him so much attention. Richard hadn’t left me. I’d kicked him out, but only after discovering he’d been screwing his TA for months. He wasn’t a biology professor. His doctorate was in nineteenth-century American literature, and Tiffany had been TAing for his freshman American lit class. And sure, my focus had been on the kids long before the divorce, but who could blame me? In a conversation about Frankenstein, which had been assigned reading for Harriet and Jack, Richard had called me boring and pedantic and claimed I couldn’t carry on an intelligent conversation about anything, let alone his passion, nineteenth-century American horror literature. Of course, I’d pointed out that Frankenstein wasn’t American horror, but actually European—something he should have known given it had been penned by an Englishwoman and completed in his beloved homeland.

That had been our last conversation about anything outside of the kids’ schedules, his mother’s many psychosomatic ailments, and who was picking up dinner.

Strangely, I hadn’t missed him one iota since he’d left, but I did miss his paycheck. A teenage boy ate nearly his weight in food a day, and Jack usually had two to three friends at our house, consuming even more food. Harriet’s dance lessons weren’t cheap, and then there were Elena’s braces and music lessons…

Kids sucked up a lot of money, and Richard had decided the family expenses were no longer his concern. He was “finding himself”—otherwise known as a midlife crisis—which included the stereotypical convertible and bachelor pad apartment to go with the twenty-two-year-old English major. I probably should have fought him harder over the divorce settlement—plenty of people had told me so—but at the end I’d been exhausted. I’d wanted it to be over. And while I understood I could take him to court over nonpayment of child support, I didn’t want to put the kids through that after they’d already been through so much.

So I really needed this job. At least for another eight months until I had a solid year of recent employment to put on my résumé. And considering how long it had taken me to find this miserable excuse for a job, I’d probably drop a decade off my birthdate while I was at it. A woman in her thirties was much more likely to get a job than one in her forties. All of which meant I couldn’t strangle my boss.

At least not yet.

“Excuse me, Nikki…” Minka said from across the room. “How long do you think this party will last?”

She was another guest who had surprised me by making an appearance at the party. Minka was in her sixties and always looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine with her tailored clothes and her thick white hair pulled up in a French twist. She’d moved to the U.S. when she was in elementary school, but her Polish accent still lingered, even though she’d spent the majority of her life outside of her birthplace. Minka was quiet and tended to keep to herself, but it looked like she’d had enough togetherness, what with the twenty or so of us crammed into Nikki’s small living room. Still, I wasn’t sure why she’d come in the first place. She never seemed to feel threatened by our boss and rarely took time off, which meant she probably hadn’t come out of worry Nikki might deny her next vacation request.

“I don’t know, Minka,” Nikki’s voice squeaked. “It’ll last as long as it takes.”

Kristie released a tiny laugh behind her hand, which was a good thing. Nikki would be furious if she caught Kristie laughing at her.

“I need to leave at 7:48 to feed my cats,” Minka said, her chin raised and her eyes darting around the room as if waiting for one of us to say something about her being a cat lady.

“I need to feed my dog,” Parker said, returning with a plate holding a couple of carrots and a piece of celery. Nikki had apparently missed the memo that food was one of the only enticements to hang around at these parties. Her sole offering was a vegetable tray that looked like it was past its sell-by date.

Nikki’s eyes narrowed and she propped her hands on her hips. “You don’t have a dog.”

“Uh… I’m watching my neighbor’s dog. He’s very needy. He likes to be fed at 7:32 every night, and he’ll be chomping at the bit for his dinner.” He became more enthusiastic as his story went on, and Nikki’s eyes narrowed more and more until I wasn’t sure how she could see through the narrow slits.

“Sorry about that, everyone!” a woman called from the doorway to the kitchen. “I had to run back home and get the prizes. Silly me! How could I have forgotten something like that?”

She burst into the room, obviously flustered as she squeezed through the maze of feet and legs belonging to all the people crammed into the space. The small living room had a sofa and one armchair, and the rest of the room was stuffed with dining room and folding chairs, along with a folding table in front of the picture window. I’d gotten to Nikki’s early and had claimed a spot on the sofa. Now I wished I’d been late and gotten a seat by the back door. I might have been able to slip out unnoticed.

Parker resumed his seat in the folding chair next to me and grimaced as he took a bite of one of the carrots. He swallowed, although I suspect he might have spat it out if Nikki weren’t right next to us. It came as no surprise when he tossed the remainder onto the plate and slipped it under his seat.

“Hello, everyone,” the rep said in an overloud, overly excited voice while tucking a strand of her mouse-brown hair behind her ear. She nervously scanned the room. “Oh my. There’s so many of you.”

“I told you I’d pack ’em in,” Nikki said, beaming with pride. Of course it was easy to get your minions to show up when you threatened their vacation schedules, their only respite from a boss from hell.

The demonstrator’s voice wavered and her hands shook as she said, “I’m Haley, your Super Sort and Seal party rep! Who’s ready to party tonight?”

She tried to sound enthusiastic, but she looked like she was about to vomit.

The room was entirely silent.

I felt sorry for her, left hanging like that, so I called out, “We’re ready to party like it’s 2008!”

Kristie scrunched up her nose and gave me a look that suggested she was sure I’d lost my mind. The rest of the room looked just as baffled, but it was Haley’s confusion that made me defend myself.

“Two thousand and eight,” I said in a defensive tone. “The year of Super Sort and Seal’s first in-home party.” Then I added, “Nikki said there would be a trivia contest about the company. The winner gets a Super Sort and Seal storage system.” I wasn’t ashamed to admit I’d scoured the catalogue and even done a Google search to bone up on my knowledge.

Haley’s eyes lit up like a low-energy light bulb, going from dim to bright in about five seconds. “Oh…I see what you did there.”

“What a weirdo,” Eunice from accounting said across the room in the judgmental tone we were all used to. She wasn’t looking at anyone as she said it, so I decided to be generous and presume she was talking about Haley and not me.

“Hey,” I said, “I have three kids at home who are constantly eating. I like to do food prep ahead so they can heat it up and eat.”

Minka gave me an approving nod. “I like to sort my cats’ meals in resealable containers too. Then they’re ready to pop into the microwave and heat up. All ten of them have different diets, so I color-code the lids.”

“Did she just say she heats up her cats’ food?” Kristie asked under her breath.

“Did she just admit that she has ten of them?” Parker whispered in horror. He shook his head. “No wonder everyone calls her the Crazy Cat Lady.”

Sue from the sales team whipped out her phone and held up her screen, showing a photo of multiple dogs. “These are my babies-- Cooper, Doozee, Rowdy, Peewee and Tina Fey. They all have different diets as well, but I just store their homemade food in those resealable bags. Never Tupperware.”

Haley jutted out her chin and shook her head, wagging a finger around the room. “Word to the wise—Tupperware’s a dirty word around here, not to mention their sales are on the decline. Everyone knows that Super Sort and Seal is the world’s leading food storage containment system.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” a woman from the sales team said. “I’m pretty sure that Tupperware and Rubbermaid have you beat.”

Haley opened her mouth and took a step forward to say something, then stopped and pressed her lips into a tight line.

“And if Tupperware’s on the decline,” another woman said, “it’s because the CDC has declared it’s unsafe to store food in plastic containers.”

Haley’s eyes bugged out.

“That’s not true,” Parker said. “The CDC never said that.”

“Thank you,” Haley said with a grateful look.

“But multiple scientific studies have proven that BPA plastic is unsafe,” he added. “The chemicals leach into the food. I noticed in the catalogue there was no mention of your products being BPA-free.”

“Look,” I said, “my kids eat the dang food too fast for any leaching to occur. Did I win the prize pack?”

Haley held up her hands and patted the air. “Hold on, everyone. Let me get this party officially started.”

Eunice glared at me over her glasses.

Haley picked up a small catalogue and looked on the back, obviously reading, “Super Sort and Seal food storage containers were the brainstorm of Paul and Mindy Piper from Minneapolis, Minnesota. The first home party was in 2008.” She looked at me over the top of the catalogue. “Hey, you were right.”

“So do I win?” I asked. If I won, maybe I could get my prize, pretend to grab more veggies, and slip out the back door.

“Not so fast, Darcie,” Nikki said with a look of disgust. “You need to order lots of Super Sort and Seal containers. I figured you’d want plenty of them with all those kids. I need the points for the Super Sort and Seal Party Pack margarita set.”

I gave Nikki a dry look. “I can’t afford to buy anything. I can barely pay the bills and buy food for my three kids and grandmother.”

Nikki propped her hands on her hips. “You’re not buying anything?”

“Nikki, you pay me fifteen dollars an hour. It barely covers my food bill, let alone the utilities and things like clothes and lesson fees. Where am I going to come up with the money for those overpriced plastic bowls?”

“Do you have glass containers?” Parker asked, then sent me a wink.

Haley flipped through several pages of the catalogue before glancing up at him with a crestfallen look. “No. It doesn’t look like it.”

“You have to buy something,” Nikki said. Her piercing gaze swept the room. “All of you are buying something! I need the damn points, people!”

“They can get points for hosting a party,” Haley suggested enthusiastically, then turned to me. “You can host your own Super Sort and Seal party and earn points to get the Super Sort and Seal Family Storage Pack.”

Out of nowhere, my skin began to flush.

I had to stand firm on this. My best friend, Cyn, said I was the world’s biggest pushover, which was why Richard had gotten away with so much crap over the years. If I caved and booked a party, she’d tease me mercilessly. And she definitely wouldn’t come. No one would.

I shook my head. “No. I can’t.”

Nikki’s eyes darkened, and I felt like I’d walked into a four-hundred-degree oven. I picked up the catalogue on my lap and began to fan myself.

What the heck was wrong with me?

“You can’t do that, Nikki,” said a woman from accounting. “You can’t force us to buy things. It’s against the law.”

“You don’t have a union!” Nikki shouted, pointing her finger at her. “There is no law against Tupperware parties!”

“Super Sort and Seal,” Haley interjected, but she looked scared of her hostess, a legitimate fear.

Sweat broke out on the back of my neck and beaded on my forehead. I fanned harder, but now the back of my shirt felt wet.

“I am the law at Lisman and Freud International Shipping!” Nikki shouted, her chipmunk voice sounding even squeakier than usual.

“That’s not true,” a woman from marketing said sheepishly. “There are federal and state laws about what you can and can’t do, and I’m pretty sure that making your approval of our vacation requests contingent on attending this party and buying Tupperware is illegal.”

“So arrest me!” Nikki shouted, thrusting her hands toward her as though she were offering them to be cuffed.

The heat in my body continued to rise, and I was a half second away from ripping my shirt over my head. I rested my hand on the sofa cushion beside me, preparing to launch myself up and outside, hoping the January evening would cool me off. There were too many people packed in this room, and the furnace was likely turned up to eighty.

“Oh my gosh, Darcie,” Kristie murmured. “Are you okay?”

“She’s having a hot flash,” Minka whispered, giving me a knowing look.

A hot flash? I was forty-two, for heaven’s sake. Much too young to be having a hot flash.

“Do you smell smoke?” Haley asked, sniffing with her nose in the air. “I smell smoke.”

“I smell it too,” someone murmured. “It smells like burning snickerdoodles. Are you baking, Nikki?”

“Baking!” Nikki barked with a short laugh. “I don’t bake.” Then she looked frantically around the room. “But something is definitely burning.”

“It’s the sofa!” Parker exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. Before I knew what was happening, he’d reached down and pulled me off the couch.

Kristie let out a shriek as a plume of smoke billowed from the spot where I’d been sitting—within arm’s length from where she currently sat. As she leapt up, flames shot into the air.

It was mass chaos after that. Later, the fire marshal said it was a wonder all twenty-seven of us made it out alive. Cramming that many people into such a small space was against the fire code, it turned out, and they slapped Nikki with a fine.

Even I had to agree the punishment was excessive, considering Nikki’s house had burned to the ground. The only thing left was a pile of ashes. And poor Haley was a mess, crying over the complete loss of her Super Sort and Seal starter pack.

And me…little did I know that was the beginning of the end of life as I knew it.

Chapter Two

“Let me get this straight,” Cyn said, her voice loud and clear from my car’s speakers. “Your boss’s house caught on fire?”

“It was still smoldering when I left.”

“Wow, I hate to say it, but it serves that egotistical, presumptuous bitch right.”

“Cyn!” I protested as I turned into my neighborhood. “No one deserves to lose their house like that.”

“What does the fire marshal think started it?”

“Well, when I left, the house was still too hot for them to go inside, or rather to walk over—it had literally burned to the ground in about twenty minutes—but we’re all fairly certain it started on the sofa, so maybe a candle or a lighter?”

“Was Minka there? I bet she was smoking a joint. No one, and I mean no one, is that chill all the time without the help of a little weed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jack says most people don’t smoke it anymore. Apparently they eat it.”

“Brownies?”

“That and other things,” I said, “although I find it slightly disturbing that I’m getting the lowdown on marijuana consumption from my sixteen-year-old son.”

“Is he smoking—er, I guess eating—it?”

I let out a sigh. “I don’t think so. I’ve heard him tell his friends he’s worried it will affect his performance. He desperately wants a basketball scholarship to Franklin Tech State, especially since Richard left and money’s tight. He’s not going to let pot interfere with that.”

“I thought he was going to go to Callaway on scholarship since Richard is tenured there.”

“Jack hates being around his father. Elena tells me he sulks and refuses to talk whenever they’re at Richard’s place for the weekend.”

“Okay, let’s set all of the Richard nonsense aside. What I want to know is, how in the world did the sofa catch on fire?” Cyn asked, sounding bewildered.

“I don’t know, and I’m tired of thinking about it. Especially since I think I had a hot flash moments before.”

“A hot flash? You’re too young to be having hot flashes. Did you eat a jalapeño? You know those make you flush.”

Oh. She had a good point. “I did have some spicy cheese after work. But that was a good two hours before I got hot. Usually that happens immediately.”

“Maybe it was a delayed reaction,” Cyn said. “Because you’re two years younger than me, and I don’t want to even consider getting hot flashes.”

My phone beeped with an incoming call. “Cyn, Harriet’s calling. Gotta go.”

“You still coming in on Saturday to help out, aren’t you? I have to say, I’ve missed you since you took that office job.”

I chuckled. “If I’m not careful, I just might be begging for a full-time job from you.”

“Honest to God, I wish I could afford to hire you full time. I just don’t have that much of a budget for overhead.”

“I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I hung up and switched over to my daughter Harriet. “What’s up, honey?”

“I can’t find my green sweater anywhere.”

“Did you look in the laundry room? I laid it on the drying rack.”

“I looked and it’s not there. Logan is my science partner tomorrow, and the last time I wore it he said it made my eyes look greener.”

“I’m pulling into the garage now,” I said as I reached up and pushed the garage door opener on my sun visor. “I’ll look when I get inside.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

I smiled. “Love you too.”

But she’d already hung up.

Harriet was leaning against the kitchen island when I walked in, next to Elena, my grade-school-aged daughter, who was bent over my laptop.

Jack was on the sofa in the attached family room, wearing a pair of headphones and enthusiastically pressing buttons on his video game controller as he shouted, “Brayden, look behind you, dude! Jeremy, go left! Go left!”

“What did I say about computer time, Elena?” I said in a stern voice as I put my purse on the kitchen counter.

“It’s for homework,” Elena said in her no-nonsense tone. Some days I swore she was a forty-year-old woman trapped in an eleven-year-old’s body. At times, she seemed to be more responsible than I was.

“Where’s Nana Stella?” I asked, glancing around the room.

“Sally Jo picked her up to take her to poker night,” Harriet said.

I shook my head. My eighty-three-year-old grandmother had a busier social life than I did. “The last time Sally Jo picked her up, they both disappeared for three days.”

“They were having a good time in Vegas,” Harriet said with a grin.

“I made sure Nana only took twenty dollars this time so she can’t go far,” Elena said, her gaze still on the screen. “Why are you home so early?” Her nose wrinkled and she lifted her face to look me over. “And why do you smell like smoke?”

I sniffed my coat sleeve, then slipped off my coat and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair near me. “You’re right, I do.”

“Did you have one of those crazy parties where you build a bonfire and toss the Tupperware into it as a form of protest?” Harriet asked. “You know that plastic stuff is bad for you.”

“I can only imagine that it would be ten times worse burning in a bonfire,” I said. “But alas, it wasn’t anything as mundane as a bonfire. Nikki’s house caught on fire.”

“What?” Harriet shrieked.

Even the normally unflappable Elena looked upset. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, patting the air. “But it was a little confusing and a tiny bit scary. Thank God, everyone got out safely before the house burned to the ground.”

Jack broke into a long tirade directed at a teammate, and Harriet marched over and snatched the headphones straight off his head.

“Hey!” he shouted in protest, lunging for them. They were twins, but they took pride in being different. Although they had the same brown hair and hazel eyes, Jack was a good eight inches taller and Harriet was more academically inclined.

“Mom almost died, you imbecile!” Harriet shouted at him. “Your video game can wait.”

Jack turned to me, panic on his face. “Mom?”

He was taking his new role of “man of the house” much too seriously, despite continual reminders from me and the girls that he was still a boy and the term was both dated and chauvinistic.

“I’m fine,” I said, suddenly exhausted. I pulled out a kitchen chair from under the table and sat down. “I was never in any real danger, although I was sitting on the sofa when it caught fire.”

That brought on a round of protests and worry from all three of them. Harriet fussed over me, Jack was ready to go after the irresponsible fool who had started the fire that almost killed his mom, and Elena kept listing random statistics and facts about house fire deaths.

“Oh. My. God.” Harriet scrunched up her nose in disgust as she turned to her little sister. “Do you really think that’s appropriate right now?”

“It’s okay, Harriet,” I said softly. “She’s fine.” But I worried about Elena.

Her random-facts spouting had started around the time Richard had left. At first they had been about divorce and the percentages of couples who split and didn’t get back together. But she’d soon branched out, digging up all sorts of random facts about everything. I recognized it for what it was—Elena’s attempt to control a world that felt out of control. The psychologist agreed, but Harriet and Richard were annoyed by it. Jack found it funny, and he and Harriet had told me that Tiffany—Richard’s girlfriend—thought it was cute.

“I think I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and take a long bath,” I said as I stood.

“Good idea, Mom,” Harriet said. “Why don’t you go start your bath, and I’ll bring the wine to you?”

“Aww…thanks, honey.”

“She just wants to drink some of it,” Elena snipped.

“The legal drinking age is sixteen in France!” Harriet protested as she pulled an unopened bottle of Riesling from the fridge.

“No,” Elena said, “the legal drinking age is eighteen, but families let teens drink in their homes at family dinners.”

“And we’re in our own home, dufus,” Harriet said.

“No wine for you, Harriet,” I said, grabbing the bottle from her hand. “And no calling your sister names.” I started to pick up the glass she’d just gotten out but decided to skip it. Who was I kidding? Today had gone from bad to worse. No sense dirtying a glass.

Jack pulled me into a hug, his chin resting on the top of my head, while Elena wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face into my stomach.

“I’m fine, you guys,” I said, wishing I’d kept some of the details to myself. I hadn’t realized it would freak them out so much.

Harriet watched us from a few feet away before making a face of defeat and joined the hug pile-on. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too,” I said, squeezing her back with my arm. Tears stung my eyes. “I love you guys so much.”

“Oh gross,” Harriet said, backing up. “You smell like smoke and you’re getting weepy. If either your smoke smell or your tears get in my hair, I’ll have to wash it again.”

Jack gave her an irritated look, but I’d learned a lot about how my kids handled stress over the last few months. Harriet’s coping mechanism was to distance herself when she felt things spiraling out of control.

Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then headed toward my room, the wine bottle still in hand. A quick stop by the laundry room turned up the missing green sweater—exactly where I’d left it. I sent a quick text to Harriet telling her so.

Once in the bathroom, I set the wine bottle on the side of the tub and started the water. Feeling a little fancy, I lit a candle and poured lavender bath salts into the steaming water before I stripped and got in. I leaned my head back and took a long swig of the wine—not my finest moment, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

I hated my job. I hated my boss. I hated that my kids worried about me so much. I hated that we were perpetually broke. I hated that Richard had done this to them.

And I hated that I wasn’t sorry he’d left.

I hated that I was relieved.

Tonight, I’d drink my troubles away. Tomorrow, I’d start it all over again.

Chapter Three

My pulse pounded in my temples when I woke up the next day, but I padded barefoot out to the kitchen to start the coffee maker and breakfast. I always tried to make sure Jack and Harriet ate something before heading out the door. Well, more like make sure Harriet ate something and that Jack didn’t eat half the food in the house. I needed to call Richard and ask him for more money, but I’d be forced to listen to him berate me for being wasteful and for not having a better-paying job. Because I had a college education, so why wasn’t I using it?

I don’t know, asshole. Maybe because I stayed home for fifteen years cleaning your house, cooking your meals, washing and ironing your clothes, entertaining your snotty colleagues, not to mention raising your three kids while you did as you merry well pleased.

But I wouldn’t say any of that because our mediator had said negativity wouldn’t help us move forward. Funny how moving forward benefitted Richard with his new apartment, his new girlfriend, and his responsibility-free lifestyle. For me and the kids, it meant something different. Harriet would need to drop two of her dance classes, Elena wouldn’t be able to switch from clarinet to the oboe this spring, and if none of my Hail Marys worked, I wouldn’t be able to afford to send Jack to an amazing basketball camp during summer break—the one with scouts from multiple colleges.

Richard could hurt me all he wanted, but why did he have to hurt our children?

I knew his answer. I’d heard it ad nauseam. “It’s expensive to maintain two households, Darcie. You need to pull your weight now. Besides, it would do our children good to learn about adversity. They can’t have everything handed to them.”

That message might be easier to accept if he hadn’t just traded his Jeep Cherokee in for a Ford Mustang convertible. Why wasn’t Richard doing without?

I felt small arms wrap around my waist and a little head press into my back. “You don’t smell like smoke anymore.”

I spun around to face Elena, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s amazing what soap and water will do. You were asleep last night after I got out of my bath.”

“I was tired,” she said but refused to look at me.

“Who printed this article about Nikki’s fire?” Harriet asked, holding out a piece of printer paper as she walked into the kitchen. “I printed off my English essay and found this on the printer tray.” Harriet tossed it onto the kitchen island and turned to Elena. “Why can’t you just let it go?”

I moved to the island to pick it up, surprised at the headline: Local Woman’s Home Total Loss After Sudden Fire.

“Let me see that,” Jack said, snatching it from my hand and scanning it. “Man, she lost everything. It’s nothing but ashes.”

“That means it was a really hot fire,” Elena said. “They said it burned to the ground in about thirty minutes. It was too hot for the firefighters to even get close.” She glanced up at me with wide eyes. “If you didn’t get out when you did, you could have been killed, Mommy.”

“I’m perfectly safe,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “There’s no sense thinking about what could have been when I’m perfectly fine. Harriet, you need to eat something before you leave. I’ll make you eggs or a piece of toast. And why aren’t you wearing your green sweater? Didn’t you find it?” I turned around to open the fridge to pull out the eggs.

“I decided it would be too obvious that I like him if I wear it today. Instead, I decided to wear—” She released a piercing shriek. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”

I subconsciously lifted a hand to the back of my head to smooth down my bed head. “I haven’t brushed it yet.”

“Oh, my God, Mom,” Jack said. “That’s totally cool.”

I spun around too quickly to face him, my hangover making me nauseated. “What’s cool? What are you talking about?”

“Your blond streak. Totally rad.”

“What blond streak?”

“OMG, Mom,” Harriet said in disgust. “Did you get so drunk that you bleached your hair and forgot about it?”

Bleached my hair?

I ran down the hall to my room, heading straight into the en suite bathroom. Nothing on the front of my hair, not that I’d expected otherwise. I’d glanced in the mirror, however briefly, before heading out to make breakfast. I yanked on the drawer next to the sink, which took two jerks to open (another thing to fix), then grabbed out my hand mirror. The reflection in the mirror mounted over the sink allowed me to see the back of my head. I didn’t have to search hard—there on the left side of my head was a one-inch streak of golden hair—not a bleached platinum or dull yellow or even gray—but a streak that looked like soft gold, which stood out in sharp contrast to my naturally dark hair.

Something niggled at my memory, but I couldn’t quite capture it.

“How on earth did you do that by yourself?” Harriet asked. She’d trailed me to the bathroom and was gawking at me like I was a train wreck. “And when and where did you get the color kit?” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced in the trash can. “And where did you throw it away? There’s nothing in the kitchen trash.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I had no answers. I had no idea how that streak had gotten there, and that scared the crap out of me.

“Uh…I don’t know.”

“It’s called being blackout drunk,” said Elena, joining her sister in the doorway. “And it’s a sign of alcoholism.”

“Mom’s not an alcoholic, dufus,” Harriet said in disgust. “She just drinks wine every now and then.”

“Sometimes she drinks full bottles,” Elena countered. “That’s another warning sign.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” I said, brushing past them on my way back out to the kitchen to make eggs. “And I only drank the whole bottle a few times after Dad left. Besides, I can stop any time I want.”

“That’s warning sign number three,” Elena said solemnly. “I have the number for Hillside Residential Treatment Center.”

“Oh, my God!” Harriet cried out. “Did you look that up this morning?”

“Last night.”

“You want to have Mom committed?” Harriet screeched. “Are you insane? Who do you think’s gonna take care of us while she’s gone? It sure as hell wouldn’t be Dad.”

“Harriet. Language,” I warned as I pulled out a carton of eggs from the fridge. I reached for a bowl from a cabinet, then mindlessly started cracking the eggs into it, dumping the shells into the sink. But after two eggs, I realized the sink was full of dirty dishes, and the shells were landing in a bowl crusted with dried mint chip ice cream. “Who didn’t rinse out their bowl, and where in heaven’s name did the mint chip ice cream come from? I didn’t buy any at the store.”

“Nana Stella must have brought it home last night,” Jack said. “I heard her walking past my room talking about her winnings.”

“What time was that?” I asked with a frown.

“Around two?”

Giving him a stern look, I asked, “What were you doing awake at two in the morning?”

“I was asleep, Mom. I swear. She woke me up with her giggling.”

I shook my head. I was going to have to give my grandmother a curfew.

“Irritability,” Elena said. “Warning sign number four.”

“Mom’s not an alcoholic,” Jack exclaimed in a rare moment of irritation at his little sister. “Alcoholics go around beating their kids and driving drunk. Mom’s a responsible driver, and she’s never even given you a spanking, let alone beat you.”

“And even if she was an alcoholic,” Harriet snapped, “you’d have to hide it from Dad or he might sue for full custody or something.”

“He wouldn’t sue for full custody,” Jack said in disgust. “We’d mess up his new life in his two-bedroom apartment.”

As it was, they had to sleep on blow-up beds in his office on their weekends with him. He’d tried to glam it up as “camping,” but according to Harriet, at least one of the beds had sprung a slow leak, and Richard occasionally crept into the room to use his computer in the middle of the night.

“Okay, everyone!” I yelled, holding up a hand to get their attention. “Elena, if I were an alcoholic, you could and probably should tell your father. But drinking too much wine every few weeks does not an alcoholic make.”

“Are you sure?” Elena asked with a quivering chin.

Dammit. I was going to have to get rid of all the alcohol in my house until she was convinced. “I’m sure. Now go get dressed while I make your eggs.”

“I want sunny-side up,” she said.

I glanced down at the now-empty carton, realizing I’d dumped them all in the bowl. “Maybe tomorrow. Today everyone gets scrambled.”

I’d accidentally just cracked nearly a dozen eggs, but I had a feeling my nearly bottomless pit of a son would eat most of them.

Grabbing a skillet out of the cabinet, I set it on a burner and turned on the gas flame. While I waited for it to heat, I thought again about that weird golden streak in my hair and reached back to touch it. To my surprise, it felt soft and silky, completely different from the rest of my coarse hair.

“What really happened to your hair?” Harriet asked quietly.

I turned to look at her, the fear in her eyes breaking my heart. “Honestly, Harriet, I don’t know.”

“Did you get blackout drunk last night?” she asked, tears brimming in her eyes.

I shook my head emphatically even though it sent a fresh wave of pain through my head. “No, Harriet. I swear to you, I didn’t. I didn’t even finish the bottle. I drank maybe half before pouring the rest down the drain. I fully remember getting out of the tub, putting on my pajamas, checking on you kids—you and Elena were asleep, but Jack was texting someone—and then I went to bed. I remember everything.”

“Then how did you get that streak in your hair?”

Tears filled my eyes too. “I don’t know.”

“Fine,” she said in a defiant tone. “Don’t tell me.” Then she marched toward the back door.

“Where are you going?” I called after her. “You didn’t have breakfast.”

“Irene is picking me up.” She closed the door behind her with a bang, running out to meet her best friend.

“Don’t worry about her,” Jack said, grabbing the egg carton and tossing it into the recycling bin. “You know how she is lately.”

“You mean she loves me one minute and hates me the next?” I said with a laugh, but my eyes filled with tears again.

“Ah, Mom. Don’t cry.” He started to reach for me, but I waved him off and dumped the eggs into the skillet. “I’m fine.” I was relying far too much on my children to get me through the divorce. It was a burden on them. No wonder they were a mess.

“Did Harriet tell you that Dad texted us last night?”

“No,” I said, turning at the waist to face him. “What did he say?”

“He wants to take us on a trip to the mountains with Tiffany this weekend.”

“Well, it is his weekend, but Harriet would miss dance. What did she say?”

“We both told him we weren’t going to go.”

“To the mountains?”

“No,” he said with a rare look of defiance. “We’re not going at all, so he called off the trip. He doesn’t want to go with just Elena.”

Richard was likely furious.

I cocked my head to the side. “And neither of you thought to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” he said, taking a seat at the island.

“That’s not entirely true. It sounds like you’d made up your mind not to go before he texted.”

“Okay. We told him after our last weekend that we weren’t going to visit him anymore,” he said defensively, “so he texted trying to bribe us into going this weekend with a trip to the mountains.”

“He’s your father. You should spend time with him,” I said, trying to sound gracious, but feeling no small measure of satisfaction that my children had chosen me over their father.

“Then he shouldn’t have moved out. If he hadn’t left, then he’d actually be here to spend time with us.”

I released a sigh. “It’s not that simple, Jack.”

“And it’s not that complicated from where I’m sitting, Mom. You’ve always done everything to take care of us. Even after you started working with Aunt Cyn. When he lived here, Dad just came home and did nothing. Do you know how many of my games he’s been to this year? One.”

“Honey, I’m sure he’s been to more than one game.”

“Stop defending him, Mom. You’re better than that.”

I fought more tears, wondering how I’d gotten caught in this weird position of defending Richard’s actions, but I lifted my chin and said, “You only have one father, Jack, and he’s not a perfect man. He’s human just like the rest of us. It’s not fair that you’re caught in the middle of all of this, and it’s not fair that you have to juggle his emotions when you’re just a boy, but I’m asking you to step up and take the high road. I’m asking you to try to walk in his shoes.”

Jack’s face turned red, making his light smattering of freckles stand out. “I will never cheat on my wife and leave my kids. Never.”

I rushed over to him and pulled him into a hug, and he buried his face into the crook of my neck. “No, I know you won’t. You’re already a good man, Jackson Douglas Weatherby, and you’re not even full grown yet.” I tilted his head back so I could look him in the eye, my tear-stained fingers brushing a shaving nick on his jawline. “I’m so proud of you and your integrity, but sometimes we have to give grace to people who make mistakes. Even if they hurt us badly in the process.”

“And you’re too nice, Mom. Which is why people hurt you so much.” He slid off his barstool. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to head to school.”

He scooped up his backpack and headed out the door.

“Something’s burning,” Elena said, her voice tight with fear.

Sure enough, my forgotten eggs were black and smoking. Without thinking, I picked up the hot pan without a pot holder. The heat seared my palm, and I dropped the skillet into the sink with a loud clang, the water in the basin sizzling from the heat. I turned on the cold water and stuck my hand under the flow to ease the pain from the burn, which was sure to hit any moment. Only it didn’t. When I pulled my hand out to see if the burn had blistered, there was no sign of injury at all and definitely no pain.

Elena grabbed my hand and studied it. “Where’s your burn?”

“I guess I dropped the skillet before it could do any damage.”

She looked up at me with her dark, piercing eyes. “Something weird is going on.”

“Something weird is always going on around here.”

“Something even weirder than usual.”

I gave her a quick hug and a kiss on top of her head. “How about this for weird? I’ll get ready, then we’ll go through the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru and you can have donuts for breakfast.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Just don’t tell your brother and sister.”

“I can keep a secret. Cross my heart.”

I had no idea how true that was.

Chapter Four

I was ten minutes late to work, but I’d figured Nikki would be too busy dealing with the aftermath of her fire to come to work. Boy was I wrong.

“You’re late, Darcie,” Nikki said, standing at the door and glancing at her watch. On a good day, the 1980s usually called to ask for her teased, hair-sprayed, bleached-blond hair back, but they wouldn’t be calling today. Her overprocessed, brittle hair hung in thin strands—which was shocking enough—but her attire held center stage today. She wore a pair of cheetah-print leggings with a black halter top and a pair of clear platform three-inch heels.

“I…uh…” I mumbled, trying to collect myself. What in heaven’s name was she wearing?

She propped her hand on her hip and shot me a steely gaze. “You all thought I wouldn’t be here today, and you figured you could take advantage of the situation.”

“You got us, Nikki,” Parker said, walking past us on his way to the breakroom. “We had a GroupMe chat and plotted it all out.”

“A what?” Nikki asked, squinting in confusion.

I’d asked my kids the same thing a few months earlier, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell Nikki it was a group chat service. Or that it was mostly used by teens.

“Why are you wearing your hair up today?” Nikki asked, scanning me up and down. “You seem different.”

If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black…

I’d pinned my hair up so I wouldn’t have to deal with questions about the gold streak. Nikki was the last person I wanted to tell about my rogue dye job. Leave it to her to comment on the fact that I usually had it down.

“A near-death experience will do that,” Parker said. “Darcie, come check out the espresso machine corporate put in.”

“I’m docking your pay for being late, Darcie,” Nikki said as I made a beeline to the breakroom.

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” I called back, hurrying into the room behind Parker.

Kristie was always talking about his cute butt, and for the first time I had a full-on view and realized she was right.

Oh, my word. What was I thinking, ogling a man nearly a decade younger than me?

“Did corporate really give us an espresso machine?” I asked, trying to take my mind off his butt.

“Those cheapskates?” he said with a laugh. “We were lucky to get a Keurig.”

“Lizzy brought in the Keurig,” I said. “Her husband got her a new one for their anniversary.”

“Well, there you have it. The suits in corporate really are a bunch of cheapskates,” he said, showing me the basket of K-cups. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Why, how generous of you. I’ll take a dark roast with half-and-half.”

“Let me,” he said, plucking the pod out of the basket and popping it into the machine. “How are you faring after your near-death experience?” He placed a mug on the dispensing platform and turned it on.

I waved him off. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Darcie, the fire was directly under your seat. Once you stood, the entire thing burst into flames. If you’d sat there a second longer…” He shook his head, then grabbed the container of half-and-half from the fridge. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

I was stuck on his comment about the fire being directly underneath me. I’d thought so too, at the time, but later the whole lead-up to the fire had become something of a blur.

He poured the half-and-half into the mug and picked it up when the machine was done spitting out coffee. “I like your hair like that.”

I reached my hand up to the back of my head. What was going on? Was he flirting with me? I’d never sensed any interest from him before, although he had complimented me on my decade-old beige top the previous week. “Uh…thanks.”

“It really brings out the green in your eyes. You should wear it like that more often.” His gaze dropped to my neck. “You have really beautiful skin.”

“Uh…” Yeah, he was flirting, but why? Sure, I was wearing my hair differently, but my outfit wasn’t anything special—gray leggings paired with a black tunic and sensible black flats. And while I was wearing makeup, it was the typical five-minute mom job—foundation, blush, a few swipes of mascara and, if I had extra time, a literal minute spent on eyeshadow application. Sometimes I remembered to put lipstick on in the car. Today I’d forgotten. Even so, it was like trying to slap paint on weathered siding—my skin wasn’t the same as it had been in my twenties, and my neck, which he was still looking at, slightly resembled chicken skin.

“Is this a joke?” I whispered before I thought better of it. Had Parker and some of the other staff members set out to prank me?

“What?” he asked, looking shocked. “No!”

Humiliated, I snatched the cup from him, spilling coffee on my hand. The hot liquid stung, but I was too busy making my escape to worry about the burn.

“Darcie, are you okay?” he called after me as I headed for the bathroom to wash off the coffee.

My hand didn’t even look pink from the burn.

“What in the world is happening to me?” I whispered to myself.

I held my hand up and examined it more closely. The coffee was hot enough that the cup was too hot to handle without the…well, handle. My hand should be burned or at least irritated. It looked fine. Better than fine, as if I’d been using a great moisturizer.

A memory tried to surface again, but it didn’t quite make it.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, really looking at myself. Something about me looked different, but I couldn’t figure out what had changed. Was it the near-death experience? Except that didn’t account for my skin’s new insensitivity to heat or the gold streak in my hair. Were the two related?

This is crazy.

I needed to forget the whole thing and get back to my desk. Nikki was going to be watching me like a hawk, and she’d probably already docked my pay (more) for going to the breakroom and the bathroom. Besides, maybe Kristie could help me figure out what was going on. She was one of the most perceptive people in the building.

I headed to my desk, my coffee cup in hand, ignoring Parker’s obvious look of concern.

“What is going on today?” I asked Kristie as I sat down and started to boot up my computer. “Everyone is…weird.”

“The company posted the two employees who won the complimentary invites to the fundraiser ball at the art museum. Some people aren’t happy about who was chosen.”

“Let me guess,” I said dryly. “Nikki got one of the sets.”

“And her boss got the other, but it was supposedly chosen at random, so…”

“Not so random.” Now didn’t seem like a good idea to tell her I already had an invite through my mother and I’d promptly thrown it in the trash.

“Exactly.” She leaned closer, squinting. “Speaking of people acting weird, you’re different today.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying, but the only thing different is my hair.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. You seem…sexier.”

“What?” I practically shouted at her. Then, lowering my voice and leaning closer, I asked, “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Worrying my bottom lip, I said, “Something weird just happened in the breakroom.”

I told her about my encounter with Parker.

“Oh, my God. He was so flirting with you!” She leaned in her seat to get a better glimpse of him.

“Kristie, stop that!” I hissed. “Don’t call attention to us.”

“Too late,” she said. “He was already watching, and you should see the look in his eyes. OMG, he has it bad for you.” Her mouth twisted to the side. “I never took Parker to be into MILFs.”

“Kristie!”

“Girl, you’re hot. Own it.”

I was fifteen—okay, twenty—pounds overweight and had the boobs and tummy of a woman who’d had three kids—two of them at the same time. I had crow’s-feet around the corners of my eyes and an “eleven” appearing above the bridge of my nose. While I could at times—in the right light, with the right makeup and hair and outfit—say that I looked attractive, I was far from hot. But if Parker really was interested in me, I had to admit I felt a tiny bit sexy. It shocked me to realize I hadn’t felt sexy since before the twins were born.

“As long as no one’s comparing me to Nikki today,” I said as I turned on my computer. “What in the world is she wearing?”

Kristie giggled. “That’s her pole dancing attire.”

“Nikki’s a stripper?” I blurted out in shock. I heard several people giggling around me. Thankfully, Nikki was nowhere to be seen.

“No…well, kind of,” Kristie said with a chuckle. “She takes pole dancing classes, and apparently that’s all she had in the trunk of her car.”

“Oh, dear. I thought those looked like stripper shoes.”

“Why, Darcie Weatherby,” Kristie teased. “Have you been in a strip club?”

“Girl, please,” I said, just like I’d heard Harriet say to a friend. “When would I have time to go to a strip club?” I leaned closer and grinned. “I saw that Jennifer Lopez stripper movie.”

Kristie burst out laughing. “Darcie, you’re a hoot.”

I decided to take it as a compliment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught view of Nikki on the prowl, so we got to work. I was so busy I forgot about everything until noon. I’d left the house without my lunch, so Kristie ordered something for the both of us from a nearby sandwich shop and had it delivered by Uber Eats.

We’d been in the breakroom for a few minutes, eating our lunch, when Parker walked in and sat at the table between us. Worry filled his eyes. “Darcie, can I talk to you when you get a moment?”

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile, but my stomach had turned into one of those cement truck spinners that mixed the concrete. I felt like I was going to throw up.

He shot a glance to Kristie. “Um…alone?”

Kristie started to gather her things, but I reached over and grabbed her wrist. “No. You stay.” I turned to face him. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Kristie.”

“Okay.” His gaze darted to the side and a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He was nervous. But then he looked me directly in the eye. “I know this is forward, and it’s usually frowned upon in the workplace, but would you go to dinner with me tonight?”

“A date?” Kristie asked for clarification. “Not because you want her to help you with your laundry or something?”

I kicked her under the table, and she squelched a cry of pain.

“Well, yeah,” he said, confused. “Of course a date. Why would I want her to help me with my laundry?”

“Don’t mind Kristie,” I said with a forced smile. “Her blood sugar’s low and she’s talking nonsense.”

“No, I’m not,” Kristie said. “And she’d love to. What time will you pick her up?”

“No picking me up,” I blurted, astonished I hadn’t turned him down. “I’ll meet you there. Just tell me when and where.”

A bright smile lit up his face. “How about Figaro’s at seven?”

“Oh,” Kristie gushed. “Fancy.”

“I hope that’s okay,” he said, watching for my reaction.

I’d have to get a fancy dress to wear to Figaro’s, but maybe Cyn had one I could borrow. “Sounds fun. I haven’t dressed up in ages.”

After saying that, I realized I probably shouldn’t have admitted it.

But Parker didn’t seem to have noticed. “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”

And just like that, I had a date. With a man nine years younger than me.

I was turning into a cougar.

Chapter Five

At first I wasn’t sure I should tell the kids. I had no idea what kind of reaction I’d get out of them… Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Jack would want to chaperone, and Elena would launch into all the dangers of workplace romances and the crime statistics for first dates. It was Harriet I was most worried about. She could either freak out and think it was the most disgusting thing ever or get excited and want to help me get ready.

Thankfully, it was the latter. I decided not to ask Cyn about borrowing a dress because I wasn’t sure I’d fit into anything she had—I was heavier than her now—and I was starting to feel a little silly about the whole thing.

Me, going on a date? With a younger man?

It was utterly ridiculous.

But I’d agreed to meet him—I wanted to meet him—and the fact remained that I had nothing to wear. When I left the office, I sat in my car and texted Harriet that I’d be late because I was stopping by Ross Dress for Less to find a dress, but I planned to bring something home for dinner. It was no surprise that she texted back, wanting to know why I needed a dress.

I typed out the words I have a date, but my thumb hovered over the send button. Somehow, telling Harriet made this thing so much more real, and that freaked me out.

But change is good, something deep in my brain insisted. Don’t be a hypocrite.

The divorce had caused so much upheaval in our lives, but I’d encouraged the kids to consider it growth. Growth wasn’t easy, I’d told them—they weren’t called growing pains for nothing. Elena, of course, had pointed out that the term referred to physical growth, to which I’d replied that sometimes life wasn’t so literal. Growing sometimes meant taking leaps of faith. Our lives were in turmoil, but we had to believe we’d be stronger, better people on the other side.

So with that thought in mind, I pressed send.

And promptly freaked out.

“How do I unsend a text?” I muttered to myself.

Hopefully, Parker had already left and wouldn’t see me mumbling to myself like a psychopath in the car.

It was a full ten seconds before Harriet responded, and to my surprise, she called me.

“When you say you have a date…” Her voice trailed off, inviting me to clarify.

“A man asked me out to dinner. I said yes, and I’m meeting him at the restaurant at seven.”

“A man?” she asked as though she were interrogating a murder suspect. “What man?”

“A guy I work with. Parker.”

“So it’s a business dinner?”

Wait. Was it? But why would Parker invite me to a business dinner? “No, I’m pretty sure it’s a date. He said so.”

“Parker from work…” Her voice rose. “Oh, my God. Are you talking about hot Parker?”

I cringed. The kids had brought me lunch one day while they were off for fall break and I was stuck working. He’d made an impression on Harriet, to put it mildly. I’d told her to pick up her jaw and stop gawking, that he was a full seventeen years older than her and off-limits. But now her words sunk in deep. “You’re right. This is ridiculous.”

“The hell it is. Where’s he taking you?”

“Language, Harriet.”

“Please, Mother,” she groaned. “I hear so much worse at school.”

I was sure she did. I’d walked down those school halls, but that didn’t mean she needed to talk like a sailor too.

“Where’s he taking you?” she repeated.

Now was not the time to be arguing over her vocabulary choices. “Figaro’s. I’m meeting him there.”

“Figaro’s? Oh, my God, Mom.” She released a sound of frustration. “You are so not going to Ross to get a dress. Come home and pick me up. We’re going to Macy’s.”

“I don’t have time to go home, pick you up, then go to the mall.”

“Then I’ll have Jack drop me off. He just got home from basketball practice.”

I was about to tell her no, but she cut me off. “I’m coming, Mom. Meet you at the entrance to Macy’s in fifteen minutes.”

She hung up before I could object.

I almost called her back and told her I was coming straight home. I couldn’t afford to buy a fancy dress. It seemed ludicrous for me to think about dating anyone. My kids were already reeling over their father’s abandonment. They needed me to be fully present and available.

But a voice in the back of my head objected. Don’t you deserve love and happiness too?

It was that voice in my head that helped me find the fortitude to drive to the mall. I’d put my life on hold for sixteen years. It was time to do something for me.

But hadn’t Richard told himself the same thing? Was I abandoning our kids too?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Darcie,” I told myself. “It’s one date. It’s not like you’re about to start hitting up singles bars.”

True to her word, Harriet was outside the department store, standing next to a pile of snow the plows had created after the six inches of snow we’d gotten the previous week. I was surprised Jack hadn’t hung around to give me the third degree.

“Did you tell Jack why you wanted to come to the mall?” I asked as I walked up, shaking my foot. When I’d gotten out of my car, I’d stepped in a dark brown puddle. Horrified, I hadn’t taken the time to stop and figure out what it was, vowing to burn my shoes and bleach my feet first chance I got.

“I told him I was meeting my friends and that you were bringing me home.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

Coffee? I pushed out a huge breath of relief. I’d stepped in coffee.

But then it hit me that she’d felt the need to lie to her brother—and I was somewhat relieved she had—which made me question the whole enterprise.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Harriet said, looping her arm through mine. “I know that look. You are not changing your mind. Come on.”

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I said, letting her drag me through the entrance. “I thought you’d be freaked out.”

She shrugged. “You deserve a hot guy, Mom.”

“Wow, Ettie. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me in ages.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out as a smart-ass comment, but it had a hint of it anyway.

Harriet just laughed. “I deserve that. Sorry about getting so upset with you this morning,” she said as she continued to drag me toward the cocktail dress section. “I was telling Irene about what happened to your hair, and she said her mom sometimes raids the fridge and orders things from QVC in the middle of the night when she’s on Ambien, and then I remembered that you take Ambien.” She turned to me, excited that her theory answered everything. “You colored your strip while you were on Ambien.”

“Wow,” I said, taken by surprise. “I hadn’t even considered it.” I nearly told her that I hadn’t actually taken the sleep aid the night before, but I could see how badly she needed to believe the mystery stripe had a reasonable explanation. Shoot, I’d just spent most of the day pretending I’d imagined the entire thing. I didn’t need to stomp all over her theory.

She stopped when we reached the special-occasion dresses and looked me up and down. “We could go with the classic little black dress, but I’m tempted to find something with color—either red or green to bring out your eyes.”

“If I’m spending money I can’t afford on a dress I’ll hardly use, it should be something I can wear on a different occasion. At least if I get something black and tasteful, I’ll be able to wear it to Grandma Emily’s funeral.”

Harriet giggled. “I suspect Grandma Emily will never die. She’ll be like one of those hags you see in movies who live forever, stirring up trouble for centuries.”

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have shocked me if she were right. Richard’s mother loved nothing better than to create discord and drama, and she’d been in her heyday with the divorce, quick to point out all my faults—both real and imagined—and say she was never for our marriage from the start. Still…

“What I said about Grandma Emily was unkind and uncalled for,” I said.

“Mother, please,” Harriet droned. “We all have to die sometime. The odds of you needing a dress for her funeral are high, so one could say you’re just being practical.”

I couldn’t help laughing, not only because she had a point but because I’d missed this fun-loving side of our relationship. The way it had been before Richard left.

No melancholy, Darcie. Not now.

Bolstered by the thought of me wearing my new dress to Grandma Emily’s funeral, Harriet began to pull dresses from the racks—several black, a few in navy, and—“just for fun”—an emerald green one she swore she wouldn’t pressure me to buy. We couldn’t have Grandma Emily rolling over in her casket, but she wanted to see me try it on.

We headed to a large dressing room and I began to strip to my underwear. I didn’t parade around the house naked, but we weren’t modest either, so Harriet didn’t think much of it until I turned to unzip the first black dress hanging on the hook.

“Mom, what did you do to your back?”

I glanced over my shoulder in the mirror to see what she was talking about. The skin over my shoulder blades—from one side to the other—had a dusky tone, like it had been bruised. “I have no idea…”

Worry filled her eyes. “Did someone shove you when you were escaping the fire?”

“No…”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “It must have happened when you were on your Ambien sleepwalk. Promise me you won’t take it anymore. Please, Mommy.”

She hadn’t called me Mommy in ages, which revealed how much my weirdness had scared her.

“No more Ambien,” I agreed, still staring at the discoloration on my back. Did it have anything to do with the gold streak in my hair? Or the fact that my hand should have been burned not once but twice today, yet the skin of my hand was perfectly fine?

Snatching the dress off the hanger, she shoved it at me, saying in a brisk tone that let me know this discussion was over, “Here. Try this on.”

I stepped into the black sleeveless dress and tugged it over my hips, realizing before I slipped my arms into the sleeves it was too small. But I shimmied into it anyway, then reached behind and tried to zip it.

Harriet brushed my hand away. “Let me help.”

She grabbed the zipper and gave a hard jerk. I sucked in my breath and squeezed in my stomach, but the zipper got stuck halfway up my back.

“It’s too small,” I said, risking a look at the mirror to see my reflection. I was a hot mess. The dress clung to my hips, showing the outline of my panties and the fat roll over them. The dress was stretched so much over my bust that the dart seams were threatening to burst.

“I think this is just the wrong style for you,” she murmured, quickly unzipping it. “Your boobs are too big.”

“I’m not sure if it’s my boobs or my back fat.”

“Your back’s not fat,” she said, tugging the dress over my hips and dropping it to my feet. “I think we just need a different style. One that works better with your…”

“Matronly body.”

“Mature figure,” she countered as she picked the dress up off the floor. “I was looking for dresses that would work for me, not for you.” She snatched all the hangers off the hook and opened the dressing room door. “I’ll be right back.”

If she had truly been looking for dresses that would work for her, it was no wonder the black dress didn’t fit. Harriet had the body of a dancer—long and lean. I wasn’t obese, but I wasn’t in shape and my hips and abdomen still carried the weight I’d gained from my pregnancies.

What was I doing? This was madness. Why did I think I could hold the attention of a very attractive thirty-three-year-old man? He’d probably take one look at me in that restaurant and realize he’d only invited me out of a fit of madness caused by our near-death experience.

I was about to put my clothes back on when the dressing room door opened and Harriet’s face poked in.

“This nice salesclerk has offered to help.”

Harriet pushed the door open to reveal an older woman who had three dresses draped over her arms. She had snow white hair and piercing green eyes, and even though I guessed her to be in her seventies, she had an ageless beauty.

“I found some things that might be suitable for your dinner,” the woman said in a lilting voice.

She pushed her way past Harriet with such natural authority that neither of us questioned her. Once inside, she hung the dresses on the hook, then turned back to Harriet and said, “She’ll need a pair of black heels. Go get several options and bring them back here. Tell them Vee said it was okay.”

Harriet’s gaze lifted to mine with a searching look, probably asking if I was okay being left alone in my underwear with a stranger. A valid concern.

I nodded, and she hurried out the door.

“Now, let’s see what we have here,” Vee said, taking the first dress off the hanger. It was a long-sleeved black dress that looked like it would cling to my body—not a good thing.

“I can already tell that’s not going to work,” I said, holding up my hand. “And I don’t have a lot of time, so maybe we should see what else you brought.”

She turned to face the mirror, staring over my shoulder at my reflection.

“Trust me,” she said, and something about her voice slipped into my head, easing my anxiety.

“Okay,” I said, because for some reason I really wanted to believe her.

A soft smile lifted her lips, and her gaze dipped to my back before rising again to my reflected face.

“Whatever has happened to your back?” she asked, but she didn’t sound overly concerned. Just curious.

“I don’t remember,” I said.

“Ah, it’s likely just as well,” she said, handing me the dress. “It looks painful.”

“It’s not,” I said as I took the dress. “I didn’t even know I had it until my daughter noticed it.”

“You don’t say,” the woman murmured.

I stepped into the dress and tugged it over my hips and up to my waist, surprised that it clung to my curves but didn’t make me look like I’d been stuffed into a sausage casing. After I slipped my arms into the long sleeves, I pulled up the top and started to zip the back.

“Let me,” Vee said, effortlessly pulling the zipper, and I stared at my reflection.

The style wasn’t all that different from the first dress I’d tried, but the fabric had more give since it was cut on the bias, and instead of a shallow scoop neckline, it had a deep V-neck that showed off my cleavage.

Reaching up, I tugged the fabric to try to cover more of my breasts.

Vee pulled my hands down. “You have beautiful breasts, breasts that have attracted men and nursed babies.”

“Saggy breasts,” I said. “Worn-out breasts.”

“They have served their purpose,” Vee whispered into my ear, “and they have done it well. Your breasts. Your hips. Your lips. Your hair. They are signs of your womanly glory, not to be looked upon with shame. Not to be hidden. They are to be celebrated.”

Just when I was starting to think she was really, really committed to this salesperson gig—were they paid on commission?—she began pulling the pins from my hair. Before I could react, it was hanging loose, slightly past my shoulders. I tried to protest, but what she did next silenced me. She lifted the blond streak and smiled, her eyes lighting up with…satisfaction? Excitement?

Her gaze lifted to mine, and she dipped her chin slightly as though offering me a sign of respect. “From the ashes, she has risen.”

Had Vee somehow heard about the fire? What the hell was she talking about?

“Mom?” I heard Harriet call in a panicked tone from the entrance to the long corridor of dressing rooms. “Mom!”

“Harriet?” I called out as I turned to open the door. But the second I looked away from the mirror, a poof of smoke rose up behind me. I whirled around, only to discover Vee was gone. Like disappeared gone.

I was losing my mind.

Shaking it off, I jerked the door open and rushed into the aisle to get to Harriet. Relief flooded through me when I saw she was okay. Her tone had worried me more than the strange woman’s disappearing act.

“Mom, the staff said that an older woman named Vee doesn’t work here. They have no idea who that woman was.” She glanced past me. “Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “She was there one moment and gone the next.” Literally, although I didn’t feel the need to point that out. She was worried enough as it was.

Harriet took a deep breath, and only then seemed to process what I was wearing. Appreciation covered her face. “Well, whoever she is, she has great taste. Maybe she was just a helpful customer.”

“Hmm…” I said, but I knew better. Vee hadn’t been surprised by the markings on my back, and she’d been excited to find the blond streak. Like she was looking for it. That was worrisome. I had to wonder why I wasn’t freaking out more about her disappearing act, but maybe the shock hadn’t set in. Plus, I had to keep it together for Harriet. The freak-out could come later.

“Did you try on any of the other dresses?” Harriet asked.

“No, but I think this one will work.” Vee had been right about that.

“There was a gorgeous red one. At least try it on,” Harriet said, ushering me back into the room.

I took off the long-sleeved dress and tried on the other black one first. It also had a deep V-neck, but the wrap skirt hung on my hips, making them look full and sexy.

“I can’t decide which one I like better,” Harriet said, her eyes shining.

“That’s an easy choice,” I said, reaching for the tag. “Whichever one is cheaper.”

Good heavens. How had I not thought to look before?

Harriet checked out the price tag on the first dress while I read the second, which was twenty dollars less. Still, it would put a dent I couldn’t afford in my bank account. I was going to have to pull out the credit card for this one.

“Now try on the red dress, Mom.”

The red dress was actually a formal dress made of scarlet velvet. I knew I should protest—I wouldn’t be able to wear it anywhere, let alone rewear it—but the first two picks had been winners, and my withered self-esteem demanded to see how I looked in this one.

I turned to look in the mirror, and nearly squeaked in shock. It molded to my body like butter. It had long sleeves, an off-the-shoulder neckline that exposed my shoulders and collarbones, then deepened into a V to show a hint of cleavage. The back was open and dipped to my waist. The skirt was a wrap-like design with ruching at my hips, and a wide slit on the left side that went to midthigh.

Harriet and I stared at my reflection for several seconds before she finally said, “You have to get this dress, Mom.”

I shook my head. “I can’t, Harriet. I can’t afford it, for one thing, and for another, I never go anywhere that would require this kind of dressing up.”

“But, Mom! You don’t even know how much it costs! And it looks like it was made for you. Please, Mom!”

She was right. It did look like it was made for me, eerily so, but that didn’t negate my concerns. I just couldn’t afford such a luxury right now. Maybe this was an opportunity to teach her about money and budgets…I didn’t want to dash her excitement—I could see how much Harriet wanted me to get this dress—but I couldn’t justify buying it either.

With a small smile, I said, “Let’s see if they’ll place this one on hold. And I’ll get the black dress for tonight.”

Her eyes dimmed slightly as she studied me. Then the corners of her mouth tipped up again. “Okay. Good idea.”

Harriet was up to something, but I had bigger issues to deal with. Like the fact that I was losing my mind.

Oh, and that date with a thirty-three-year-old man.

Chapter Six

I arrived at Figaro’s promptly at seven, feeling guilty that I was wearing over two hundred dollars’ worth of clothing and shoes. Harriet had insisted on a new pair of patent leather black pumps (“Yours are scuffed and gross, Mom.”) and a new bra and Spanx underwear (“No matter who you are, you need to suck in your midsection. And your old bra? I’m burning it as soon as we get home.”). I disagreed about the Spanx, but I’d already let her down by not getting the red dress. I wasn’t going to break her heart with this too.

So now I was cinched up in tight fabric from my hips to just under my breasts. Uncomfortable, yes, but it made me look a size smaller. My hair was up, and my makeup was expertly applied by Harriet and Irene, who had found out I was going on a date and had insisted on being part of the “makeover montage.” They’d given me dark, smoky eyes, worked some magic with bronzer and blush to make my cheekbones look more prominent, applied fake lashes and a soft neutral lipstick. I found my diamond stud earrings in my jewelry box and wore no other adornments. I didn’t have a necklace that would work with the neckline, but Harriet and Irene insisted I didn’t need it.

As I’d predicted, Elena fed me a bunch of statistics about failure rates for second marriages, particularly when children were involved, plus some bonus stats about the number of rapes that had occurred in Ubers.

“First of all, I’m not taking an Uber, I’m driving, and before you start giving me drinking and driving statistics, don’t. I’ll have one drink early in the meal and be safe to drive home. As for the other”—I grabbed her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes—“I’m not getting remarried, Elena. It’s just a first date.”

“But when you date someone, it’s because you’re looking for your future spouse,” she protested.

“Elena, I promise. It’s just dinner. I don’t even know if we’ll hit it off.”

“There’s no way he won’t want to see you again if you show up looking like that,” Jack’s friend Jeremy said, his eyes wide.

Jack elbowed Jeremy hard in the stomach. “Dude. You’re talking about my mom!”

“Your mom is hot!”

That nearly caused a fight in the kitchen, but thankfully the pizza delivery driver showed up, and since Jack was obsessed with food, the discussion was quickly forgotten.

When I finally walked into Figaro’s, I felt much more confident than I had two hours earlier. Maybe I’d spent money I didn’t have, but surely it was worth it just this once. I could pick up some extra hours at Cyn’s coffee shop to pay off the credit card.

If she didn’t kill me for not telling her about my date.

Parker was waiting inside the foyer, wearing a dress shirt and tie with his usual dress pants and loafers. He looked quite handsome, but he must have gotten a haircut after work. The stylist had cut it so short he looked like a young Justin Timberlake from his NSYNC days.

Parker’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Darcie, you look beautiful.”

I blushed. “You look pretty good yourself.”

I felt shallow for thinking it, but I missed his full head of hair. Come to think of it, I didn’t know Parker well—I’d only really noticed the shallow things. Maybe this dinner would be our chance to change that.

He smiled and reached an arm around my back, steering me toward the bar. “There was a mix-up with my reservation, so I thought we could get a drink in the bar while they sort it out.”

“Sounds good.”

The restaurant was dark, with wood floors and rich upholstery and brass wall fixtures and candlesticks on the tables. It had the look of a very old establishment, one that had aged well and didn’t look like it needed to be updated. The only tacky touch was that the candles themselves were the dollar store battery-operated type. The bar was busy, but we found two stools at the counter. I climbed onto mine—a dangerous balancing act given the heels and the shapewear squeezing my middle like a boa constrictor.

Parker didn’t seem to notice as he flagged down the bartender.

The bartender headed toward us, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer than necessary as a smile spread across his face. “How can I help you?”

Parker ordered a whiskey neat, and I asked for a glass of white wine. When the bartender came back with the drinks, Parker gave him his card for the tab and then sat back and shifted his gaze to me. “Thank you for agreeing to come to dinner.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “I confess that this is my first date in two decades. You were still in middle school.”

He laughed. “Darcie, I know you’re older than me. I don’t care.”

“But there is the fact you’ve been on quite a few more first dates than I have.”

He laughed again. “I’ll admit to that, but I’m not a serial dater. I’m looking for someone to settle down with.” He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a sip of his whiskey. “I know you have three kids, a set of twins—a boy and a girl—and a younger daughter, but that’s all I know other than that your son plays basketball. Tell me about them.”

We spent the next ten minutes talking about the kids and joking about work. I had to admit it was nice having a man who actually paid attention to what I was saying, but it felt like something was missing. Was I just off my game because I hadn’t gone out with anyone but Richard for two decades, or was this a sign the chemistry wasn’t there?

Either way, he was lovely to look at. I’d just started on my second glass of wine when Parker finished off his whiskey and got to his feet. “I’ll go check on our table.”

As soon as he left the bar, I heard a man behind me say, “Why are you wasting your time with a child?”

I spun in my seat to face a man who looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties. His auburn hair had a sprinkling of gray and his blue eyes were surrounded by crow’s-feet. He had the look of a man who had lived his life to the fullest and enjoyed every minute. The cocky glint in his eyes suggested perhaps he’d lived a little too much, especially where women were concerned.

“Excuse me?” I asked in a haughty tone.

“He’s merely a child. You need a real man,” he said with a grin.

“Let me guess,” I said, picking up my wine glass. “That real man is you.”

His eyes danced with mischief. “I’m not generous enough to play wingman to someone else. It’s every man for himself where romance is concerned.”

The wine was flowing through my veins, giving me a courage I didn’t normally possess. For one thing, I hadn’t been hit on in years, so to have two men interested in me at the same time? I was feeling a bit giddy.

“Somehow I don’t think there would be much romance with you,” I said coyly.

His brows lifted in amusement. “Should I feel wounded by your assessment of my character?”

“Tell me I’ve pegged you wrong,” I said before I took another sip of my wine.

He gave a lazy shrug. “I’m not looking for any cumbersome attachments, but I suspect little Caillou there wants a mommy to take care of him.” His eyes swept over me, then landed on my lips. “I don’t think you’re looking for anyone else to take care of. You’re looking for someone to take care of you, and thoroughly at that.”

A flush ran through my body and I tried to tell myself it was a hot flash, because Darcie Marie Weatherby was never affected by rogues. But I tried to keep my cool and said, “I’m surprised a man with your carefree and obviously child-unencumbered ways would know a cartoon baby by name. I suspect you’ve tried that pickup line before in an attempt to lure women from their unsuspecting dates.”

He grinned. “Touché.”

I leaned closer. “Perhaps this has had a high success rate for you in the past, but I’m sorry to report it’s not working for you this time.”

Parker returned to the bar with a big smile. “Our table is ready, Darcie.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied the man I’d been talking to. “Do you know him?”

“No,” I said with an icy voice. “I don’t.” I slid off the stool and turned to walk away with Parker.

“It was nice meeting you, Darcie,” the rogue called after me. “Until we meet again.”

I hoped it wouldn’t be any time soon.

Chapter Seven

If Parker was unnerved about my conversation with the mystery man, he didn’t let on. We were seated at a small, intimate table by a window overlooking a small pond. A single, flameless LED candle sat between us in the middle of the white tablecloth. The ambience was very romantic.

“I’ve heard the seafood is supposed to be excellent here,” I said, scanning the menu.

“The surf and turf is great,” he said, then glanced up. “You’ve never been here before?”

“Nope. Richard and I never went out much.” I resisted the urge to cringe. I’d tried hard to keep his name out of the conversation. It may have been twenty years since my last date, but I still knew better than to spend the whole evening talking about my ex. I’d successfully avoided mentioning him up until this point, so I watched for Parker’s reaction.

“I know you’re divorced, Darcie,” Parker said. “And I appreciate that you’re trying hard not to bring him up, but he was part of your life for twenty years, correct?”

I looked out the window, avoiding eye contact. There were only nine years between us, but I felt like I was robbing the cradle. Twenty years ago, I’d been twenty-two while Parker had been thirteen.

Ouch.

“Darcie,” he said insistently. “I don’t care about our age difference.”

I turned back to face him.

He grinned. “It’s obvious it bothers you more than it bothers me. And I realize your kids are your number one priority. I’m not going to push to meet them. I’m not looking for an instant family to slip into, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I gave him an awkward smile. “It’s just this all seemed to come out of nowhere. Your interest caught me off guard.”

“I’ve been interested in you for months, Darcie. But I was involved with someone else, and it seemed too soon for you.” He shrugged. “I only went to Nikki’s Tupperware party because I knew you were going.” He laughed. “Didn’t you think it was odd that I went?”

I felt my face flush. “Well, Nikki did threaten everyone’s vacation requests, and I figured you might have lost your storage containers during your breakup.”

He laughed. “Nikki wouldn’t dare touch my vacation time, and I put my leftovers in glass containers. Everyone knows plastic’s bad for you.”

“Tell that to my mother.”

His mouth twitched. “Speaking of which, I heard your mother’s heading up the committee for the masquerade ball for the Perry Art Museum. You know, the Founder’s Day one. Did you know their new exhibit is still gathering dust in our basement at work?”

“Scandalous,” I said.

And it kind of was. Although I didn’t know much about the collection, it included several ancient Greek and Egyptian artifacts on loan from a museum in Europe. We were storing them because the shipment had been sent sooner than expected, and the museum curators wanted to keep the antiquities hidden until they could reveal them with a big splash at their fundraiser ball. I’d suggested to Kristie that the priceless artifacts likely needed better environment control than the basement of Lisman and Freud International Shipping—I’d seen the way museums displayed several-thousand-year-old items—but she’d warned me never to mention it within earshot of Nikki if I wanted to keep my job. But the museum thought we were treating their treasures with kid gloves, hence the thank-you invites.

I didn’t exactly feel like talking about work, though, or my mother. I tried to shift the conversation to something else, but Parker didn’t take the hint.

“Do you think the mayor’s going to the ball?”

My skin grew hotter, and I realized this was more than a flush of embarrassment or excitement. This was exactly what had happened the night before.

Moments before the fire had started.

Panic washed through me, and I shot out of my chair. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“What?” he asked in surprise. “Now?”

I grabbed my purse and phone. “I’ll be right back.”

He looked a little shell-shocked, but I didn’t have time to pacify him. It felt like every part of my body was on fire. I bolted toward the restrooms, passing a table of men deep in conversation. One of them glanced up at me—the man from the bar. Didn’t care. I needed to cool down. I needed the January night air. So I ran past the bathroom and down the hall to the exit and burst out into the parking lot behind the building. A quick glance around confirmed I was alone.

Only the air wasn’t cooling me down. I was getting even hotter. I had to do something.

I had to get out of my dress.

The rational part of me protested the idea, but I had already flung my purse and phone to the ground and my fingers were desperately fumbling with the knot securing the dress’s wraparound sash. Once I had it unknotted, I frantically tugged at the straps until I had the front of my dress open, welcoming the cool air as it hit my skin.

Too bad those stupid high-waisted Spanx were covering so much of my body.

Grasping both edges of the opened wrap dress, I started flapping, hoping the breeze would cool me off more.

Except it didn’t.

I heard the unmistakable whoosh of a fire coming to life, like the moment the gas burst into flames on a stovetop. My dress had caught fire, starting where my hands clutched the fabric and racing outward as though the cloth were soaked in gasoline.

Panicked, I tried to shrug it off, but the entire garment was in flames.

Out of nowhere, my body was being slammed into a snowbank, and I found myself face-first in packed snow covered in cigarette butts and dirt. Before I could grasp what had happened, strong hands rolled me onto my back as my rescuer tried to smother the flames with a jacket.

Dense smoke filled my nose, but surprisingly, I didn’t feel the urge to cough. The coat lowered and started to thank my rescuer, then saw who had saved me.

Of course it was the asshole from the bar.

Dammit.

I pushed him off me and sat up. “What the hell are you doing back here? Are you following me?”

He sat back on his heels, confusion filling his eyes. “Okay, not the reaction I was expecting.” But he recovered quickly, not that I would have expected anything else, and got to his feet with a wry grin. “Were you so desperate to get away from your date that you set yourself on fire?”

Well, crap.

“No,” I grumbled, trying to find the words to explain what had happened, which proved difficult when I didn’t understand it myself. Tears stung my eyes and began streaming down my face.

What the hell was happening to me?

The rogue’s expression softened, and he reached down to help me to my feet. For a second, I considered pushing his hand away, but I was currently sitting in a pile of snow …not that I was cold. If anything, the snow had helped neutralize the extreme heat emanating from my body. The melty wetness of the snow beneath me suggested I’d had more of an effect on it than vice versa. I wiped the tears off my face, then took his hands. He hefted me off the ground so that I was standing in front of him, nearly chest to chest.

“Seriously, Darcie, what the hell just happened?” he asked in a worried tone, saying just what I’d been thinking. “One second you were just standing there with your dress open, and the next you were engulfed in flames.”

“I don’t know.” More tears leaked out of my eyes. I nearly demanded that he tell me how he knew my name, but it struck me that Parker had said it when he’d told me our table was ready.

Panic filled my rescuer’s eyes. “Oh, my God. Did you get burned? I need to get you to the hospital.”

I glanced down at my hands and arms—the skin looked perfectly smooth, not even red.

He stared down at me in disbelief, then grabbed my shoulder and turned me halfway so he could examine my back.

“Somehow you escaped getting any burns, but nice tattoo.”

I considered blasting him for making fun of my bruise but decided it wasn’t worth it, especially since it occurred to me that I was standing in front of him wearing nothing but my new lacy black bra and my god-awful support underwear.

“My dress!” I wrapped my arms over my chest, not for warmth but out of a futile attempt to regain some dignity.

“I’ve had plenty of time to look, Darcie,” he said dryly. “And trust me, you’re adequately covered.”

He had a point, but I still started searching the ground for what was left of my dress. But there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash. What made the whole situation even more perplexing, and frightening, was the fact that I had never actually taken it off. The dress must have literally burned to ash around my body, and yet I had experienced no injuries. I felt no pain at all.

But that was impossible—just like Vee’s disappearing act and the weird stripe in my hair. I felt a little pulse in my mind, that old memory trying to surface again, but my desperate need to feel sane latched on to the first diversion that presented itself: my would-be rescuer’s jacket lay in the snow beside the ashes.

I squatted and picked it up, feeling guilty about the burnt hole in the middle of the back. “I’m so sorry,” I said, handing it back to him. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“That’s not necessary,” he said, his smooth operator tone returning. “Your money would be much better spent replacing the gorgeous dress that was destroyed.”

Perhaps because of the shock of it all—I’d nearly been burned alive again, then tackled, then forced to accept that Mr. Pickup Artist had saved me, and I couldn’t even begin to process how the fire had started—but it was just now hitting me that I was standing in my underwear… next to the Dumpster…behind Figaro’s…with my date waiting inside.

I gasped in panic.

What was I going to tell Parker?

How was I going to drive home?

What was I going to tell my kids?

Oh, Lord. What was I going to tell Harriet?

“Looks like you need some more rescuing,” he said with his cocky grin.

Propping my hands on my hips, I cocked my head and said in a disgusted tone, “And I suspect you think you’re the one to do it?”

“Of course.”

I just couldn’t with this guy right now. I slipped my arms into his suit coat, then stooped to pick up my discarded purse and phone. “Your jacket is a total loss, so if you’ll give me your PayPal or Venmo information, I’ll send you money to cover its replacement.”

“That’s not necessary, Darcie,” he said, losing some of his bravado.

“I insist.”

His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. “Wait here while I tell my dinner companions that I need to leave, then I’ll take you home.”

“I have my own car, thank you very much,” I said in a snippy tone. “All I need is your payment information and the amount.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. “It’s really not necessary. The rescuer doesn’t charge the rescuee.” He gave me an earnest look. “How did your dress catch on fire? How are you not burned?”

Both excellent questions that I couldn’t begin to answer. Panic pressed in on me, but I pressed back. I needed to get home before I could let myself fall apart. “I’m not sure how it started, and just lucky, I guess.”

His phone beeped again, and he swore under his breath. “I have to get back in there, but I’ll be back out in five minutes. Okay?”

Why was he coming back out? He’d insisted he didn’t want to be reimbursed for the jacket, which was probably a good thing. Judging by the feel of the fabric against my bare skin, it likely cost more than I made in a week.

“I really appreciate you tackling me into the snow,” I said truthfully. “You likely saved my life, but I don’t see the point—”

His phone beeped a third time, and he motioned to the door. “Darcie, I have to get back in there. Please, give me five minutes.”

I gave him a tight smile. “I’ll give you five.”

Relief filled his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.” Then he turned and went inside.

But I’d never said what I was giving him five of… I counted to five, then headed to my car. The sooner I got out of here the better.

Chapter Eight

I snagged my purse and phone off the ground, then sprinted for my car and dived behind the wheel. As I took off, I remembered a block away from the restaurant that poor Parker was still inside, waiting for me to return.

I drove for another mile and pulled into a convenience store parking lot to text him, cringing when I sent, I wasn’t feeling well so I left. I’m sorry for not telling you goodbye, but you wouldn’t want to see me in the state I’m in.

Not my finest moment.

He’d probably assume I’d vomited all over myself, which was embarrassing, but not nearly as weird and perplexing as the truth. I couldn’t even begin to form an explanation for why my dress had caught on fire, but it seemed obvious it was linked to whatever had happened at Nikki’s last night.

Plus there was the strange older woman who’d spouted nonsense to me in the changing room and then promptly disappeared.

And the fact that my skin was no longer responsive to heat.

Oh, Lord. I needed a drink. But then Elena’s terror-stricken face filled my head. Her fear that I had become an alcoholic.

Alcohol wasn’t going to fix this, but my rusty credit card could help.

There was no way I could go home wearing Mr. Cocky’s burned jacket. My kids would pummel me with questions and the fire would worry them to death, perhaps rightfully so. I had only one possible course of action—I had to go back to Macy’s and buy another wrap dress.

But first I had to find something else to wear. Thankfully, I had a duffel bag with gym clothes in the back of my SUV. I felt like I was channeling Nikki, but at least the bag didn’t contain pole dancing attire. I got out and retrieved it, pulling down the jacket to cover my butt as I reached for the bag. In my younger days, I might have changed in the car, but I knew better than to try that now. I tugged the jacket down and walked toward the convenience store. A middle-aged man pumping gas into his SUV watched me with a gaping mouth.

I heard a catcall and turned to see a bearded biker grinning ear to ear. “Lookin’ good, hot momma!”

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been catcalled, so I went with flattered and gave him a coy smile as I walked toward the entrance—then promptly walked into the glass door.

Good heavens.

The biker laughed but called out good-naturedly, “You’re still hot, momma.”

“She’s not your momma!” a young woman called across the parking lot. “That’s sexual harassment!”

Oh crap. She was right. But I couldn’t ignore the fact that I felt sexy and desirable for the first time in years.

What the heck was going on?

Hurrying into the bathroom before I got distracted by anyone else, I locked myself in a stall and unzipped the bag.

A wave of dust and BO slammed me in the face.

Crap. How long had my bag been out in the car, unopened? A quick mental check confirmed it had been months. Likely five or more, since I’d gotten a gym membership about a month after Richard left. I’d gone to work out twice, and if I remembered correctly, I’d forgotten to reapply deodorant before my second workout, a Zumba class led by an overzealous instructor named Hilary. I’d stuffed my sweaty clothes into the bag, intending to take them in and wash them.

Five months ago.

But smelling bad was better than walking around half naked, so I put them on and stuffed the jacket into the bag, trying not to gag from the stench. When I emerged from the stall, a young woman was washing her hands, but she made a face and ran from the restroom, covering her mouth and nose with the crook of her arm.

Great.

When I glanced in the mirror, I gasped at my reflection. It was me, but somehow I looked different. The oversized gray workout shirt did nothing for my complexion, but my hazel eyes seemed to shine like emeralds, and I spotted another streak of blond on the left side of my head. Running my fingers through it confirmed that it was just as silky as the other blond piece.

What the actual hell?

The memory that had been flirting with my consciousness all day finally surfaced. According to family lore, Nana Stella’s mother had become obsessed with fire. She’d died in a house fire that she’d set, although my uncle used to say she’d spontaneously combusted.

Was that what was happening to me? Was this some sort of hereditary thing?

I shook my head. That was insane, but was it any more insane than me starting fires whenever I had a hot flash?

Oh, dear Lord. I couldn’t deny it now. They were hot flashes, which meant I was perimenopausal. I wasn’t sure what was worse—the fires or this.

I was cracking up for sure.

I needed someone to talk to. I needed my best friend.

I hurried out of the convenience store and across the parking lot to my car without attracting any of the attention I’d gotten before. I called Cyn as I took off toward the mall.

“Hey, girl,” she said in her cheerful voice. “What’s up?”

“More than I can possibly tell you on the phone. Are you closing the coffee shop tonight or is your new coworker handling it?”

“I got off a half hour ago. You want to come over?”

“God, yes.”

“I’ll have a bottle of wine ready to pour.”

“I’ll be there in twenty to thirty minutes.”

A quick stop at the mall proved humiliating. I felt like Pig-Pen from the Charlie Brown cartoons. Even if you couldn’t physically see my stench, everyone parted like the Red Sea as I walked through. I grabbed the same black wrap dress in my size—dear Lord, I really needed to actually use my gym membership—then picked up a pair of yoga pants and matching long-sleeved T-shirt, plus a pair of comfortable underwear. And because I liked the bra I was wearing so much, I bought another one in beige.

The store clerk tried not to gag as she rang me up, and thankfully she skipped all the customary attempts to convince me to sign up for a credit card or their mailing list.

The smell no longer made me want to retch by the time I got back to the car.

So this was how people let themselves go.

When I pulled into Cyn’s driveway, I sent her a text. I’m coming in and heading straight for your bathroom. Don’t ask questions and don’t try to intercept me.

I was stupid to believe she’d actually obey my order. She greeted me at the door and covered her nose with her hands.

“Sweet baby Cheezez. What the heck happened to you?”

“I warned you,” I said, brushing past her and heading straight for the small bathroom that was still stuck in the 1970s. After I stripped down to my underwear, I opened the bathroom window and tossed the offending clothes into the yard, planning to collect them on my way out. As I tried to struggle out of the shapewear, I heard Cyn’s dog outside the window, barking and snarling over my pile of clothes—only to run away whimpering moments later. Great. My things were too smelly for a dog that was notorious for eating poop.

“What’s going on, Darcie?” Cyn called through the door.

“I need a pair of scissors.”

Like the great friend she was, she said, “Coming right up,” without asking a lot of pesky questions. At least not up front. When she returned, she opened the bathroom door and stared at me in disbelief. “What the heck are you doing?”

“I’m getting undressed,” I said. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re standing in my bathroom trying to extricate yourself from a medieval torture device.”

“Did they have Spanx in the Middle Ages?” I asked wryly as I snatched the scissors from her and started to cut the side of the garment. “Because I’m sure it would have had a high success rate.”

“I don’t know, but you can be sure they were invented by a man,” she said, only sounding halfway present as she watched me in fascination. “The real question is, why are you wearing them?”

“I had a date,” I snapped as I tried to hack my way through the fabric. “What the heck? Is this made of chain mail?” I’d only managed to cut an inch or so slit.

Cyn snatched the scissors from me and took over, starting at my waist. “You, Darcie Weatherby, had a date? With a man?”

“Yes, of course with a man, and it all happened so fast I didn’t have time to call and tell you.”

“Okay,” she said, not giving away any hint of emotion. “Who with?”

“Parker. From work.”

“Hot Parker?” she gasped. “The boy who works in sales?”

“He’s not a boy. He’s thirty-three, for heaven’s sake. When I was thirty-three, I’d been married for nine years and had three kids.”

She waved a hand of dismissal. “Men mature more slowly than women, especially if they’re not married. He’s a man-child.”

I wasn’t going to argue with any part of that.

“Don’t stop there, woman,” she said as she put her all into trying to cut the fabric. “How did this come about?”

I told her about the breakroom experience, then moved on to my shopping trip with Harriet and meeting Parker at the restaurant.

Cyn cut through the last of the fabric, and I placed my hand on my stomach and my butt to keep myself mostly covered.

“I take it you have a change of clothes in that bag?” she said, pointing to the plastic shopping bag on the toilet lid.

“Yeah.”

“Get dressed and then come out and tell me the rest, because I’m dying to know why you’re here at my house in smelly workout clothes instead of either at your date or back at Hot Parker’s place doin’ the dirty.”

“Cyn!”

“But you still stink, so take a shower first.” She started to turn around but stopped, her brows bunching a little as she picked up one of my new blond streaks. “Don’t dawdle. I suspect there’s a bunch more you need to tell me.”

She walked out, and I stuffed the remains of the torturous shapewear into the shopping bag. No way could I have gone back to Parker’s wearing such unsexy underwear. It was bad enough that Mr. Cocky had seen me in it, although it obviously wasn’t the worst of my problems.

I climbed into the shower and didn’t waste any time washing my hair and my body, eager to banish the stench of sweat and smoke. When I was done, I got dressed in the new leisure wear and found Cyn in her living room. She was lounging on the sofa with a glass of wine while she listened to a Boyz II Men CD. A fire crackled in her fireplace, making me flinch.

“Start spilling,” Cyn said. She had another glass of wine waiting for me, thank God.

I reached for the second glass, telling myself I’d become a teetotaler tomorrow. “First I need to start with the fire.”

“There was another fire?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “You did smell like smoke, but it was hard to discern over the BO reek.”

I made a face and settled onto her love seat, curling my feet to the side. “My whole life has gone to hell. The fire last night started right beneath me on the sofa where I was sitting. While I was having a hot flash.”

She waved that off, her mouth pursing. “The fire was what made you think you were having a hot flash. But that’s been discussed. I want to know what happened tonight.”

“Just listen. Parker and I were sitting at our table at the restaurant, looking at our menus, when I suddenly became inexplicably hot—like my body was about to combust. The exact same thing that happened last night. I didn’t want to get all gross and sweaty in front of him, so I ran out the back door, hoping the cold air would cool me down, but it didn’t. In desperation, I opened my wrap dress so I could fan myself…and the next thing I knew, my dress caught fire.”

Cyn sat up, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I have no idea how it started, but I was trying to figure out how to get the dress off when I was tackled from behind and ended up in a snowbank.”

“Parker saved you?”

I made a face. “Parker had no idea where I went. It was the asshat from the bar.”

She shook her head. “What asshat from the bar?”

Oops. I hadn’t gotten to that part yet. I filled her in on my kind of annoying, kind of entertaining encounter with the man in the bar.

“How did he know you were outside?” she asked.

“I walked past his table, so maybe he saw the panic on my face.” Oh crap. The guilt was beginning to creep up on me. “And he followed me outside to make sure I was okay.”

“Or harass you,” she suggested like a good enabling friend.

“To harass me by trying to save my life. His suit jacket was ruined when he covered me with it while trying to put out the flames.”

“It’s a wonder you weren’t seriously hurt,” she said. “Was he?”

Well, double crap. I hadn’t bothered to check. “I don’t know.”

“So what happened?”

“He looked me over for burns. We were both shocked I didn’t have any. I offered to pay for his jacket and asked for his PayPal or Venmo information.”

“That sounds terribly romantic.”

I made a face. “Romantic?”

“I suspect he was hot,” she said, then finished the dregs in her glass.

“Okay,” I conceded. “He was good-looking, but he was still a jerk.”

“Until he saved your life.”

“Like any decent human being would,” I countered, but we both knew I was purposely being argumentative. “It doesn’t matter,” I added with a sigh. “He kept getting texts from his dinner companions and had to go inside. He begged me to wait five minutes.”

“Obviously, you didn’t stay,” she said as she poured more wine into her glass, disappointment heavy in her words.

I shrugged. “What was the point?”

“Well, for one thing, he still wanted more after he saw you in all your torture underwear glory.”

I snorted. “You’re the one who told me men are too interested in getting laid to care if I have a full crop of hair downstairs.”

Her eyes widened. “That is not what I said. I said it would be enough for you to trim the garden if you didn’t want a Brazilian.”

She made a scissors motion with her index and middle fingers for added emphasis.

“The guy was a Lothario,” I said with a sigh. “He’s only interested in getting busy between the sheets.”

“So?” she said. “You just got out of a twenty-year relationship. Maybe he’s exactly what you need.”

“Well, that ship has sailed,” I said. “He never gave me his payment information, and I don’t even know his name.”

She shook her head in disappointment. “You have much to learn, young grasshopper.”

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” I said before taking another sip of my wine.

“You’re not an old dog, and you definitely know some tricks. Even if you haven’t used them in a decade or two.” She was silent for a moment, taking a drink of her wine before she said, “Let’s address the other elephant in the room. What’s going on with your hair?”

I absently reached up to touch the newest golden strand. “I’m not doing this on purpose,” I said, grateful to admit it to someone. “The one in back showed up sometime after the first fire and before I went into the kitchen this morning. The second appeared after the second fire.”

“That’s more than a little freaky,” she said with worry in her eyes.

“There’s more,” I said. “When I was trying on dresses earlier, there were dusky markings across my upper back. Like a big bruise. And when the mystery man checked my back for burns, he mentioned my cool tattoo.”

Cyn sat up again, then twirled her hand in a circular pattern. “Take off your shirt.”

“At least buy me dinner first,” I said, forcing a laugh as I got to my feet.

“We both know that you’re a cheap date and nine-dollar wine makes you take your clothes off. Now prove me right.”

I’d not been so nervous about taking my top off since I was a junior in high school, but I tugged it off and tossed it onto the love seat, presenting my back to her as dread pooled in my stomach.

“Holy Toledo,” she said, trying to get to her feet, but her legs became ensnared in her throw. She fell onto the floor but quickly recovered and jumped up. “I’m okay, and I’m not drunk, just in utter shock. Do you know what’s back there now?”

I tried glancing over my shoulder, but the last thing I needed was to pull a muscle, so I hurried to the bathroom and glanced over my shoulder at the mirror.

The dark patch I’d seen earlier had been like a cloudy Etch A Sketch drawing, but now it looked like the magnetic balls had formed the outline of wings. They spread across my upper back and were “attached” over my spine. The tips hit the top of my shoulders.

Shock spread through me in waves. My body was changing before my eyes. I’d heard plenty about the change women went through in middle age, but this wasn’t mentioned in any of the textbooks.

“Darcie…”

“I didn’t do this, Cyn,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.

“But they’re there anyway. Just like the stripes in your hair.”

“They weren’t there at all before last night. Yesterday morning, I felt a bump on my upper back and looked in the mirror to see if it was a zit or a precancerous growth.”

She made a face. “Thanks for the reminder that I need to make an appointment to see my dermatologist.”

I grimaced back, then said, “There has to be a logical explanation, right? For all of it?”

“Well, of course there is,” she said. “You’re turning into a demon.”

I released a short bark of nervous laughter. “Be serious.”

She spun me around to face her. “I am. You can start fires and you’re sprouting wings. You’re becoming a fire demon.”

If I hadn’t known her better, I would have thought she was joking, but Cyn was big into the paranormal, always looking for supernatural explanations for weird happenings. She hadn’t disappointed with this one.

“Why can’t I be turning into an angel?” I asked, slightly insulted.

She snorted. “Please.”

I almost argued with her, but she had a point. While I didn’t consider myself demon material, I hardly qualified for angel status either.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, walking past her into the hall. My stomach rumbled with hunger, reminding me that I’d missed dinner.

“Why is it ridiculous?” she asked, following behind me. “How else do you explain all of this?”

“Harriet thinks it can be explained by Ambien sleepwalking.”

“You told her?”

I opened her fridge and groaned, turning up my nose. This was what I imagined a socialite’s fridge looked like—full of wine, olives, and Red Bull. “What do you have to eat around here?”

“I ordered a pizza earlier.”

“You’re like a teenager,” I said, moving to the counter to open the takeout box.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said.

“Girl, please,” I said picking up a piece of deep-dish pizza smothered in cheese and the works. I took a bite and nearly died from happiness. “I haven’t had this many carbs in one bite in ages.”

“Back to Harriet.”

I took another bite, feeling ravenous, then said while still chewing, “She and Elena found the streak at the back of my head this morning. Then Harriet saw the dark mark on my back in the dressing room. She freaked over both and came up with the Ambien explanation when I told her I had no idea where they came from.”

Cyn nodded. “You’re freaking out your kids, Darce.”

“I’m freaking out, Cyn,” I said before taking another big bite of my slice.

“There has to be a logical explanation,” she said.

“I didn’t even tell you about the weird old lady who showed up in the dressing room with dresses for me to try on—this woman acted almost…excited over the markings on my back and the blond streak in my hair.” I gasped. “Oh! My hair was pinned up to hide it, but she took out the pins as though she was looking for it and said, ‘From the ashes, she has risen.’”

“What?”

I took another bite, finishing off the slice, then said through my mouthful, “You huhd me.”

She frowned, but then excitement lit up her face. “This is a mystery.”

I fought hard to keep from rolling my eyes. In addition to her mystical beliefs, Cyn fancied herself to be an Angela Lansbury. She subscribed to those murder mystery subscription boxes and loved to go to escape rooms, but she had yet to figure any of them out. Nevertheless, I loved her too much to discourage her. Besides, I had absolutely no idea what was going on, so a shot in the dark couldn’t hurt. Maybe this would be the mystery she finally solved. Win for both of us.

“I’m going to write down the clues,” she said, finding a notebook and pen in a kitchen drawer and sitting on a stool at her kitchen table while I grabbed another piece of pizza.

“Hot flashes—fire,” she said as she wrote down the words, then glanced up. “Last night was the first time you had a hot flash?”

“Yep.”

“And the hot flash triggered the first blond streak and started a fire.”

“We’ve already established that.”

“And those wings on your back,” she said.

“We’ve established that too. Don’t forget I didn’t get burned. Not tonight or after a couple of incidents with hot coffee and a hot pan this morning.”

She looked up at me and shrugged. “Well, I was right. You’re turning into a fire demon. I’d say you might be turning into a fire elemental, except”—she gestured toward me—“the wings.”

“Why does it have to have a paranormal explanation?” I asked. “Why can’t there be a rational reason for what’s happening?” It didn’t seem like a good time to mention the way Vee had disappeared in a cloud of smoke, something my mind was still grappling to explain. Among other things.

“I’m all ears,” she said. “What’s your rational explanation?”

I sat down next to her. “A whole lot of nothing, but I think something similar might have happened to my great-grandmother.”

“What?” she said, tossing down her pencil. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Well, I never met her, and I just remembered the family stories on the way here. If I remember correctly, it didn’t end well for her.”

“They put her in a mental institution?” Cyn asked.

“No,” I said. “But almost. Her husband threatened to institutionalize her, but she died in a house fire before he got the chance. It happened here in Perry’s Fall.”

Where strange stuff had been known to happen. The man who’d essentially founded the town, James Randolph Perry, was the nineteenth-century equivalent of a trust fund kid, and he’d only discovered the place after getting blackout drunk on the train. I’d heard plenty of stories about him, given my mother’s questionable pride in our family’s roots in the Ohio town. Our family had been here since the beginning, although some of our relatives had moved back to England for a time.

“Oh,” Cyn said, the worry lines on her brow deepening. “That’s not good.”

I snorted. “And it gets worse. Legend has it she spontaneously combusted.”

“Seriously?” she asked, incredulous but definitely interested.

“I can’t say that’s how she really died. It sounds crazy, and my grandmother refuses to talk about her. Nana Stella was living away from Perry’s Fall at the time. It wasn’t until later that they moved back. She blames herself for what happened. She feels like she should have been there.”

“So let’s say your great-grandmother did spontaneously combust. That doesn’t fit with you not getting burned anymore.”

“I haven’t heard the stories for years,” I said. “I need to ask my mom. Or maybe see if Nana Stella will finally talk about it.”

“Your grandmother is only lucid half the time. Better to talk to them both.”

Nana Stella wasn’t suffering from dementia, just eccentric, but if she grasped on to an idea, she was usually too stubborn to bend. I suspected she wouldn’t tell me anything. And even though I knew I had to ask anyway, I worried it would upset her. She’d never gotten over losing her mother that way, especially the whispers about insanity. Given that she was well into her eighties, it wasn’t a good idea to shock her. “I’ll call my mother. She’s always complaining that I never call her first.”

“Good idea.”

I found my phone in my purse and placed the call, my stomach in knots while her phone rang.

“Well, look who found time in her busy schedule to call me,” my mother said in a snippy tone when she answered after several rings.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, only halfway meaning it. I wanted to tell her that I might find time to call her more often if she didn’t always spend the whole time complaining about everything and everyone. But I supposed that was better than when she complained about me, which had become her favorite pastime since the divorce.

“I have a busy life too, you know,” she said, sounding like she was still pissed.

“I know, Mom.” My mother was sixty-four, but she was busier than ever with her charity work. Until the beginning of the school year, Nana Stella had lived with Mom, but my mother had suggested that perhaps she should move in with me since I had insisted on being a single mother and likely needed the help. I recognized the move for what it was—the two of them had never seen eye to eye, and my mother was tired of having to deal with her own mother on a daily basis.

Nana Stella hadn’t been particularly helpful, in all honesty, but I loved her and my kids adored her and her antics—like her late-night poker games. It was like I’d gained another child—one who required only slightly less supervision.

“It’s funny you called. Only moments ago I’d decided that I want you to come for dinner,” she said. “Tomorrow night. You and the kids.”

“Uh…” I hadn’t been expecting that request. “The kids are supposed to be at Richard’s tomorrow night, Mom.”

She harrumphed. “I’ll call him, and we’ll have a little chat. I’m sure he’ll be understanding.”

“No,” I said. Knowing her, she’d probably beg him to come back. It wouldn’t be the first time. “The kids will let him know.”

“Very well. I already spoke with Harriet,” my mother said. “I’ll expect you at seven.” Then she hung up.

“Well?” Cyn said. “What did she say?”

“Guess what we’re doing tomorrow night?”

“Is that the royal we or the collective we?” she asked, scrunching up her face in anticipation of the answer.

I raised my brow and looked her dead in the eye.

She turned pale and shrank back in her chair. “Your mother scares me.”

“She scares us all.”

Chapter Nine

Call me a coward, but I put on my replacement black dress before I went home an hour later. I also took pains to hide the new stripe in my hair, not wanting Harriet to have a second freak-out. Parker sent a text saying he’d had a great night and wanted to try again. Maybe tomorrow night?

A great night? Had he gone out for tacos after I’d ditched him? Shaking my head, I texted that I already had plans for Friday night—thank you, Mother—and I’d let him know.

Maybe the fire was God’s way of telling me that going out with Parker was a bad idea. I wasn’t all that religious and my faith wasn’t particularly fire-and-brimstoney, but I was desperate for answers about what was happening to me. Any answers.

And maybe I was also looking for an excuse not to see Parker again. I had a lot to figure out before I considered starting a new relationship. Especially with him.

The kids were waiting for me in the kitchen, and since I didn’t want to lie, I was purposely vague about how the evening had gone.

“Oh, by the way,” Harriet said, making a face, “Grandma Gertrude called.”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I talked to her.”

“Do we really have to go?” Jack asked.

I gave him a tight smile. “At least you won’t have to go to your dad’s until Saturday now.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. I’m not going at all.”

“Just think about what we talked about this morning,” I said, glancing at the microwave clock. “Time for bed, Elena. It’s after nine.”

She wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed tight. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

I squeezed back. “I’m okay,” I lied, worried it wasn’t true, but I wasn’t about to scare her.

She headed toward the hall, and I noticed my grandmother standing at the edge of the kitchen. My heart tripped at the sight of her.

She handed Elena a peppermint that she’d pulled out of her pocket. “Put this on your pillow. Payment to the sandman to give you extra sweet dreams.”

Elena took the treat but frowned. “I don’t believe in the sandman.”

“Put it out anyway,” my grandmother said with a warm smile. “He might believe in you.”

Elena headed down the hall, and I called after her, “Don’t eat that after you brush your teeth.”

She groaned out of sight, clearly insulted. Fair enough. She’d never do something so irresponsible. In fact, she probably knew the top ten causes of cavities by heart.

“Hey, Nana,” I said. “Would you be up for a cup of tea?”

“With my favorite granddaughter?” she said, grinning. “Of course.”

Harriet laughed. “Hey, I’m standing right here, Nana.”

“I know,” Nana said. “You’re one of my two favorite great-granddaughters.”

Harriet kissed my grandmother on the cheek. “Good save, Nana.”

“Where do you think your mother gets her smarts from?”

I laughed as I reached for the kettle and started to fill it with water at the kitchen sink.

“Good night, Mom,” Harriet said. “I’m glad you had fun.”

Jack grunted, which I took to mean he wasn’t so glad.

Nana handed Harriet a peppermint. “Something tells me you need one too.”

Harriet grasped it in her hand and squeezed, then gave me a long look.

Jack walked over to give me a hug. “Love you, Mom.”

I tipped my head back to look up at him. “Love you too.”

It struck me that the nick on his chin was gone. Had I imagined seeing it this morning?

“Harriet told me that you had a date tonight,” Nana said, sliding onto a barstool at the island.

“Harriet’s been talking to everyone tonight,” I said. “By the way, I’m not sure if Harriet mentioned it, but we’re all having dinner with Mom tomorrow night.”

Nana made a face.

I pointed my index finger at her. “Don’t you even think about trying to get out of it.”

“I’ve done my time,” Nana said. “Why do I have to go back to the prison?”

“Consider it a visit with the warden,” I said. “And besides, I spent almost as much time living with her as you did.”

“But you had your father to soften her,” Nana said softly.

Mom had never been a doting mother, but my father had indeed softened some of her expectations of me during high school and college. But he’d died three years ago, and she’d lashed out at everyone and everything. I’d taken a different approach, internalizing my grief and pain so it wouldn’t affect the kids.

“Well, we’ll do our time and buy ourselves a few months until we have to do it again,” I said as I grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet.

“How was your date?”

I grabbed the tin of tea bags and set it in front of my grandmother. “It was eventful.”

She waited for me to expand on that, but I didn’t. I was looking for an opportunity to sneak in a few questions about her mother.

When I didn’t elaborate, she turned her attention to sorting through the tea bags. I selected my own, chamomile to help me sleep better, and dropped it into my cup. Since there was only so much subtlety a person could achieve when asking certain questions, I decided to just launch into it. “How old were you when your mother died?”

Nana’s gaze jerked to mine. “Why the sudden interest in my mother?”

“It’s just that you never talk about her,” I said. “Did you have trouble getting along with her like we do with Mom?”

She pushed out a sigh and shook her head. “No. Your mother has a stick up her butt. My mother and I were very close.”

“Is that why you don’t like to talk about her? Because it hurts too much?”

The kettle began to hum.

“That water’s ready,” Nana said.

I grabbed the kettle and filled our mugs, then got spoons and the honey bottle. I squirted a spoonful into my tea before handing the bottle to Nana.

“Nana, I heard the rumors about your mother, but I don’t know what’s true. I’d like to hear your take.”

“The past is better left there, Darcie.”

Which she’d said every other time I’d asked her about this. The pain on her face told me she meant it. I didn’t want to push her too hard, but I needed more from her.

“Not if it’s in the future.” Reaching up, I plucked the pins from my hair and let it fall to my shoulders.

Her face paled. “You bleached your hair.”

“No, Nana. I didn’t.”

“You’re turning gray in patches?”

“It’s not gray. The few gray hairs I’ve gotten were coarse and wiry. These are soft and fine.” I’d been hoping for an immediate reaction from her. If my great-grandmother had gone blond right around the time she’d started setting fires, then Nana Stella would know, wouldn’t she? But she didn’t seem to make the connection.

“Good for you,” she said, though it sounded forced. “You got married so young. You didn’t give yourself enough of a chance to sow your wild oats before you settled down. It’s not too late to live it up now.”

“I mean it, Nana. I didn’t do this to my hair. It just happened. After I started two fires. One streak for each of them.”

She was stirring her mug and her hand began to shake so hard it clanged against the sides. “Harriet said you were Ambien sleepwalking.”

“I didn’t take any Ambien last night,” I said, lowering my voice as I leaned closer. No sign of the kids, so I told her about the way my date had ended, finishing up with, “By the time I got to Cyn’s house, I had a new streak.”

She lifted her mug and began to blow across the surface. If I hadn’t known her any better, I would’ve thought she was immune to what I was saying, but this was how Nana Stella coped—she pushed on even as everything went to shreds around her.

“I heard that your mother set her house on fire,” I prodded.

She was silent for a moment. “My family home burned down.”

“Did she start it?”

“It was inconclusive.” She glanced at me, and the sorrow in her eyes dug into me. “But my father believed she was responsible. He called it ‘hysteria,’ although that wasn’t a medical diagnosis anymore.”

I covered her hand with my own. “I’m so sorry, Nana. How old were you when she died?”

“I was in my mid-thirties. I wasn’t there for my mother when she needed me, and by the time I came home, she was already gone. I told myself I’d always be there for my daughter, but your mother shuts me out. And she shuts you out too.” Nana looked into my eyes and gave me a sad smile. “Are you okay, Darcie? I don’t want to wait too long and ask you when it’s too late.”

I wanted to tell her more about the fires. About the wings on my back. About the other weird and inexplicable things that were unfurling around and within me, but something in her eyes told me she couldn’t handle it. I’d have to get my answers elsewhere. I’d have to get them from my mother.

“I’m fine, Nana,” I lied, just like I’d lied to Elena. “Everything’s fine.”

Chapter Ten

I overslept the next morning, having spent roughly two hours the previous night googling spontaneous hair transformations and “hot flash + fire.” I did find some blog posts by a male conspiracy theorist who believed hot flashes caused forest fires, plus content from a woman who claimed she’d caused fires with her hot flashes. But her account was no more credible than his—she’d also laid claim to an assortment of other abilities that would have made her more powerful than all of the X-Men combined. My only real takeaway was the internet was somehow becoming an even weirder place.

I didn’t have time to wash my hair, but I planned on putting it up anyway, so I took a quick shower, then rushed out to the kitchen in my robe to make sure the kids were up.

“Mom,” Elena said in a slight whine. “You’re not even dressed. I have chess club.”

“Oh crap.” How had I forgotten it was Friday morning? Chess club day. Elena had to be at school forty-five minutes early. “Give me a few minutes.” I hurried to my room to get dressed and passed Jack in the hall. “I don’t have time to make you breakfast, but there are frozen waffles in the freezer.”

Fifteen minutes later, Elena and I were pulling out of the driveway. I’d only put on my foundation and blush, so I threw my eyeshadow and mascara into a makeup bag to take with me. After I dropped her off at school, I made an extremely necessary Starbucks run and headed for my office. I found a parking spot in the back, in front of the snowbanks the plow had created the week before. I pulled down my visor and opened the mirror, then started to apply my eyeshadow. I’d just brushed a coat of mascara onto my left upper lashes when several hard thunks hit the passenger-side window.

Startled, I released a yelp as I swiped the mascara up my forehead, then and turned to face the presumed serial killer outside my car. To my shock, it was the guy who had tried to save me the night before. He was staring at me through the window.

I rolled down the passenger window a few inches. “What are you doing here?”

He was wearing a gray dress coat, and I could see the top of his white button-down shirt and the knot of a red tie. His auburn hair was windswept, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. But it was his eyes that held my attention—brilliant cerulean orbs that were laser-focused on me.

“Darcie, open the door and let me in.”

Anger rolled through me, and I tossed my mascara tube onto the console. I’d offered to pay for his jacket and he’d refused. What on earth did he want? “How did you find me?”

He tested the locked door handle, then gave me an exasperated look.

There was no way I was letting him in my car. For all I knew he was a psychopath. I’d had nightmares for days after watching that Netflix show You with Harriet. But I could tell he wasn’t going to be dissuaded easily, so I opened the driver’s door and got out, migrating to the hood of my SUV. He shifted his position too, until we were facing each other over the still-warm engine.

“You stay over there,” I said, “and I’ll stay over here. Now how did you find me?”

He frowned, obviously not liking the fact that I was setting the rules. This was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, all the more reason to be careful around him. “Your date. Now tell me what happened last night.”

“Parker told you where I worked?” I asked, incredulous. A gust of wind hit me, blowing my hair in my face, but he seemed unfazed.

“Please,” he drawled. “It wasn’t that hard to get it out of him. He’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Now what happened last night?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I left.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said in a dry tone. “But I’m not talking about that part. How did your dress catch fire? And how’d you escape getting burned?”

“I don’t know how it caught on fire,” I said truthfully, “and your speedy response must have saved me from getting burned.” My tone was snotty, and I was torn between being grateful that he’d helped me and skeeved out by the fact that he’d stalked me here. In typical Darcie Weatherby fashion, the nice me won out. “Thank you again for helping me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand as though speeding the conversation along. “That was nothing, so let’s get back to what happened. Your dress burned around you. It was reduced to ashes, but you and your…undergarments were completely fine. Why?”

It was then that I noticed his hands were wrapped with gauze. I gasped in horror. “Oh, my word! Were you hurt?”

My question made something shift in his eyes, and he stood straighter, his face becoming expressionless.

Was that why he was here? Did he hold me accountable for his injuries? Would my homeowner’s insurance cover something so bizarre?

“Darcie,” he said, sounding slightly panicked. “I really need to know what’s going on here.”

He couldn’t possibly know how much I wished I had an answer for him, or for any of the hundreds of questions floating around in my head. “I don’t have an explanation for you.” Shaking my head, I added, “I don’t even know your name.”

He gave me a hard stare, then pulled back his shoulders. “Stone.”

“Stone what?”

He reached down into his coat, and my heart leapt in my chest, my thoughts immediately springing to a half-dozen worst-case scenarios. Was he getting a gun? Was he going to kidnap me?

What on earth had possessed me to get out of the car to talk to a potential stalker?

Before I could react, he pulled out a black wallet and held it out to me, letting it flip open. “Special Agent Heath Stone with the FBI.”

Sure enough, that’s what it said across the top of his ID card: Federal Bureau of Investigation.

I took an involuntary step backward. “Why is the FBI involved in this?”

“It’s not,” he said, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. “I’m not here in any official capacity whatsoever.”

“Then why did you show me your identification?”

“To prove you can trust me.”

I took another step back. “I think I should call my attorney.”

Although I suspected my divorce attorney wasn’t qualified to handle this sort of thing.

“For God’s sake, Darcie. I’m not here as Special Agent Stone. I’m here because of this.” He held up his wrapped hands.

Cinching my arms tighter around my torso, I said, “I’m incredibly sorry you got hurt trying to help me, and of course I’ll be more than happy to pay for any and all medical expenses.” Then I added, “And your jacket. Just give me copies of the—”

He glanced behind me toward a car pulling into the lot. “Can we get in your car to discuss this. Please?”

I knew I should say no. What if he intended to entrap me in some way? I wasn’t sure I was smart enough to outwit an FBI agent, but I didn’t have enough vacation time to cover him taking me downtown—or wherever his office was located—and I definitely didn’t have the money to pay my attorney, not that Mr. Afful would be of much use. He certainly hadn’t helped me come out ahead in the divorce proceedings.

“Fine. But make this quick. I have to get into work and I can’t be late.”

He nodded and moved toward the passenger door.

After I got inside and unlocked the doors, he didn’t waste any time getting in beside me.

“What do you want, Special Agent Stone?” I asked, thankful my voice didn’t break. I was scared out of my mind, but I didn’t want him to know that.

“Call me Heath,” he said in a stern voice. “I introduced myself as Stone out of habit.”

“Okay, Heath.” Was that out of some FBI handbook? Make your suspect feel at ease by using your first name? I wasn’t going to fall for it. “What do you want?”

He turned in his seat to face me. “You said you didn’t know how the fire started, but you must have some idea. Did you get too close to a candle?”

“The candles at Figaro’s are those fake battery-operated kind,” I said. “There were no candles.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, as though considering his next words. “Were you smoking? You caught yourself on fire but you’re too embarrassed to admit it?”

“What does it matter?” I asked in frustration. I wanted to puzzle this through with someone, but I doubted the best choice was an FBI agent who’d seen me burst into flames. Which meant continuing this conversation would be a waste of time for both of us. “It just happened.” But then I glanced at his gauze-wrapped hands and my tone softened. “Do you want my information so you can send me your medical bills?”

“I didn’t go to the doctor. There are no bills.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked, exhaustion creeping into my voice.

He started to unwrap the gauze on his left hand. “Even if I wanted to go to the doctor, I’m not sure how I’d explain this.”

The wrapping fell into his lap and he held up his palm—which looked completely unscathed.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering what I’d missed. “So you weren’t burned?”

He lowered his unwrapped hand so it hovered just above his lap. The top was bright red except for the outlines of my fingers where I’d grabbed hold of him.

Shaking my head, I glanced up at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” He quickly unwrapped his right hand and it was nearly identical. “Everywhere you touched me was unburned,” he said, rotating his hands back and forth. “How did that happen?”

My heart began to beat faster and my head swirled as I gaped at his hands. “I don’t know.”

“Has anything like this happened before?”

I lifted my gaze to his. “No…”

Then I remembered the way Jack’s shaving nick had disappeared over the course of the day.

“It has,” he said, sounding excited.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It had been a small nick, so it certainly wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that it had just healed on its own. In fact, that would be the more sensible explanation.

“When?”

I shook my head to clear my confusion. I needed to be smart about this. This man was with the FBI, and there was no way I wanted him to know the first thing about Jack. “This is the only time.” I narrowed my eyes as I looked up at him. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know, Darcie,” he said in a short tone. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I have no idea, Special Agent Stone, and that’s God’s honest truth. My dress spontaneously caught on fire, you tackled me and put it out, and you were burned in the process. You have no idea how incredibly guilty that makes me feel,” I said honestly.

“Things don’t just spontaneously catch on fire,” he said. “What made you go out back in the first place?”

“I was hot,” I said, feeling the color creep up my neck and onto my face.

“Hot? Why were you hot?”

Why did he have to be so good-looking? Did I really have to tell him I’d had a hot flash? But then again, he’d seen me in my support underwear. How much more embarrassed could I be? “I was having a hot flash.”

“A hot flash,” he scoffed.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be having a hot flash?” he asked dryly.

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered, or pissed that he thought I was lying. “Apparently not,” I said. “It’s a new thing for me. I’ve never heard of them causing anyone to spontaneously combust, although I’ve heard a few women say they’d felt like it,” I added with a forced chuckle. I didn’t want to lie to him, not directly. Surely FBI agents knew how to spot something like that.

“How many hot flashes have you had?” he asked.

“First of all,” I huffed, “I can’t believe you’re asking me such a personal question. Second, it’s none of your dang business.” I snatched my mascara from the console. “Now I need to get inside. I don’t want to be late.”

I stuffed the tube into my purse and started to reach for the door.

“One more thing,” Heath said, leaning back in his seat as though he had no intention to leave any time soon. “How long have you and Parker Townsend dated?”

“What business is that of yours?” I snapped.

“Call it curiosity.”

“It was our first date, not that it affects you in any way,” I said.

“And how long have you worked for Lisman and Freud International Shipping?” he asked.

The hairs on my arms stood on end. “Why?” When he started to speak, I cut him off. “And don’t try that just curious malarkey on me. I’m the mother of two teenagers who have tried multiple BS lines. I can read through the crap, so tell me the truth. Why does it matter how long I’ve worked there?”

His mouth tilted up into a forced smile. “It doesn’t. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

I cocked my head and gave him some serious side-eye. “You’re putting the moves on me?”

Chuckling, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way.”

“You can stop right there, Romeo. I’m too old for that nonsense. Now get out of my car. I have to go to work.”

“I really would like to see you again, Darcie.”

“I can’t think of a single reason why.” Then, because the last thing I needed was a curious FBI agent poking around, however handsome he might be, I added, “Besides, I’m seeing Parker.”

He started to say something, stopped, then said, “You can do better than him.”

“With you?” I asked with a bitter laugh. “I just got rid of one conceited asshat. I don’t need another.”

A grin spread across his face. “That hurt my feelings, Darce.”

“That’s Darcie to you,” I said. “Give it a few minutes. With an ego as large as yours, I’m sure you’ll be just fine in no time.” Then I gave him a pointed stare and nodded toward his door.

He laughed and reached for the handle, only to stop at the last second, a grin tugging at his features and lighting up his eyes. “I can take a hint, but before you head in, I suggest you take care of that.”

He pointed to my forehead.

Leaning to the side, I glanced in the rearview mirror and realized I’d been having this entire conversation with a mascara trail up my forehead, almost up to my hairline, the lines from the bristles on the wand perfectly delineated.

Great. Twice now I’d looked like a fool while dealing with him. Darcie pre-divorce would have been horrified, but post-divorce Darcie had zero fucks left to give. “Thank you for your helpful advice, now get out.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a business card. “We still have unfinished business, so I’ll leave you my card.” He held it out to me, but when I refused to take it, he placed it on my dashboard. He turned serious. “If you need help or have anything you want to share with me, give me a call, anytime. Day or night.”

“Thanks, but I doubt that will happen.” Then, because I felt conflicted about being so brusque, I added, “Thanks again for helping me last night.”

He gave me a long look, then said, “I suspect you would have been just fine on your own, but I was glad to help anyway.”

With that, he got out and walked over to a dark sedan parked in the row behind me and left.

Only after he was gone did it occur to me that he was the only man who’d ever told me I’d do fine without him.

Chapter Eleven

I found a package of wet wipes and rubbed the mascara off my forehead as I watched Special Agent Stone’s car pull out of its parking space and drive away. As soon as he was out of sight, I let myself slump in the seat and closed my eyes.

What on earth had happened to his hands? Had I somehow…healed him?

Had my hands created those fires too?

Holding my hands up in front of my face, I stared at them in disbelief. My nails were uneven and scraggly, and my skin was rough and dry from washing them so much and the cold winter air. The backs of my hands had a couple of age spots, and my skin had thinned, making my veins more visible. That old Palmolive dish soap commercial came to mind—the one where the mother and daughter held their hands together and some random observer tried to guess who was the mother and who was the daughter. No one would have to guess with Harriet and me.

My hands looked every bit of my forty-two years, but as Vee had suggested about the rest of my body, my hands had earned their wear and tear. From changing diapers to holding little hands, from cooking my children’s meals to helping with homework. My hands had helped me with acts of love and service. But were those same hands capable of destruction?

Were they capable of healing?

As much as I wanted answers to those questions, I was equally terrified to find out.

* * *

Despite leaving the house early, I was still a minute late to work, and Nikki was fit to be tied.

“It’s bad enough that Parker called in sick,” she grumped. “And now you’re late.”

Parker had called in sick? Part of me was relieved—I hadn’t looked forward to expanding on my nonexplanation for why I’d left dinner—but we couldn’t avoid each other forever.

“The elevator was slow.”

“Next time take the stairs.”

“Six floors up?”

She looked me up and down, her lips pursed. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

Before I could offer a retort, she turned and walked away.

When I got to my desk, Kristie immediately slid her chair over.

“How’d it go last night?” she asked, her eyes glowing with excitement. “When I heard Parker called in sick, I figured things might have gone really, really well…”

Oh crap. How was I going to explain? “Actually, I ended up having to leave early. I wasn’t feeling great.”

“You chickened out,” she said with a frown.

“No. Trust me, I didn’t. I was at the restaurant and a wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere. The kids have had a stomach bug.”

“Oh, no,” she said, looking genuinely worried. “You should have stayed home today.”

“I’m fine now. It was one of those six-hour things,” I said.

Which wasn’t actually a thing as far as I knew, but hopefully I’d said it with enough conviction to sell it.

“Maybe you gave it to Parker,” she said. “And that’s why he called in sick.”

“Probably,” I said. More like he didn’t want to run into me right after I’d bolted from him—before we’d even ordered dinner—and then turned him down for another date.

In retrospect, agreeing to go to dinner with him had been a huge mistake, but I couldn’t change that now. I’d have to put on my big-girl pants and figure out a way to face him.

The morning got busy, and for a few blissful hours, I forgot all about Parker and the fires and Special Agent Heath Stone. Distraction can be a heady thing, something I learned during the divorce. It was almost lunchtime when Nikki appeared in front of my desk with a large manila envelope. “Darcie, I need you to take this down to the basement.”

“Of course,” I said cheerfully, hoping to get back into her good graces. Kristie hated when Nikki sent her down there on errands, saying the dimly lit windowless space gave her the creeps. I personally preferred being down there to being under Nikki’s ever-watchful eyes.

“How is everything going after the fire?” Kristie asked.

“Things are…going,” our boss said, her body tensing.

“Are you staying with your sister?” Kristie asked.

Nikki had a sister? The only thing I knew about her personal life was that she wasn’t married, didn’t have kids, and she was now homeless.

Our boss gave her a death stare. “I’m living out of a Motel 6 while I try to prove I didn’t start the fire.”

I swallowed hard. “What?”

“Yeah,” Nikki said in disgust. “I’m going to need you all to submit affidavits about what happened at the Super Sort and Seal party.”

“Of course, Nikki,” Kristie said, nodding emphatically. “Anything we can do to help.”

Affidavits were legal documents, which meant I’d have to tell the truth or risk perjury. And while I had no idea how the fire started, it was starting to look like I’d had something to do with it.

If Nikki found out I’d started the fire on her sofa, she’d fire me in an instant.

And now I felt guilty for being more worried about my possible unemployment than her homeless situation. She wasn’t my favorite person, but nobody deserved to lose everything and come under suspicion for it.

Guilt sat on my chest like a pile of bricks, making it difficult to breathe, so I stood and snatched the envelope from Nikki’s hand. “I better get this downstairs.”

I briskly walked around my desk and headed toward the elevator bank.

“You really should take the stairs, Darcie,” Nikki called after me. “Going down is easier than going up. Your butt could use the workout.”

Several bricks of guilt crumbled off. No, no one deserved to have their house burned down, but if someone had held a gun to my head and asked me whose house to torch, I would have easily picked hers.

People like Nikki got away with tons of crap without ever being punished. Maybe the house fire was simply karma giving her a payback.

Or maybe Cyn was right. Maybe I was turning into a fire demon, because I was definitely on my way to hell with thoughts like that.

But that thought did nothing to pacify the anger burning in my gut. Who was Nikki to belittle and fat-shame me? Sure, I could file a complaint with HR, but nearly a dozen people had already filed complaints, and the only perceivable impact was that Nikki had made their lives a living hell for daring to stand up to her.

There was no way I was risking even more wrath from the woman. I’d suffer in silence.

Only I didn’t feel like being silent. An uncharacteristic desire for vengeance burned through my veins, making me want to turn around and give her a lecture that would make my teens squirm. But as much as I wanted to give her a talking-to, I also needed this job. So I headed for the staircase instead, hoping the physical exertion and the time alone would give me a few minutes to cool down before I entered the basement.

The basement was eerily quiet when I emerged from the stairwell. The employees down here started their shifts several hours before the office staff, so they usually took their lunch breaks earlier than the rest of us, and I’d noticed they tended to go to lunch at the same time, leaving one person at the loading docks in case a shipment came in.

Lisman and Freud was an international shipping company, but most of what we transported never even made it to our facility. When something was shipped to us directly, it was stored in the basement until it was sent to its ultimate destination. On rare occasions, we would hold on to something indefinitely. Those items were held in a section cordoned off with floor-to-ceiling chain-link fencing and a padlocked gate. The space was currently half full of wooden crates of various sizes. This was the exhibit we were storing for the Perry Art Museum. They still hadn’t moved it, which was kind of surprising given the ball was next week.

I passed the enclosure, staring at the large wooden crates, and I found myself slowing to look more closely at it, irrepressibly curious.

The shipment had been in the basement for over a month, and I’d passed it multiple times before on Nikki’s errands, but this was the first time I’d felt compelled to check it out. Was it because I was feeling rebellious?

No, I could tell it was something more. Something deep inside me yearned for something in one of those crates.

Which was crazy.

I shook my head. What the heck was happening to me? Hot flashes. Mood swings. Irrational anger. Those were perimenopausal symptoms, so at least they had an explanation. I was more worried about the fires, the stripes in my hair, and the tattoo unfurling across my back.

Oh, and my healing hands.

I had enough going on. I didn’t need to add destruction of property and trespassing to the list. Tearing myself away from the fence, I walked briskly to the loading docks at the far end of the basement. The manager had a small office next to the docks, and when I was sent down here to deliver something, my usual practice was to drop the envelope into the plastic inbox screwed into the wall, then spend the next five to ten minutes talking to the dock workers so I wouldn’t have to go back to my desk. However, the chat would be out today since the workers were at lunch and they always left the same guy behind. For a reason. Billy Ranier was as sleazy as they came, and to everyone’s surprise, he always had a new “lady friend” and loved to tell everyone every detail of their exploits. I’d heard there was a running bet between the dock workers—half believed Billy, and the other half thought he was a forty-year-old virgin overcompensating for his lack of experience. Either way, I had absolutely no desire to hear about his conquests, so today would be a drop-and-leave.

Just as I deposited the envelope into the plastic bin, I stopped in my tracks, sure I was having an auditory hallucination. I could hear Parker’s voice coming from inside the office. I couldn’t make out what he was saying other than snatches of “advance schedule…” and “we can make this work.”

Parker had called in sick, so what was he doing here?

Part of me wanted to find out—but not badly enough to face him yet. So I turned tail and hurried back to the elevator. Whatever he was doing was none of my business, anyway. I wasn’t about to bust Parker for not being sick, and he didn’t owe me an explanation, especially given the way I’d run out on him last night.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was down here, and why he was apparently so interested in the museum collection. As far as I knew, Parker’s job had nothing to do with the loading docks. But there were a lot of things about this place I didn’t understand, like why Nikki got away with treating all of us so poorly. I had enough of my own issues to deal with without worrying about anyone else’s. I needed to keep my head down—make sure I held on to my job until I found a new one. Pronto.

Chapter Twelve

I ended up having to work late, so I called the kids and told them to meet me at my mother’s house at seven and not to forget Nana Stella. I also texted Cyn and told her to meet us there too, and because I suspected she might try to get out of it, I offered to work at the coffee shop for a short shift in the early afternoon.

She replied: OK. You know I’m short-staffed and you DID tell me you’d work all day, but I know you have a good reason 🔥

My mother didn’t own the market on guilt-tripping.

I’d contemplated not going in at all—I didn’t need the money as much as I needed to stop starting fires—but I was hoping Cyn and I could spend our downtime strategizing. She was the only other person who knew the whole story, and I needed all the help I could get.

I got to Mom’s first and parked in front of the house. If it had been anyone else’s house, I would have just gone in, but I needed my kids as a buffer when I saw my mother.

A few minutes later, Jack pulled up behind me, and Elena was out of the car in a flash and racing for the front door.

“Elena!” I called out after her. “We have to wait for Nana.”

“She’s eager to see Grandma,” Jack said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She wouldn’t stop talking about it in the car. Frankly, I can’t believe she loves coming over here.”

Elena stopped and bounced from one foot to the other as she waited for us. At least one of us was excited.

I walked over to Jack and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks for agreeing to this. I know you have places you’d rather be on a Friday night.”

He lifted his shoulders into a lazy roll. “Hey, it gave me a legit excuse to get out of going to Dad’s tonight.”

“But he still expects us tomorrow,” Harriet said as she joined us.

Jack didn’t respond and I hoped he’d changed his mind. He and Richard had never been close before Richard left, but I still believed it was important for them to have a relationship. Even if Jack claimed he didn’t care.

I caught a glimpse of Cyn driving down the street as Nana slid out of the car and shut the door behind her. My grandmother’s face lit up the moment she saw my friend. “I didn’t know Cyn was coming.”

“She wouldn’t dream of missing it,” I said with a smile.

As soon as Cyn parked, Elena took it as her permission and rushed down the walk to the front porch. Pushing Mom’s surprisingly unlocked front door, she called out, “Grandma!”

“I can’t believe she gets away with that,” Harriet mumbled as she fell into step with me.

“Neither can I,” Jack said, coming up behind me. “We would have gotten a lecture about manners.”

“Mom is more lax with Elena,” I said, thinking back to how stiff and formal she’d always been with the twins. I wasn’t sure why she was softer with Elena, but my younger daughter loved my mother and vice versa. I wasn’t going to fight it.

“Gertrude’s always had a stick up her butt,” Nana Stella said with a laugh. “For some reason Elena is her kryptonite.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Cyn said to my grandmother as she joined us, hugging my grandmother’s arm.

“It’s the first time you’ve told me tonight,” Nana Stella said, still laughing, “but the night is young, Cynda.”

My grandmother had known Cyn since our kindergarten presentation of the Three Little Bears. Cyn had been Goldilocks and I had been a tree in the forest. Cyn’s performance had been over the top, her precociousness practically making her a one-woman show. My grandmother had introduced herself and the two had gotten along ever since. Except Nana refused to call her by her preferred Cyn, insisting on Cynda. As far as I knew, Nana Stella was the only one allowed to do so.

We followed Elena through the massive carved wooden double doors that matched the impeccable exterior of the two-story stone and stucco house. This place had always felt lonely to me, a hulking monument to ostentation that made a better museum than a home. But Mom had insisted such a house was a necessity for a family of our stature.

I suspected things hadn’t always been so highfalutin. My mother had been a court reporter and met my father while he was still a practicing attorney. He made most of his money later, from a high-profile lawsuit involving the acquittal of a B-list actress accused of murder, then was appointed to a judgeship several years later. Mom had kept up her career until I was in middle school, at which point she’d launched into charity work.

This house, she contended, was required so she could host elaborate parties for my father, the judge—though everyone who knew her well knew playing hostess stoked her colossal ego. Dad had loved her enough to tolerate it. I hadn’t been given a choice.

The place was way too big for just her, but it was perfect for the parties she still hosted.

The kids and I crossed the foyer’s marble floor—with a high polish, of course—and found Elena in the living room with my mother, who was wearing a navy-blue suit with a white blouse and three-inch navy heels. She looked like she was ready to walk out the door to attend a dinner with the board of one of her charities, not have a family meal. But no one would bat an eye at the inappropriate outfit—what was much more shocking was the way Elena had her arms wrapped around my mother’s waist in a hug. My mother had never been a hugger, which the twins had quickly learned, but Elena’s persistence had apparently worn her down.

Some days I wished I were more like my eleven-year-old daughter.

When I was outside of my mother’s sphere of influence, I felt like the strong, capable woman I was. But as soon as I entered into her gravitational pull, my self-confidence plummeted.

My mother patted Elena’s head, saying, “There, there, Elena. Let’s go eat before the lamb gets cold.”

Harriet shot me an exasperated look—she hated lamb and my mother knew it—which meant we’d either be ordering pizza or stopping by McDonald’s on the way home.

Mom glanced up at me with frosty eyes. “Darcie. Your hair is up.”

“Observant as always, Mom,” I said with a forced grin. I needed to play nice for multiple reasons. I wanted answers about my great-grandmother, but I’d also decided to mention Jack’s summer basketball camp to her. My mother would, of course, offer to pay for it, and the degree of pain she inflicted on me for her to say yes would largely depend on how cooperative I was during dinner.

I would never accept money from my mother for myself, but I’d take it any day of the week for my kids. I refused to let my pride get in the way of their happiness and well-being.

“It makes you look more sophisticated,” she said with a sharp nod. “I like it.” Then she turned and headed toward the dining room.

Harriet glanced over at me and made a face as she said under her breath, “You can’t wear it up ever again.”

When we got to the dining room, I wasn’t surprised to see that the food was already on the table, complete with silver sconces. Each place setting had a variety of different silverware, most of which would be ignored by everyone except my mother.

“I hope we have enough food,” Mom said in a passive-aggressive tone. “Darcie, go get your guests plates and silverware.”

She was calling her own mother my guest? My inner devil’s advocate reminded me that she hadn’t asked me to bring Nana, so it was technically true.

When I returned to the dining room, everyone was already seated. I’d been hoping to pull Mom aside to talk to her for a minute alone about Great-Grandma Sylvia and basketball camp, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen now. Which meant we’d need to stay a little while for whatever activities Mom had inevitably scheduled for after dinner. If I made it that long without a nervous breakdown.

Mom was at the end of the table, and Elena sat to her right. Harriet and Jack had taken the seats next to her, while my grandmother sat in the chair to my mother’s left. Cyn was next to her, leaving either the empty chair next to Cyn or the empty seat at the head of the table, opposite my mother. My father had used that chair up until his death, then Richard had taken it over. It had sat empty for months.

I put one plate and a set of silverware in front of Cyn (the bare minimum, not my mother’s extravagant array), then put the other place setting at the end of the table and sat in Richard’s chair.

My kids turned to face me in shock, but my mother’s brow lifted and a smile played at the corner of her lips, as though I’d just instigated a game. A game I was sure I’d soon regret.

So much for playing nice.

My mother poured wine into her glass, then passed the bottle down my children’s side of the table, likely trying to keep Nana Stella from imbibing. I hadn’t brought a wine glass to the table, so Harriet jumped up from her seat and headed to the kitchen, returning with two glasses—one for me and the other for Cyn. I poured some wine into my glass before handing the bottle off to Cyn.

“How is school going this year, Harriet?” my mother asked as my daughter took her seat.

“It’s great,” she said, placing her napkin in her lap. “All A’s. Thank you for asking.”

I cringed at the snark in her response.

“And how is school going for you, Jack?” my mother asked as she served herself a helping of lamb, then passed the platter to Nana Stella.

“Great,” he said with little enthusiasm. “I’m a starter on the basketball team this year.”

“How lovely,” my mother said. “Will that help you get into Callaway University?”

“I’m not going to Callaway,” Jack said as he grabbed the bowl of scalloped potatoes from the center of the table and loaded his plate with a generous helping.

“What do you mean you’re not going to Callaway?” my mother asked, lowering her platter of asparagus. “Of course you are. They have an excellent premed program. And your father teaches there. You’ll practically go tuition-free.”

“I’m not sure where I’ll be going, but it won’t be Callaway,” he said stubbornly as he passed the bowl to Harriet. “It’s too soon to think about colleges. I’ll go where I can get the best basketball scholarship, and they won’t be making offers until my senior year.”

I was about to launch into how helpful basketball camp would be to that endeavor when my mother burst out with, “Why in the world wouldn’t you go to Callaway? It’s a top-ranked private school.” She said private as though it were the Holy Grail. Status and prestige meant everything to her, something she always defended by saying she had a reputation to uphold as a judge’s wife. “Not to mention it’s in Perry’s Fall.”

“Mom,” I said in a short tone. “Jack has plenty of time to figure it out.”

“I won a lot of money at poker the other night,” Nana Stella announced, then winked at Jack.

My mother had picked up her fork, but she set it down with a purposeful thud as her steely gaze pinned me to my chair. “Darcie Marie Weatherby, you let her play poker?”

“Let her?” I asked with a snort. “Nana Stella is a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions.” I picked up my wine glass and took a healthy drink.

“And right now, I’ve decided to go to the bathroom,” Nana Stella said, rising from her chair. “Any objections, Gertrude? Would you prefer that I use Depends?”

My mother made a subtle expression of distaste that would put a debutante to shame, and Nana left the table.

“This is really good lamb,” Cyn said, holding up her fork, a bite of meat skewered on the tines. “You’ll have to share the recipe, Gertrude.”

Harriet curled her upper lip in disgust.

“Say, Mom,” I said, deciding this dinner was on borrowed time. I needed to get the answers I was looking for before it deteriorated any further, preferably before Nana got back. “I’ve been thinking about Great-Grandma Sylvia.”

My mother’s eyes bugged out. “What on earth made you think about her?”

“Elena has a family history project,” I lied, then shot Elena a pleading look. It was a gamble given the connection she shared with my mother, but I suspected she was the only one who could get her to cooperate.

Elena looked back at me for a few moments before turning to my mother. “That’s right, Grandma Gertrude. It’s one of those family tree projects.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or horrified by how easily and believably she’d lied.

“The kind where you have to share a story about one of your ancestors,” I added.

“Like the story about Darcie’s great-grandmother spontaneously combusting,” Cyn said.

Elena’s mouth dropped open in a perfect oval, and my mother shot Cyn a glare that should have killed her where she sat. Cyn was too focused on her plate to notice. She likely hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since she’d eaten at my house a couple of weeks earlier, which would explain why she was eating the lamb with such gusto.

When she realized her death stare wasn’t getting her anywhere, my mother rolled her eyes and released a dramatic sigh. “That is a made-up tale, Cyn.”

“I want to know more too,” Harriet said, looking up from her plate.

My mother shook her head. “It’s a ridiculous story. I’m not going to talk about such nonsense. Nor should you. It upsets Mother to talk about it. Everyone knows her mother had mental health difficulties.”

Great. Maybe I wasn’t starting fires and I’d just come down with the same strangely specific brand of “mental health difficulties.” Either way, this discussion was getting me nowhere fast.

“But Nana’s not here,” Harriet said. “So you can discuss it until she comes back.”

My mother gave her a look appropriate for an out-of-control preschooler. “We don’t discuss it for a reason, Harriet.” She turned to Elena. “Despite some blemished branches on our genealogical tree, our family does have a rich history here in Perry’s Fall,” she added, giving her what looked to be a genuine smile. “All the way back to the days of James Randolph Perry.”

“Really, Mother,” I said. “I don’t know why you insist on glorifying him. He was hardly an angel.”

I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask her why she had a thing for men who couldn’t keep it in their pants, but I refused to talk about Richard that way around my kids. From what I’d learned, Perry could have given him a run for his money. Although he’d done many great things for this town, including funding the town orchestra, the library, the park, and the Perry Art Museum—his crowning achievement—he’d also been a notorious ladies’ man who’d famously broken up more than one marriage, most notably that of the mayor.

My mother gave me a look that threatened to incinerate me—if I could still burn—and said, “James Randolph Perry brought civilization to this town, and I’m proud to be taking part in the Founder’s Day masquerade ball. Even if you did not see fit to respond to my invitation. Most people would think themselves lucky to get an invitation to a sold-out event.”

Apparently most of the employees at Lisman and Freud felt the same way, but I’d thrown it into the trash.

I didn’t exactly have the time or money to prepare for a formal masquerade ball. Or the energy to spend all evening listening to people telling tales about the great James Randolph Perry, who’d held the first annual masquerade ball in celebration of his donation of the museum to the town.

No, thanks.

I opened my mouth, trying to think of an excuse on the fly, when Cyn surprised me by saying, “I’m going. It looks like it’s going to be excellent this year, Gertrude.”

News to me. I shot her a look, and she shrugged.

As if they were playing musical chairs, Nana Stella came back from the bathroom and Harriet excused herself. As soon as she was out of earshot, my mother said, “You really need to have Harriet checked for anorexia. Or is it bulimia?”

“What?” I gasped.

Nana Stella snorted.

“That girl is rail-thin. She’s barely touched the food on her plate, and now she’s gone to the bathroom?” Her brow rose in what she probably thought was a significant look.

“She’s a dancer, Mom,” I said, wondering why I was bothering to contradict her. My mother believed what she wanted to believe. Still, I wasn’t going to let her make false assumptions about my daughter. “And she doesn’t like lamb. She’s told you that a million times.”

“Then why is she in the bathroom?”

“Grandma,” Jack said in an exasperated tone, “maybe she has to pee.”

Harriet was back a few seconds later, wearing a smug smile as she took her seat. “Exactly,” she said, confirming she’d heard at least part of the conversation about her grandmother’s “concerns.” “Grandma Gertrude, Mom said you hosted a fundraiser dinner for the mayor’s reelection. How’d it go?”

My mother beamed, then regaled us with tales about all the notable people in Perry’s Fall who had attended. “Anyone who’s anyone was at the party.”

“I wasn’t there,” Nana said.

Jack lifted his fork toward her, using it as a pointer. “Good point, Nana.”

My mother rolled her eyes. “Everyone in politics.”

“I didn’t realize you’d gotten into politics, Gertrude,” Cyn said. “When did that come about?”

My mother gave her a look of forced patience. “My fundraising was instrumental in helping Mayor Harless win the last election. I’m hoping to help her just as much this time around.”

“Why didn’t you invite me to your party?” Jack asked.

My mother’s eyes widened in excitement. “I didn’t know you were interested in politics or local government, Jack.”

“Oh, I’m not interested in politics,” he said. “My civics class went to City Hall last fall and we got to meet her in person. Mayor Harless is hot.”

My mother’s cheeks pinkened. “Well, she is a former beauty queen.”

“Once you’re a beauty queen, aren’t you always a beauty queen?” Cyn asked.

“She wasn’t wearing her sash and crown,” Jack said through a mouth full of food.

My mother shot him a dark look, but he was too busy looking at his plate to notice.

“It’s called a tiara,” I said. “And most beauty queens only wear them the year they’re a queen.” I flash him a wry smile. “Hence, she wouldn’t be wearing it during her official mayoral duties.”

“Is she nice?” Harriet asked.

“She’s very witty,” Mom said. “And she has big plans for Perry’s Fall.”

“I heard she was running unopposed,” Cyn said, “so why did you need to host a fundraising party?”

“She still had to run a campaign,” my mother said as though Cyn had asked the most ridiculous question.

“Well, I know she plans to make things harder for small business owners,” Cyn said.

My mother rolled her eyes. “A one percent sales tax increase will hardly hurt businesses.”

“But if it goes through, it’ll be the second tax increase in three years, and I haven’t seen any of the improvements she promised when she was first elected.”

“She’s running into trouble with the county,” Mom said. “She can’t be blamed for that.”

“Maybe she should have figured out the logistics before she took our money,” Cyn said.

My mother shot daggers at her. “I hope you won’t feel the need to mention it to her at the masquerade ball. If so, I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention your connection to my daughter.”

Cyn shot her a look that screamed “no promises.”

Oh dear. Maybe I should go just to keep Cyn in line.

The food was good, but Harriet didn’t eat much on principle. Nana Stella headed into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine from the wine fridge, and came back with a bottle tucked under her arm and a cake stand balanced precariously in her hands. It held a perfectly layered chocolate cake with shaved chocolate sprinkles. “Look what I found.”

My grandmother set the stand in an open spot in front of my mother.

“I’ll get the plates,” Nana Stella said happily.

“You can’t just bring out the cake!” my mother protested. “There’s an order to how things are done, Mother!”

The two bickered as they carried the dinner plates to the kitchen. I felt guilty for not helping, but I needed a moment to clear my head. I’d come here hoping for two things—information and financial help for the kids. Then again, asking in front of the kids was a terrible idea. Which meant this dinner was a total wash.

Harriet picked up her fork and gave me a grin. “That looks sinful.”

Cyn laughed. “Then I definitely need some.”

She snatched up her fork too as though Harriet were about to finish it off in one bite.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned, swiveling my head to give them both a pointed look.

“Grandma’s not going to give you what you want, so there’s no need for you to try staying on her good side,” Harriet said in an I told you so voice.

It took a second for her words to sink in. “What are you talking about?”

Elena leaned forward and turned her head to face me. “You want to know about Great-Grandma Sylvia. Nana Stella mustn’t have told you anything, so you went to Grandma Gertrude.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Jack said, his attention focused on his phone. “You haven’t been very subtle.”

“Fat lot of good it did me,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Harriet said, lowering her fork as my mother swept back into the room. “There are other ways of getting information.”

The gleam in her eye suggested she was up to something, but my mother had returned with the stack of dessert plates. She set them on the table and moved the cake closer to her—and farther from Cyn’s and Harriet’s forks.

“Nana Stella is making coffee.” Mom glanced up and held my gaze. “Decaf. I noticed your dark circles.”

I nearly laughed. Mom didn’t think I got enough sleep, which was true, but it was such a minor problem compared to the rest of the issues I was facing.

“Is decaf even real coffee?” Jack asked with a hint of attitude.

“It most certainly is,” my mother pronounced in a regal voice, “but you will not be having any. You are far too young.”

Jack lifted his gaze and smirked at me, dropping his phone in his lap. “But I go to Starbu—”

“To school every day after a good night’s sleep,” I interjected with a forced smile. “Rest is as important as diet for an athlete.”

My mother shot Harriet a determined look. “Yes, Harriet. A well-balanced diet is essential to your growth and brain development.”

Harriet burst out laughing, then said, “I’ll keep that in mind, Grandma.”

Mom didn’t look amused, but she just heaved a long-suffering sigh and turned her attention to slicing up the cake and passing out plates.

Nana Stella had just returned carrying a tray with the coffee and cups when my mother’s doorbell sounded: a multi-bell chime that played “Clair de Lune.” I’d suggested it might be a tad much, but Mom had said she wasn’t going to hear “Away Down South in Dixie” every time someone came to her door. The conversation had devolved after that, and I knew it was pointless to suggest that she get a simple doorbell that just chimed a tone. She didn’t need a symphony every time someone dropped by.

Mom’s brow furrowed. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

Harriet practically leapt from her chair. “I’ll get it.”

My mother watched her rush from the room with a dark look in her eyes. Gertrude Tinsley wasn’t a stupid woman, and she knew Harriet was up to something. I only wished I knew what it was so I could prepare for the fallout.

Less than ten seconds later, Harriet returned with a new guest, my cousin Ella Hughes—my father’s brother’s daughter.

She stopped at the entrance to the dining room, her intense violet eyes sweeping the space. Ella was a reporter for an investigative reporting website, and nothing escaped her notice. Which could be either really good or really bad, all things considered.

“Ella.” My mother’s back was ramrod stiff and her voice was icy. “What a surprise.”

“A little birdie told me there was a party,” she said, walking around me as she slipped off her coat and hung it over the back of the chair between me and Cyn. She dropped her large messenger bag on the floor with a heavy thud and took a seat. “Looks like I missed dinner, but I’m glad I made it for dessert.” She turned to me and winked. “Hey, cousin.”

“It’s good to see you, Ella,” I said, meaning every word. Ella and I hadn’t been close growing up—my mother had disliked Ella’s mother with a passion—and while Ella and I had made small efforts to invite each other to major life events, we’d never spent much time one-on-one. I’d been busy as a mother with three kids and Ella had been juggling her career, her husband, and her now-grown son.

“Likewise.” The twinkling of her eyes told me she was still prone to mischief, and it seemed obvious Harriet had been the “birdie” who’d brought her here.

“Ella,” Mom said in a tight voice with an equally tight smile. My mother hated Ella’s mother, ergo, she detested Ella. I thought the feud was ridiculous, even more so because it had torn my dad and his brother apart, but that was my mother. When she made up her mind about something, it was nearly impossible to change it. In this case, she’d decided Ella’s mom was insufferable because she’d worn the same shade of persimmon to a fall party. No one had been able to convince her it was unintentional. I privately thought she’d been jealous because my aunt’s dress had been more fashionable. “Seems like you’d have some big story to cover instead of spending your time here,” she added.

“So you’ve been following my career, eh?” Ella asked as she intercepted a plate of cake that was being passed down Cyn’s side of the table. “Did you see the piece I did on City Hall?”

My mother hesitated before slicing another piece of cake. “No. I don’t follow fake news.”

Her hesitation told me that she had seen the story. She just didn’t want to admit it.

“I’m currently working on a story about the mayor’s reelection,” Ella said, digging into her cake with gusto. “I hear you had a fundraiser dinner for her here at the house.”

My mother locked eyes with my cousin, giving her a look that would send most people running for cover, but Ella only grinned and licked chocolate frosting off the tines of her fork.

Nana Stella leaned forward and turned her attention to my cousin. “Ella. So good to see you. How are your parents?”

“They’re great, Nana Stella,” my cousin said. Nana had always told my friends and my cousin they should consider her their grandmother too. I’d spent many hours wondering how my mother and her mother could be related. In the end, I’d chalked it up to one of life’s great mysteries.

“Tell them I said hello,” my grandmother said.

“I definitely will,” Ella said. “My mother’s quite fond of you.”

I nearly burst out laughing. Shots fired.

“So is that why you’re here?” my mother asked, passing down the last plate and folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“To exchange greetings with Nana Stella?” Ella asked. “No. That was pure bonus.”

“No,” my mother barked, looking dangerously close to losing control. “Are you here about my dinner for Mayor Harless?”

“No,” Ella said, scooping another piece of cake onto her fork. “I’m here to see Darcie.” She turned to me. “We haven’t seen each other for a while, but I heard you unloaded the giant Dick. Good for you.”

I choked on my wine and Cyn burst out laughing.

“Ella!” my mother shouted.

I would have been laughing right along with Cyn if my kids hadn’t been present to hear it. Ella quickly realized her faux pas. “Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “I shouldn’t have said that in front of you guys, but sometimes part of growing up is hearing hard things about your parents.” She looked Jack dead in the eyes. “And a man who cheats on his wife and family is pond scum.”

Jack lifted his chin, his jaw set. “Agreed.”

“Ditto,” Harriet said with a nod, and the glance she exchanged with Ella suggested they’d discussed this before.

When had that happened?

Elena remained silent.

“Richard is still their father,” my mother said, her voice shaking with anger, “which means he deserves their respect.”

“Deserves their respect?” Ella said, her brows shooting to her hairline. “No one deserves respect. Not even parents. We earn it. Darcie earned hers by always being there for her kids. For picking up the pieces after Big Dick ran off to go f—”

“Okay,” Cyn said, trying to hold in her laughter. “We get the point. Little ears.”

“I’ve heard worse on the school bus,” Elena said.

“You’ve upset her,” my mother said, patting Elena’s hand. Her expression hardened, and this time she didn’t attempt to hide it with any false pleasantries. “You always did like to stir up trouble, Ella.”

“Just keepin’ it real,” my cousin said, polishing off the last of her cake. Turning to Harriet, she said, “Most women wait until they turn forty to find their lady balls, like it’s some magical second puberty, but there’s nothing keeping you girls from finding them early.” She pointed her fork at them. “Do not take shit from men. Especially cheating men.”

Elena studied her with curiosity, and Harriet nodded as though she were Ella’s bright-eyed disciple.

“That’s quite enough,” Mom snapped. “Men make mistakes. We must learn how to forgive. You don’t throw the bathwater out with the baby, Darcie.”

Leave it to my mother to throw the baby out first.

She’d always taken Richard’s side, right from the beginning of our marriage. Every rocky patch we’d encountered, she’d pushed me to stay with him, telling me that relationships take work and that Tinsleys weren’t quitters. But something had changed…I had changed. Over the past six months, I’d decided that my happiness mattered. That I mattered. Even if Richard “came to his senses,” I would never take him back, because I’d been unhappy for years, and obviously, so had he. We were moving on to different phases of our lives. Separately. The fact that she kept pushing me toward a man who’d treated me so poorly—one who was clearly done with this family—wounded me deeply.

I stood and picked up my plate and wine glass. “I think I’ll take this to the kitchen.”

Before anyone could stop me, I hurried off into my mother’s marble kitchen fortress and rinsed my plate off in the sink.

“Sorry I stirred the pot, Darcie,” Ella said from behind me, carrying her empty plate and a wine glass.

I turned at the waist to face her. “You were a distraction—a good one. I presume Harriet was your little birdie?”

“I never reveal my sources,” she teased as she walked over to me. “But I do have a weakness for getting Aunt Gertrude riled up.”

I laughed and turned back to the sink. Dirty dishes were piled on the counter, and before I realized what I was doing, I started rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher.

“How are you doing after the divorce?” she asked quietly.

“As well as can be expected considering my husband of twenty years moved in with his twenty-two-year-old TA.” I gave her a pointed look. “She was literally an infant when we got married.”

“Bastard,” she said.

I sighed as I scrubbed a plate with a dish brush. “You know, I understand that he was unhappy, but why did he have to cheat? Why couldn’t he just leave and then find someone else?”

“Because most men don’t work that way,” she said. “At this age, they don’t want to be alone, so they won’t leave until they have the next best thing lined up.”

I nodded. There was no arguing with that.

“Sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me, Darce.”

“It’s fine,” I said, placing a plate in the dishwasher. “There’ve been occasions when I wasn’t there for you either. We didn’t get much practice when we were kids.”

“It’s not too late to change that,” she said. “We should get together for lunch next week.”

I stopped and turned back to her. “I’d like that.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling with another telltale look of mischief.

Shaking my head, I chuckled and picked up a half-empty wine glass. I was about to dump it out when a familiar rush of heat flooded my body.

“Oh, no.”

This could not be happening. My kids were in the next room.

“Darcie, what’s wrong?” Ella asked.

Tears sprang to my eyes, but I remained frozen in indecision. Did I run outside and hope I incinerated something expendable like my mother’s trellis? Or did I stay here and try to control it?

I nearly laughed. Try to control it? Was I crazy?

The heat rose up faster than before, and this time I paid attention as it raced through my arms and into my hands. The glass in my hand began to glow like blown glass and the wine began to boil.

“Uh… Darcie…”

I concentrated the heat into the glass and the wine caught fire, like a flambé dessert, flames shooting up into the air.

Ella jumped back and ran away.

Weird, I’d never considered her to be the running-from-danger type, but then seconds later, I heard a blast of air and both my hand and wine glass were covered in foam from the small fire extinguisher Ella was pointing at me.

“What’s going on out there?” my mother called out in disapproval. “What’s that strange noise?”

“Nothing, Aunt Gertie,” Ella said, watching my hand, presumably to see if the flames would erupt again.

“We’re fine,” I said, surprised I had the wits to speak.

The hot flash was gone—a shorter one this time.

Ella set the extinguisher on the counter, neither of us saying anything for several long seconds.

I set the now warped and elongated glass in the sink, then turned on the faucet to wash the foam off my hand. The glass sizzled as the water splashed onto it. My hand was completely unmarked.

“What the hell just happened, Darcie?” Ella hissed in a whisper.

I was about to deny that anything had happened, but she was no fool, and she’d seen it with her own eyes.

“Oh, my god,” she said, reaching for my arm. “How badly are you burned?”

“I’m not burned at all.” I let her tug my arm and examine my hand.

“But you just held molten glass…How…” Her eyes flew wide. “What the hell is going on, Darcie?”

“That, Ella, is the question of the year.”

Chapter Thirteen

Part of me wanted to confide in her, but I couldn’t decide whether I should. My mind was on overload, and my whole system was twitchy with anxiety.

“I have to go.” I turned around to head toward the dining room.

“Darcie, wait.” Ella started to reach for me, only to jerk her hand back.

She was scared to touch me, not that I blamed her. I was scared of me too.

I hurried to the dining room. “Thank you for a fascinating dinner, Mother, but we’re ready to go. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over,” Nana Stella said, then slugged down the rest of the wine like it was a shot.

Sucking in a deep breath, I propped my hands on my hips. “Kids, time to go.”

“You can’t leave now,” my mother said, getting to her feet. “We didn’t have our scheduled family conversation in the parlor!”

“Harriet’s not feeling well,” Jack said. “Maybe it was something she didn’t eat.”

Harriet covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggles, although I wasn’t sure why she bothered. Everyone heard them quite clearly.

My children got up from the table, although Elena seemed reluctant to leave. I could tell from her expression she was worried about leaving my mother alone after the spectacular way dinner had unraveled.

“Mom,” I said, “maybe you and Elena can go out to tea next weekend.”

Elena’s face lit up and my offer seemed to have caught my mother by surprise. “Yes,” she said slowly, then warmed up to the idea. “I’d love that.” She turned to Elena and squeezed her hand. “We’ll dress up and I’ll take you to the tea house. I’ll teach you the proper way to drink tea, and we’ll have those pretty little cakes.”

Elena smiled back at her. “I’d love that, Grandma.”

“Great,” I said, backing up toward the living room. “We’ll talk about the logistics this week. Let’s go, kids.”

“What’s that smell?” Harriet asked, sniffing.

Cyn took a big sniff. “I smell a faint hint of smoke.”

She gave me a horrified look, and I saw her hand reach into her pocket. Was she carrying around her small notebook?

I could feel Ella staring at me with her super-observant eyes.

“Everything is fine,” I said, “but it’s definitely time to go.” Before anyone could argue with me, I turned around and headed to the entryway, picking up my purse and my coat and opening the front door.

Just as I was about to make my escape, my mother shouted my name. I glanced back to see her standing in the entrance to the foyer…holding the melted wine glass. Which looked like a glass dildo.

Oh. Crap.

Why hadn’t I thought to hide the evidence?

“What is this?” she demanded, her sharp gaze scanning the lot of us. “Is this a bong?”

A bong?

There was a moment of awkward silence. I suspected my older kids were shocked their prim and proper grandmother knew what a bong was yet didn’t recognize the shape of a sex toy, because I wasn’t naïve enough to believe they were equally ignorant.

“Which one of you was smoking weed in my kitchen?” my mother demanded, her cheeks flushed with fury.

“No one smokes weed anymore,” Jack said, choking back laughter. “Not anyone cool, anyway. And definitely not with…that. Besides, when would we have had time to smoke it? We walked in and went straight to dinner.”

My mother focused on Harriet. “You left the room. Darcie, perhaps you should pay more attention to what your latchkey children are doing after school.”

Harriet released a bitter laugh. “You think I’d put that crap in my lungs? No, thank you. And besides, Mom and Ella were in the kitchen a lot longer than I was gone from the table.”

My daughter had just thrown me under the bus.

For good measure, she added, “And remember? There was a funny smell.”

Then she walked to the front door and waited with her hand on the handle.

It was a hit and run.

“That’s mine,” Nana Stella said, stepping forward to take it from her stunned daughter. “I can’t believe I left it on the kitchen counter.”

“It was in the sink,” my mother said, starting to regain her senses.

“Oops. See, kids? Don’t smoke weed or you’ll suffer memory loss. But I’m going to need this later,” Nana said, stuffing the distended glass into her purse. “Come on, Darcie,” she said as she scuttled for the front door. “I’ve got some partyin’ to do when I get home.”

All eyes turned to me for answers, the kids barely suppressing their laughter. Of course, I had more answers than they knew, but I wasn’t about to admit to it. The real question was why my grandmother had stepped up and taken the blame.

“Really, Darcie,” my mother snapped, her eyes blazing.

“Why are you blaming me?” I asked, hoping my guilt didn’t show on my face.

“Gambling. Drinking. Doing drugs,” she spat out. “Mother never did such things when she lived with me.”

“Maybe she was ready to live a little after being trapped in your rule-guided hell,” I said, then instantly regretted it. Not only was it hurtful, but I’d set a terrible example for my children.

“Mom,” I said, my tone softening. “That was uncalled for.”

“I should say,” she said in a stiff voice.

“I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean it.”

She gave a stiff nod.

Not knowing how to fix this, I hurried out, the kids following behind like baby ducks.

Nana Stella and Cyn were waiting for us on the sidewalk. Ella soon joined us, and from the look she gave me, I knew she wasn’t going to let this go. Not that I would have expected any different.

“I’m sorry for that ugly display of my temper,” I said.

Elena wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me tightly. “Grandma shouldn’t have accused Harriet of doing something bad.”

I could hear the pain in her voice. For some reason she worshipped my mother, and her grandmother had dabbed some tarnish on her shiny image tonight.

“She was wrong to do that,” I said. “But perhaps she was concerned for Harriet’s welfare.”

Ella released a short cough, and the glare Harriet shot me let me know exactly what she thought of that.

What a disaster.

“I’ve got a headache,” I told them all. “I’m going to head home. Jack, are you good with taking Nana Stella?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking confused.

I opened my car door. “Great. Thank you. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow, Cyn.”

And I got into my car and drove away.

Chapter Fourteen

I wasn’t lying about the headache, but the pain in my head was nothing compared to my confusion and fear. The worst part about it was that I didn’t know how to get answers, and I didn’t have the time to search like I should. If this had happened twenty years ago, when I didn’t have any responsibilities other than going to college classes, it would have been easy to pour myself into finding out what I needed to know. But I was forty-two, the newly divorced mother of three children, and I had both a full-time job and a side hustle. I barely had time to shower, let alone unravel the mysteries of the supernatural.

I didn’t feel safe to be around anyone else, plus I didn’t have the energy, so I sequestered myself in my room. Harriet and Elena came in to check on me and found me lying on my bed in my dark bedroom, watching Netflix.

“Are you okay, Mommy?” Elena asked as she stared down at me.

“It’s just like I told you, I have a bad headache and I need to rest.”

“Hangovers cause headaches.”

I nearly laughed, but the serious look in her eyes stopped me. “I had a few sips of wine to appease your grandma, not nearly enough to give me a buzz, let alone a hangover.” I took both of her hands in mine. “I’m not an alcoholic, Elena, but if you like, we can dump out every bottle of alcohol in the house.”

Her forehead furrowed, and then she shook her head. “No. That’s okay. Deep down I know you’re not. I’m just so…”

“Anxious?”

She nodded.

I pulled her down and hugged her tight. “There’s nothing to be scared of, baby. You go get some rest. You can pack for Dad’s tomorrow.”

She pulled back and looked down at me. “I already packed after school.”

Of course she had. “I love you, Elena.”

The divorce had made her grow up faster than she should have. I hated that, but it was one more thing I was powerless to change. It hurt knowing my mother probably blamed me for that too.

“I love you too, Mom,” she said, then gave me a kiss on the cheek before she left.

“Was there another fire, Mom?” Harriet asked as soon as her little sister walked out of the room.

I considered telling her the truth, but I didn’t want to scare her. The kids were supposed to go to their father’s house in the morning, so I’d hopefully have time to dig deep and figure out what was going on. No point in frightening her before I did that.

“Did you see a fire?” I teased.

“No,” she said. “But I smelled smoke.”

“That was probably Ella. She accidentally burned something on Grandma’s stove.” I hated lying to her, but I suspected she’d refuse to leave if she knew the truth. I needed time to figure this out, and I also needed to know the kids were safe while I did that.

She sat on the edge of my bed and looked deep into my eyes. “I’m scared.”

I reached out and scooped her hand in mine, squeezing. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Something just feels off. It all started the night of your boss’s house fire, and then when I saw your hair…” She shook her head. “It makes no sense, but I just have this ominous feeling that something is about to happen.”

I forced a chuckle and squeezed again. “The only thing that’s going to happen is that Logan’s going to ask you to the winter formal and we’ll be shopping for the perfect dress for you.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure that’s going to happen. He was all business in science lab. Definitely no flirting.”

“Well, maybe he had something on his mind. Or maybe he’s not interested, but that’s okay. You’ll find someone worthy of you. In the meantime, don’t settle for anything less.”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Mom.”

I laughed and another round of pain shot through my head. I winced, then said, “I know, I know, but trust me on this one, okay?”

“Okay.” She studied me for a moment. “I love you, Mom. I’m not sure what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, but if something did, you’d be sad, and you’d grieve, but you’d be okay.”

Tears filled her eyes.

Sitting up, I gently grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes. “Stop worrying, Ettie.” I used her childhood nickname hoping it would help my message sink in. “I’m fine. You just focus on school, and dance, and your weekend with Dad.”

She made a face. “Do we really have to go?”

I hesitated, then said, “You’re sixteen, so your father can’t force you and Jack to stay with him, but Elena still has to go. I’m sure she’d like it if you and your brother came too. And while your father may have…” Imploded our lives? Spent more time on his new life and had forgotten his kids in the process? Thought with the junk in his pants and not his heart? “…chosen a different path,” I said diplomatically, “he’s still your father and he wants his time with you.”

“Yeah,” she snarled. “So he can stick it to you.” She got off the bed, clearly frustrated.

Stick it to me? Did Richard have some kind of vendetta against me? How could he? I’d given him practically everything he’d asked for. “You don’t have to go, Harriet,” I said emphatically. “I meant what I said. It’s your choice, just like it’s Jack’s choice.”

“But you want us to go,” she said, her voice stiff.

If they didn’t go, Richard would accuse me of manipulating them, which made this whole situation almost laughable. And I also needed the time to figure everything out. “I want you to be happy, Harriet. All I’m saying is maybe there’s a compromise there. If you and Jack decide not to go, let me know, and I’ll just tell your dad to pick up Elena.”

The tears in her eyes threatened to spill over, and my heart broke that she was stuck in this situation. I wanted to spare her from pain, but there was no sparing her from the dissolution of her family. All the more reason to keep the fires from her for now.

“I love you, Harriet. With all my heart. Maybe sleep on it and decide in the morning. I can even drop Elena off on my way to work if Jack stays home.”

“Nikki’s making you work on a Saturday?” she asked in horror.

“No, I’m working at the coffee shop tomorrow.” I planned to go to the library before my shift, but no need for her to know that.

Worry lines creased her forehead. “To pay for the dress.”

Dresses, but I wasn’t telling her that. “That and other things.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Katherine asked me if I’d like to help teach a couple of beginner classes. She says I’ll get a free class for every class I help teach.”

I almost told her no. She was at the studio five to six days a week as it was, and I had no idea how she kept her 4.16 GPA. Now she wanted to add a job on top of it? But the responsibility might do her good, and she loved dance and little kids. She’d thoroughly enjoy helping with the classes, not to mention it would help ease her guilt about how much money I paid for her passion.

I gave her a tight smile, feeling like I’d failed her somehow. “That sounds great, Harriet. I think you’ll be a wonderful asset to Katherine.”

Her face lit up. Sixteen was such a mercurial age.

“But let’s discuss the logistics tomorrow,” I said. “After I sleep off my headache.”

She left, and a minute later, there was a rap on my door.

“It’s open,” I said, presuming one of the girls had come back to touch base again, but my grandmother walked in holding a red velvet bag with a corded drawstring.

I sat up and offered her a pained smile. “Hey, Nana.”

“I have something for you,” she said, taking a hesitant step closer as if trying to decide whether she actually wanted to give it to me. It seemed touch and go for a moment, but she gave a sharp nod and closed the distance to the bed, setting the bag down with a shaky hand.

Nana was far from frail, so her hand tremors concerned me.

Her fingers fumbled with the knot of the drawstring, and I almost offered to help her, but the determination in her eyes stopped me. Once she got the string unknotted, she reached into the bag and pulled out a patinaed silver object with a bas-relief on the back. She held on to it for a moment before handing it to me.

“This was my mother’s. She said it had been passed down from her mother and so on.”

It was a hand mirror, only the glass in the mirror was so old and smoky it was impossible to see my reflection.

“Don’t you want to keep this, Nana?” I asked. It was obviously very precious to her.

“No,” she said, but it looked like she was trying to convince herself more than me. “I think it might help you.”

I turned it over to study the image on the back—a young woman wearing a Grecian tunic. Judging from the trees in the background and the flowers at her feet, she was standing in a garden. A small bird was perched on her outstretched hand as she looked up to the sky.

My gaze lifted to hers in confusion.

“My mother believed her future was tied to that mirror.”

“To the mirror?” I asked in confusion.

She gave a sharp nod. “It sounds…unlikely, but maybe it has something to do with what’s happening to you.” A sly grin lifted her lips, and she reached into the bag and pulled out the melted wine glass. “I figured you’d want this back too.”

Was Nana about to confront me about melting the glass?

She gave me a sly grin. “I can’t say I’d blame you for smoking weed with your cousin to take the edge off dinner. If it were actually a bong. Your mother could drive a Pentecostal to drink.” She winked and tossed the bag on the bed. “I think you need this more than I do. I’m sure you know what to do with it.”

She turned and walked out the door, leaving me torn between trying to figure out the significance of the mirror and dwelling over the fact my grandmother thought I needed an orgasm.

There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to wash that thought out.

Chapter Fifteen

I checked on Elena once I was out of bed, but she was already up and dressed. “Jack still says he’s not going, so I’m going to drop you off at Dad’s.”

“Okay.” She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands on her lap, looking so forlorn it made my heart ache.

I pressed my lips together, guilt stabbing me deep in the heart. Maybe I should have let Richard stay. Sure, we were both miserable, but our kids had been mostly oblivious. If I’d just sucked it up and dealt with it, Elena wouldn’t be unhappy now.

Forcing a smile, I said, “If you give me a few minutes to get ready, I’ll make you chocolate chip pancakes before we go.”

“That’s okay, Mommy. Daddy said we’d go out to breakfast since it’ll just be the three of us.”

“You and I haven’t had a good chat in ages,” I said, forcing a brightness into my tone that I didn’t feel. “What do you say you come into my bathroom and talk to me while I get ready?”

Her dark brown eyes gazed up at me and she nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”

She followed me into my bathroom and sat behind me on the edge of the tub as I started to put on my makeup.

“I bet you were sad to leave Grandma’s so early last night.”

She shrugged, but her frown was confirmation I was right.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I know Grandma will love taking you to tea. In fact, I’m surprised neither one of us thought of it before.”

“Why do you and Grandma fight so much?”

I sucked in a breath, knowing I had to tread carefully with my answer. “Grandma and I didn’t get along much when I was a kid. She was always busy with work, and her charities, and my father. We didn’t spend much time together, to be honest.”

“But you work and volunteer at the homeless shelter once a month, and Daddy used to live with us. You’ve always found time for us.”

I nodded, then started to swipe on my foundation. “Some people are meant to be parents,” I said. “They’re nurturing and loving, and they make great parents.”

“Like you,” she said matter-of-factly.

I spun at the waist to face her, placing my non-makeup-covered hand on my chest. “That has to be one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

She frowned in confusion. “But it’s the truth. You’re a great mother. Even Breanne says so. Her mom is always on her phone and never pays attention to her.”

Breanne was Elena’s best friend, but I realized I hadn’t heard much about her lately. Hadn’t seen her for a few weeks either. “Why haven’t I seen Bree here for dinner and sleepovers?”

Elena looked down. “She’s been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“She found a new friend to play video games with.”

“Why haven’t you been playing video games?” I asked, turning around completely to face her.

“Because video games are for kids.”

There was so much wrong with that statement, I wasn’t sure where to start. “Jack plays video games.”

She gave me a pointed look.

“Lots of grown-ups play video games. There are tournaments for grown-ups who play video games. Remember when Dad took Jack, Jeremy, and Brayden to that tournament in Chicago last spring?”

A cloud crossed over her eyes. “That was before Daddy left.”

Well, crap.

I sat down on the side of the tub next to her. “You do know that you’re still a kid, right? You’re only eleven.”

“Declan said that when parents get divorced, they find boyfriends and girlfriends and then they don’t pay attention to their kids anymore. So the kids have to take care of themselves.”

I scowled. “I take it that Declan’s parents are divorced and he knows this from firsthand experience?”

She nodded, keeping her gaze on her lap, and tugged on the hem of her shirt.

I picked up her hand and held on tight, waiting for her to look up at me. “Elena, you and your brother and sister are the most important things in the world to me. The only thing I wanted in the divorce was you guys. Sure, I wanted the house and our things so you guys could keep your home, but if I’d been given the choice of all our things or you, I would have chosen you without hesitation. Why would I replace you with a boyfriend?”

She stared up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know.”

“That’s because I wouldn’t.” I paused. “Is this because of my date the other night?”

She glanced down. “Daddy found a girlfriend and we only see him twice a month. If you find a boyfriend, I might never see you either.”

“That isn’t going to happen, sweetie. First of all, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I only went out with Parker because I hadn’t been on a first date in over two decades. I’m not really that interested in him, and even if I were, you guys are still the most important people in the world to me. Always will be.”

She nodded, but I could see I hadn’t completely convinced her. Then she changed the subject. “Do you think Grandma didn’t want to be a mother?”

“I…uh…” I stammered, trying to figure out what to say. “I think my mother wanted other things, but back then, having children was part of being married. It was expected.”

“Is that why she only had you?”

“I’m not sure if she would have had more children or not,” I said. “But I was an emergency birth—my placenta tore away from her uterine wall—and they had to remove her uterus when they delivered me in an emergency C-section.” I paused, considering, then added, “A uterus is where babies grow.”

She groaned. “I know, Mom. We’ve already had the talk.”

“Well, to be fair,” I said in a teasing tone, “Harriet had the talk too, but she thought boys only had one testicle until she mentioned it at the grocery store. Then she and Jack discussed testicles and the anatomy of scrotal sacs while we shopped in the frozen food aisles. And that was only two years ago.” The looks we had gotten from the other customers…

Grinning, she looked up at me. “Sometimes Harriet is more book-smart than street-smart.”

Elena had a point, but I also didn’t want my daughters being street-smart about scrotal sacs. At least not yet.

“I don’t think Grandma would have had more kids,” she said. “She told me that she had you because Grandpa wanted a baby. So she gave him one.”

When had my mother told her that?

“I think Grandma likes me more grown-up,” she continued. “That’s why she’s so much nicer to me than to Harriet and Jack.”

I gnawed on my lower lip, mulling over her statement. “So you’re acting more grown-up so Grandma will like you?”

“No. But it’s kind of nice that she does.”

Maybe it was time to take Elena back to the therapist. I was feeling out of my league.

I got up and started on my eye makeup, sneaking glances at my daughter in the mirror.

“You know, I looked up Great-Grandma Sylvia after we came home last night,” she said.

I froze, holding her gaze in the mirror. “You did? Why?”

“Because you’re interested in her.”

I spun around again. This was so wrong, yet I couldn’t help asking, “Did you find anything?”

While I’d done a few searches of my own, I hadn’t found much.

“No, but there might be something on microfiche if we go to the Perry’s Fall library. I know she died in a fire, but we need to find out the date. I can ask Grandma Gertrude if you like.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll see if Nana Stella will tell me. Worst-case scenario, we’ll go to the courthouse and look up her death certificate.”

“Do you want to know about her because of the fire at Nikki’s house?”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved I wasn’t lying. “I do.”

She nodded but didn’t ask more questions.

I quickly finished getting ready. Then we headed to Richard’s apartment across town, which was within walking distance of the university. When we pulled into the parking lot, Elena said she could walk up to his apartment on her own, but I had to admit that I was curious. The last time I’d been here was a few weeks after he’d moved in. At the time, it had been sparsely furnished. Tiffany had moved in since then, and the kids had told me she’d finished decorating.

As I walked by his shiny dark gray Mustang, I resisted the urge to run my key down the side of it. I wasn’t normally prone to violence—Jack hadn’t pegged me wrong when he’d said I was usually nice to everyone—but the past few days with my kids had been painful for all involved, and Richard was living in la-la land, pretending to be twenty-five again. No, I wouldn’t key Richard’s shiny new car, but I hoped it wouldn’t bring me too much bad karma to hope that someone else would.

Richard had admired this building for years, so it hadn’t surprised me one bit when he’d moved here—high rent and all—but it had surprised me to learn he’d chosen a unit on the second floor. The building didn’t have an elevator, and Richard had a bum knee from a running accident about ten years before. He always hated climbing the stairs up to the single bedroom and bath upstairs—the old rec room for the kids, which was now Nana Stella’s room. I couldn’t help smiling to myself as we climbed the stairs now. I’d bet he’d ended up hating it.

“Why are you smiling, Mommy?”

I tried to temper my grin. “I’m just in a good mood today.”

“Why are you still wearing your hair up?” she asked. “People will probably think your stripe is cool.”

I could only imagine what Richard would say, which was incentive to take it down, but Elena and the twins still thought I only had one stripe. Oh crap. I hadn’t checked to see if there was a third one after last night’s incident.

Elena rapped on the door and a fresh-faced woman opened it, her face beaming. “Elena!”

“Hey, Tiffany,” said my daughter, casting a glance back at me, and I realized she felt conflicted over her loyalty to me and her relationship with Richard’s Lolita.

Tiffany’s gaze lifted to me and the color drained from her face. “Darcie.”

“Elena,” I said, my voice stiff. “Why don’t you go inside?”

My daughter gave me a long look, worry filling her eyes.

Leaning over, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and an encouraging smile. “It’s okay. I just want to talk to Tiffany about Harriet and Jack.”

Elena studied me for a second longer, then glanced up at Tiffany, obviously waiting for permission from her as well.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Tiffany said, cupping her cheek. “I’ve been wanting to talk to your mom too.”

Elena hesitated for a moment before nodding and walking inside. As Tiffany shut the door behind her, I realized that while Elena had been worried about being disloyal to me, she was probably more concerned about Tiffany.

That smarted, but then my goal had been to raise thoughtful, kind people. This meant my efforts had been successful thus far.

Tiffany took a step into the hallway, the door no longer at her back. She probably wanted a quick escape. “Thanks for bringing her over. Richard or I would have been happy to pick her up.”

“Wouldn’t that be Richard’s job?” I asked before I could stop myself. “He is their father, or at least he pretends to be once every other week.”

“I’m happy to help,” she said in a chipper tone, seemingly oblivious to the fact I’d just insulted her boyfriend. Or maybe she’d just ignored it. “I love Richard’s kids.”

“My kids,” I bit out. “I’m the one who carried them in my body and pushed out heads the size of cantaloupes. I’m the one who got up in the middle of the night to nurse them, and I’m the one who cuddled them when they were sick. I’m the one who chauffeured them all to their many, many practices, and I’m the one who made sure they had a home-cooked meal every night. Richard may have provided half their DNA, and he may have pulled off the occasional parenting responsibility, but if we’re comparing how much he’s done for them versus how much I’ve done, I’m guessing they’re only ten to fifteen percent his.”

She started to say something, then stopped. “Darcie, this is a difficult situation for all of us.”

“Did you know?” I asked, seething. Obviously, I’d completely lost any semblance of self-control.

“Know what?” she asked in a whisper, her dark brown eyes wide as saucers. She looked like a raccoon caught red-handed rummaging through a trash can.

“Did you know he was married when you started sleeping with him?” I shook my head and released a bitter laugh. “What am I talking about? Of course you knew. He invited you to our house for the TA dinners.” Richard had hosted a dinner for his TAs every semester. Of course, I’d done all the work—the food, the drinks, the table settings—but he had always provided me with a guest list. She’d been on it for the last two years, but she’d never shown up.

I gasped. How could I have been so stupid? “That’s why you didn’t come. You were sleeping with him even then.” I felt like a piano had been dropped on my head. “You’ve been sleeping with him for over two years.”

Pain filled her eyes and she took a step toward me, holding out her hand—only to realize what she was doing and stop. “Darcie, you should really talk to Richard about this.”

“What did he tell you?” I asked, my voice breaking. “What excuse did he give?”

Her glance shot toward the door and she grimaced before turning back to me. Resignation filled her eyes. “He said your marriage was all but over. That he wanted to leave you but you wouldn’t let him.”

I released a bitter laugh. “And did he stick with that story after he moved out?”

Confusion covered her face.

“That’s not what happened, Tiffany. He lied to us both.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy gulping for breath. “What are you talking about?”

“Our marriage was far from perfect, and yeah,” I said, “we probably should have ended it years ago, but he never once said he wanted to leave. In fact, I was the one who kicked him out after I went to the doctor and found out I had an STI. Since I’ve only slept with one man, I knew where it had come from.”

Her face paled.

“I can see that you’re capable of math,” I said. “Which means, yes, we were still sleeping together. Not often, but at least once a month. So it sounds like he was cheating on us both.” I released a bitter laugh, then sobered. “Tiffany, you seem like a decent girl who bought into a bucket full of bullshit, but don’t feel too bad, because I believed it too. Richard lied to us both, and he screwed us both too.” I shook my head. “You’ve been nothing but kind to my kids, so let me give you a piece of unsolicited advice—run. Run as far away from this man as you can. You deserve better.”

She stared at me in disbelief for several seconds before she stood up straighter, her jaw hardening. “You just want him back.”

I laughed. “Oh…no. Not in a million years. Not if he got on hands and knees and begged. Turns out you did me a huge favor by passing chlamydia to me, because while I’d suspected for months that he was cheating on me, it gave me the fortitude I needed to pull the trigger. So thank you, Tiffany. Thank you for carting out the trash, but I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to keep it indefinitely. Leave it out on the curb where it belongs and find someone who won’t lie and screw around on you.”

Without another word, I turned around and left.

Chapter Sixteen

I was still furious when I pulled into the parking lot of the Perry’s Fall library, so I sat in my car and tried to think happy, peaceful thoughts about baby ducks and fluffy clouds, but in my head, the baby ducks started chasing people and biting their ankles and the clouds became a thunderstorm, creating an F5 tornado and destroying the town.

Better to just go in and try to find more answers.

I hadn’t worked with microfiche since my college days, but a librarian gave me a quick refresher and it didn’t take me long to get into the swing of things. It wasn’t lost on me that Elena could likely do this with her eyes closed, but then she also knew ten times more about my laptop than I did.

I didn’t know what year my great-grandmother had died, but according to Nana it had happened when she was in her mid-thirties, which would have put her mother in her mid to late fifties. Other than that, I only knew it had happened in spring—Nana had once mentioned that the dogwood trees were blooming at her mother’s funeral. I decided to start in January of the first possible year, work my way to the end of May, and then move on to the next year.

The current Perry’s Fall Gazette ignored national news and mostly devoted itself to the happenings in our small city, and my investigation told me things had been much the same fifty years ago. While the weekly paper never had more than thirty to forty pages, it was still tedious work, scrolling through page after page of mostly nonsense articles about county fairs, spelling bees, and prize pigs. There was the occasional burglary and theft, but hardly any major crimes were mentioned. Perry’s Fall drama was relegated to the gossip page and an advice column, both of which were written by Janet Buxton, a name I recognized as Mayor Harless’s grandmother. Janet seemed to have boundary issues, with her advice often bleeding into her gossip.

I’d been at work for over two hours before I found my first useful piece of information in one of Janet’s gossip columns.

You heard it here first. A respected member of society in Perry’s Fall has become a bit of a pyromaniac. Rumor has it ST lit a fire in Hammond Dress Shop on Thursday, and it took a lot of fancy talking by her husband and a local attorney to keep from having charges filed. Rumor also has it that her best friend, DM, was party to the whole thing. Is she a pyro too? Only time will tell.

What a witch.

ST… The initials fit my great-grandmother—Sylvia Trimble—but who was DM?

I went back to search the paper from the previous Friday, thinking I might have missed something, and did the same with the rest of the days leading up to the gossip column. I came up with a big fat nothing, but I wasn’t deterred. It finally felt like I was on the right track.

I’d press on and hope to find more. And I did. Twenty minutes later, I found a one-paragraph article titled “Local Woman Charged with Arson.” It had earned third-page placement exactly one week after Janet’s not-so-subtle accusation in the gossip column. There were no photos or anything else as sensationalistic as the gossip post, but my great-grandmother’s name was listed. The short article said Great-Grandma Sylvia had been charged with arson in relation to a fire at the home of a woman named Alberta Roscoe. My great-grandmother had been released on bail and was awaiting trial.

Two instances of fires. I was lucky I hadn’t gotten into trouble yet, but if things kept up at this pace, it was only a matter of time.

I had about forty minutes before I had to leave, so I pressed on, knowing the house fire couldn’t be too far ahead, but about ten minutes into my search, an article unrelated to my great-grandmother caught my eye—“Founder’s Day Ball to Say Goodbye to Exhibit.”

Founder’s Day Ball?

The annual Perry’s Fall Founder’s Day Ball will mark the final day of the Grecian art exhibit in the Perry Art Museum. The exhibit, which features a stunning array of Hellenistic sculptures and furniture, has been a longtime draw for tourists. The departure was confirmed at a press conference on Tuesday.

“While we’re disappointed to see it go, we’re bound to the law,” said Arthur Gagliano, the museum’s director. He stated that the museum sees an average of five thousand visitors a month, and a large majority come for the exhibit.

“This will be a great loss to Perry’s Fall,” Mayor Charlie Fink said. “We foresee a loss in city revenue but feel confident the city will not only persevere but thrive.”

The article went on to say that there was a reciprocal agreement between Perry’s Fall and Birdsboro, England, that had been set up one hundred and fifty years ago, requiring the city to return the exhibit to the small English town every fifty years. Perry’s Fall had exhausted all legal options to keep the exhibit, a fight they’d lost before. The agreement had been set up by James Randolph Perry after his abrupt departure from the town one hundred and fifty years ago.

The article continued:

James Randolph Perry was a generous philanthropist who contributed so much to our town that the city council decided to rename it Perry’s Fall in his honor. (For those of you who don’t know, it was known as Bearfolk when it was just a trading post town.) He is most notably known for funding the city’s orchestra, the library, a nearby park, and the Perry Art Museum. Perry had the art museum built around the Grecian art exhibit, which he had discovered in a small European town before his relocation to Perry’s Fall. After his move to England, he had legal papers drawn up to establish the bizarre fifty-year travel schedule for the exhibit.

Some people believe the museum was cursed by Perry’s ghost, but that hasn’t deterred the thousands of guests who visit every year.

I sighed. Nor did it deter the museum from holding a yearly masquerade in his honor.

A few days later, Janet had written a scathing gossip column entitled “Philanthropist? More Like Philanderer.”

It’s time this town stops glorifying a known philanderer. The annual Founder’s Day Ball is held in James Perry’s honor, even though it’s a well-known fact that the man was run out of town after having relations with the mayor’s wife. My many-greats-grandmother was there to see the whole thing and the story has been passed down from generation to generation.

That sounded about as reliable as a carnival barker promising a prize.

Perry hosted the first masquerade ball for the elite citizens of Bearfolk. Then the cad had the audacity to give a speech announcing that he’d donated the property to the city, and the city council had in turn honored him by renaming the town Perry Falls. In truth, the name change had been his stipulation. The mayor and a few city council members had fought it, but the rest considered it a small price to pay for the museum.

The story goes that several people at the ball noticed the attention the mayor’s young wife, Clementine, bestowed on Perry that night. Most people thought that was the night their affair started, but the mayor didn’t find them together for another month. Whipping out his shotgun, the mayor chased a pantless Perry out of the house, Clementine chasing after him. The mayor declared that if either one of them showed their faces in town, he’d shoot them himself.

The next day was when the town’s official name change was to be filed with the state, and while the town was legally bound to go through with the name change, a clerk who’d had her eye on the mayor changed the spelling at the last moment. Instead of filing Perry Falls, she submitted it as Perry’s Fall.

She married the mayor a year later.

That woman was my great-great-great-great-grandmother. She was the one person brave enough to bring dignity back to this town. Her example is the reason I have removed Sylvia Trimble from the Founder’s Day board.

Integrity has to mean something.

My great-grandmother had been on the board for the ball? Was my mother aware of that? How ironic that she was in so tight with Charlotte—Charlee—Harless when the mayor’s grandmother had kicked out her grandmother.

One thing was certain—Mayor Harless’s grandmother had been very full of herself.

My phone alarm went off, earning me a scowl from the librarian. I’d set it as a warning to get to the coffee shop. I knew I should pack everything up—Cyn was counting on me—but I was so close to the house fire. I could feel it.

She’ll understand if you’re a few minutes late.

A week after the gossip post, I found what I was looking for: “Local Woman Dies in House Fire.”

A home on Winter Street was declared a total loss after a house fire on Thursday afternoon. Police say that Sylvia Trimble was the only victim. The victim’s husband was at work during the incident. The fire marshal is still examining the cause of the fire, but the victim was arrested two weeks prior after allegedly starting a fire in the home of Tim and Alberta Roscoe.

Services are pending for the victim.

That was it? My great-grandmother had died in a fire she’d allegedly started herself, and no one had thought anything more about it?

On the same page was an article about the ball, which had apparently taken place the same day.

A chill ran down my back. Could that be a coincidence? I skimmed the article, not the least bit interested in the details about the extravagant party, and was about to pack it up when a photo caught my eye. I didn’t recognize the sharply dressed middle-aged couple in the foreground, but the display they were standing in front of gave me serious déjà vu. A woman held up a round saucer.

The same woman from the mirror my grandmother had given me.

Gasping, I got out my reading glasses (which I only needed for fine print at this point) to magnify the blurry image. Sure, most Grecian figures looked the same, but this woman’s robe was hanging from her breast in the exact same way. Plus, she was peering up at the disc in exactly the same posture as the bas-relief on my mirror. She was standing on a ball, which was a notable difference between the two works, but it looked like there were flowers at her feet. The caption read, “Mr. and Mrs. Baxter Payne standing in front of Persephone’s Mirror.”

Persephone? The goddess who was forced to live in hell for half the year?

I checked my phone and realized I was more than acceptably late. I quickly returned my materials and hurried out to my car. Cyn wouldn’t be mad at me, especially given the circumstances, but I hated to abuse our friendship.

The coffee shop was slammed, so I grabbed an apron and got straight to work. So much for talking things through with Cyn. I didn’t even have time to tell her about my encounter with Tiffany. I’d replayed it over and over in my head during the ten-minute drive, feeling like a total fool. How had I not realized the affair had gone back so much further?

Cyn and her new employee, Indigo, worked as the baristas while I worked the cash register and fetched the bakery items. We didn’t have a lull until shortly after two, and I pulled out my phone to see if the kids had sent me any messages. I still hadn’t heard Harriet’s final decision about going to her father’s, but she would be busy at dance until at least two-thirty. I doubted that I’d hear from her until then. She usually drove herself with the car she and Jack shared, which meant Jack was likely still at home, either sleeping or playing video games.

But there was a text from Richard.

We need to talk.

Great. His topic of choice was anyone’s guess, but I suspected it was either about my chat with his girlfriend or the fact that Harriet and Jack didn’t want to see him. I sure wasn’t going to call him from here. It could wait until after I got off work.

“Everything okay?” Cyn asked, nodding to my phone. I noticed she’d also pulled out her small notebook of “clues” from the other night.

I must have been frowning. “Define okay,” I said with a short laugh. “I’m going to take a quick restroom break.”

“Okay. When you get back, we need to talk about your…situation.”

“Good, because I have information to share.” I headed into the bathroom and did my business, but when I stood in front of the mirror as I washed my hands, I thought I saw several blond strands on the right side of my head. Part of me had wanted to forget what was going on—to pretend it hadn’t happened, but here was the evidence. More blond hair buried in the brown. How long until my hair was completely blond?

I put my hair up and pinned it in place, struggling to tuck all the blond pieces into my French roll. If this kept happening, I suspected I’d only be able to hide it for another day or two.

I started to walk out, but something stopped me. My back. Had it changed? I slipped my arms out of my shirtsleeves and pulled up my shirt to my neck, then glanced over my shoulder into the mirror.

The wings on my back had more detail—the feathers now had lines down the middle.

What the heck was going on with me? Was Cyn right? Was I turning into a fire demon? I didn’t feel particularly wicked, but then again, I’d confronted Tiffany this morning, which was totally unlike me.

When I got back to the service counter, I wasn’t surprised when Cyn shot me a meaningful glance. I noticed she had her pen poised over the page in her little notebook.

“I found something about my great-grandma Sylvia at the library this morning.” Indigo had gone on break, so I moved closer and told Cyn what I’d discovered about Sylvia. She took notes in her book, occasionally glancing up at me with fear—but never disbelief—in her eyes.

“Sounds a lot like what’s happening to you,” she said.

I nodded with a grim look. “There’s more.”

I told her about the hand mirror and the photo of Persephone’s Mirror that looked just like it.

“Persephone?” she blurted out in shock as Indigo returned from the back with a sleeve of paper cups. “Is she linked with fire?”

“No,” Indigo said as she started restocking the cups. “She was married to Hades and lived in the Underworld for two-thirds a year, but there’s no link to fire. You must be confusing her with the Christian version of hell. You know, fire and brimstone.”

Cyn glanced at me and shrugged.

I obviously had some more research to do.

Indigo headed to the backroom again, and Cyn lowered her voice. “What happened at the dinner last night, Darcie? Did something catch on fire in the kitchen?”

I leaned closer to her and whispered, “I had another hot flash, only I was holding a wine glass.”

Her mouth formed an O, and then a grin spread across her face. “That was the…thing your mother thought was a bong.”

“Yeah, the glass got all melty. Ella had to spray my hand with a fire extinguisher.”

“She saw it?” she asked in horror.

“Well, yeah…”

“Ella’s a reporter for the Watchdog,” she said, jotting something down on the pad.

“So? She wouldn’t do a story on me, Cyn. She’s my cousin.”

“Um, have you paid attention to the stories Ella’s been doing? She’s an investigative reporter. I bet she showed up last night to get dirt on your mother.”

“On my mother?”

“Your mother’s a huge supporter of the mayor.”

I shook my head in confusion. “So?”

She gave me an exasperated look. “Have you really not been paying any attention to local politics?”

“Uh…” While I knew Cyn was unhappy with the last tax increase, last night was the first time I’d heard there was a proposal to raise them again. But I’d been buried too deeply in my own problems to pay attention to what was going on around me. “No. I guess not.”

“Mayor Harless is trying to bring in big business while taxing small business owners into extinction. But rumor has it she also has ties to a suspect crime boss.”

I blinked hard. “Wait. What?” Her grandmother certainly wouldn’t have liked that.

The door to the shop opened and a family walked in, so Cyn said, “All I’m saying is that Ella likely saw your mother as a potential source and went for it. What other possible reason would she have to accept Harriet’s invitation? And if she saw you…”

Her voice trailed off and she lifted her gaze to the customers at the counter.

My questions kept sprouting new subquestions, and I still didn’t have many answers.

But the continual wave of customers didn’t give me much time to dwell on it, and I ended up working past five, not that I was complaining. Cyn only paid me ten dollars an hour, but I needed the money, especially after my credit card purchases at Macy’s. I did find time to check my phone again, and Harriet had texted to say she was staying home for the weekend and wanted to spend the night at Irene’s. I texted back in agreement, told her to tell her father, then group-texted her and Jack to ask him whether he needed the car. They both agreed that Harriet would keep the car and Jack would get Jeremy to pick him up to spend the night at his house.

I also noticed another text from Richard, telling me to call him—with exclamation marks this time—but I ignored it. If Elena was hurt, he would have called, which meant it wasn’t a real emergency. I was working. It could wait.

Which meant my night was still free. It struck me that while I was garbage at doing research, I knew someone who wasn’t. Well, besides my daughter. Plus, Ella wouldn’t think I was crazy, because she had literally seen what I could do. Maybe I had to confide in her.

I sent Ella a text. I know this is short notice, but are you free for drinks tonight?

I expected her to take some time to answer, so I was surprised when I saw the bubble immediately appear, letting me know she was responding.

Sounds great! How about we meet at Valkyrie at 8?

Perfect! See you then!

“Who are you texting?” Cyn asked. After I told her, she said, “You’re playing with fire, girl.” Then she grimaced. “Sorry, pun not intended.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but I have a new blond streak and there’s more definition on the feathers on my back. I don’t know what any of this means, but I feel like I’m running out of time.”

She made a face. “Why didn’t I ask about that when you told me about the wine glass?” She lowered her voice. “Do you think it’s a good idea to meet with her? What if she uses what she finds out for a story?” She clucked her tongue. “I’d go with you, but I already made plans tonight.”

“With the same person you’re going to the masquerade ball with?”

Her flush confirmed it.

“Why didn’t you say you were dating someone after the whole Parker debacle?”

“You have a lot on your mind,” she said, waving me off. “It didn’t seem like the right time. We have your mystery to solve, after all.”

I took her hands and squeezed them. “You can always tell me anything. I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t.”

“Thanks…I really like him. His name is Philip Hinkle. He’s an entrepreneur. He’s launching an internet-based business here in Perry’s Fall. Before he asked me out, he came in to get coffee a few times. The day he invited me to the ball, he confessed that he specifically came to the shop after hearing me talk at the last city council meeting.”

“You spoke at the last city council meeting? How on earth did I miss that?”

She waved her hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t tell you because you were preoccupied with the kids and I was nervous. I figured if I told you it would make me more nervous.”

“Cyn…”

“It’s not a big deal, Darce.”

But I could see she was really excited about this guy. “Well, I hope he’s awesome enough to deserve you.” I grinned. “And if he’s a douchebag, I’ll take care of him.”

She laughed. “Deal. Although you may have your hands full with Ella.” Her face lost color. “Oh. Something just occurred to me. From what you’ve told me, your hot flashes have occurred around the same time for the past three nights. Sometime between seven thirty and eight.”

Oh crap. She was right.

“Maybe move it to eight thirty, just in case.”

“Good idea.”

Thankfully, Ella was open to the time change and didn’t ask why. I figured she’d probably still ask once I got there.

I was putting my phone in my pocket when I heard Cyn say, “Uh-oh.”

I glanced up and my body stiffened when I saw Richard walking through the door.

Great.

Chapter Seventeen

There was no denying Richard Weatherby was an attractive man. His looks had drawn me to him in the first place, and he’d aged well. Although his dark hair had streaks of gray and he had wrinkles, he was tall and still lean, thanks to his near-daily workouts. At least I presumed he still worked out. He needed to more than ever to look good for his child-girlfriend. I nearly laughed at his stereotypical lit professor attire—a cream turtleneck sweater, chinos, loafers, and a three-quarter-length tan dress coat. I didn’t recognize any of it.

He marched up to the counter and I plastered on my customer service face—a look I’d developed for Cyn’s more difficult customers. Only then did it occur to me that this was completely out of character for Richard. He was more of a passive-aggressive guy. Typically, he’d make me come to his turf, where he’d have more control. For him to come here…

Something was definitely wrong.

“Darcie,” he said when he reached the counter. “Why didn’t you answer my texts? We need to talk.”

“I’m working, Richard.”

He wrinkled his nose and said in a snooty tone, “I thought you’d gotten a real job.”

Based on the murderous look on Cyn’s face, she was showing great restraint by not launching herself over the counter to strangle him.

“Any job with a paycheck is a real job,” I said, proud of myself for not showing any signs of my anger. In fact, I was surprised to discover I wasn’t angry. I was irritated, like he was an annoying fly buzzing around. I had a sudden desire for a flyswatter.

“You know what I mean, Darcie,” he snapped.

“No,” I said in a calm voice. “I don’t. A job is a job, and I just happen to be working my second job of the week instead of enjoying a Saturday full of free time. Speaking of which, why are you here instead of with your daughter?”

Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it only lasted for a second before it was immolated by self-righteous indignation.

“Actually, Richard,” I said as a couple walked through the door, “I’m busy, so we can pick this up later.”

“When?” he asked in a huff.

“I’m working until six, but I can probably take a break in about fifteen minutes, if you want to wait.”

He started to protest, but then, to my utter surprise, he stopped and stomped over to a free table.

I shot Cyn a glance and she looked close to kicking him out of the shop, not that I blamed her. “I hope it’s okay if I take a break in fifteen minutes.”

“You can take a break now if you want,” she said, although her expression made it clear she didn’t approve of me talking with him at all.

“No, I want to make him wait,” I said. “He always makes me wait when I text or call about an issue. I figure turnabout is fair play.”

Her eyes narrowed and she gave me an approving nod. “I like it. You take a break whenever you want.”

The couple approached the counter, but they held back slightly, looking at the menu posted over the coffee bar. I snuck a glance at Richard and laughed. He’d plopped at a table for two and was on his phone, squinting to see the screen. His pride drove him to forgo reading glasses. God forbid he should look his age.

After the couple placed their order, I cleaned the counter behind me and restocked cups before I finally told Cyn that I was ready for my break.

I didn’t plan on having this conversation in the coffee shop, so I grabbed a cup of to-go coffee and my coat and rounded the counter.

He glanced up as I walked toward him. “You’re off work?”

“No, this is just my break, but let’s go outside to talk.”

He didn’t respond, simply got up and pocketed his phone, following me out the front door and around to the side of the building where Cyn had set up several metal tables and chairs. I took a seat, the cold from the metal seeping into my jeans.

Richard shot a disgusted look at the chair.

“Sit if you like,” I said, taking a sip. “I’ve been standing all day, and I’m going to sit for the next fifteen minutes.”

He gingerly sat, looking like he was worried his pants would be stained. “Aren’t you a little too old and well-educated to be working at a food service establishment?”

Had he always sounded like this much of a snob? “I’m not getting into my employment options or choices, though I suspect that’s not why you’re here, so why don’t you get to the point so I can go back inside and you can get back to the children?”

“Harriet and Jack didn’t come,” he said, confused.

“I know,” I said with a wicked grin, then took a sip of my coffee.

Anger flashed in his eyes. “What did you say to Tiffany?”

“You should be asking her that.”

“I did, but she won’t tell me and she’s been distant all day.”

“Nothing but a little girl talk,” I said. “Let’s just say we compared notes.”

He gasped. “You compared our sex life?”

I snorted. “Please. That wouldn’t take long. No. When we were talking, I realized that you must have started your affair with her much longer ago than you’d led me to believe. You’ve been sleeping with her for two years.”

The color drained from his face.

“Calm down,” I said nonchalantly before I took another sip. “We’re already divorced, so it’s not like it makes any legal difference, although it probably would have gotten me more money had the mediator known you were lying about the length of the affair.”

“Is that what this is about?” he snapped.

“What what is about?” I asked. “You’re the one who came to see me. If I had my way, I’d never see you again. So to answer your question, Tiffany confirmed you’d been sleeping together for more than a few months, and she seemed surprised that I’d discovered the affair because of my chlamydia diagnosis, especially since you’d told her that we hadn’t slept together in ages. It became crystal clear that you’d been sleeping with someone else.” I took another sip. “Perhaps she’s beginning to question your trustworthiness, although once a cheater, always a cheater, so yeah, she should be questioning it.”

“If she leaves me because of you…” His voice trailed off, likely because he didn’t have anything left to threaten me with. Toward the end of our marriage—or perhaps from the beginning—he’d coerced me into doing things his way with manipulation and cold behavior. In the interim between our separation and the divorce, he’d used everything he could to get what he wanted in our divorce agreement, leveraging everything from visitation demands to threats about our assets. But now he had nothing. While I was required to let him have Elena during his scheduled visitation times, the judge had said that Jack and Harriet were old enough to choose when and how often they visited him.

“Because she knows the truth, Richard?” I asked, amazed that I was still sounding so calm. “I’m sure you did your best to skew things to make me sound like a witch who neglected and misunderstood you. Good thing you’re not a history professor.”

“Darcie.”

“Don’t Darcie me. That doesn’t work anymore.” But I had to give it to him. It had worked before. I’d gone along with him for so long, trying not to rock the boat, but I wasn’t that woman anymore. Forget rocking the boat—I was ready to capsize it. “Is that all?”

He looked taken aback by my bluntness. “I want to talk to you about Harriet and Jack.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you encouraging them to not visit me?”

How ironic. I let out an involuntary laugh. “Have you asked them why they won’t come?”

Frowning, he said, “They said they don’t like Tiffany.”

“Is that all they said?”

He pressed his lips together and folded his arms over his chest, as if my question could only be answered by a doctoral thesis.

“Jack thinks you’ve only been to one of his basketball games,” I said, giving him a chance to correct our son’s perception.

He shrugged. “I figured he wouldn’t want me there. He’s made himself pretty clear.”

“Are you serious?” I asked in disbelief, my first hint of anger leaching through.

“Of course I’m serious,” he said defensively. “He has to give something to get something. That’s how life works.”

Placing my hand on the cold table, I leaned closer, my anger now mushrooming. Mess with me, fine. Mess with my kids? Game on.

“It’s called unconditional love, Richard.” I shook my head. “Even if none of this had happened, he’d still be a butthead to you half the time because they’re teenagers. It’s part of their job description, but guess what? A parent’s love isn’t supposed to be conditional. We love them no matter what.” I sat back, suddenly exhausted. “Maybe that’s why they don’t want to see you. They’ve realized your love is conditional.”

His face reddened. “Why was Elena researching your great-grandmother online?”

I blinked. “What?”

Elena had done more research at Richard’s?

“I caught her researching your great-grandmother, and when I asked her about it, she said it was for a class project, yet she didn’t have any information about what she was supposed to do. I emailed her teacher, who said there was no project, so I’m asking you, Darcie, why is she looking up information on your great-grandmother?”

My anger exploded. “You emailed her teacher?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“How about you ask me?” I shouted, then took a deep breath to try to calm down. Shouting wouldn’t help anything.

“I did text you, Darcie. I told you we needed to talk.”

“If you really wanted to know, then why didn’t you send a text asking for information about her project?”

“There is no project, Darcie. Your daughter lied to me.”

My mouth dropped open and I involuntarily jerked backward. “My daughter?”

“Let’s face it, you’ve been with those kids eighty to ninety percent of their lives, so all the bad traits they’ve learned were under your watch.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “And I suppose all the good ones came from you.”

“I’m sure some came from you.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And speaking of influences,” he scoffed, “when are you going to get a job that will support your family?”

“Excuse me?”

“For God’s sake, Darcie. You have a degree in communications. Why are you working as an assistant at a shipping company with a part-time job at a coffee shop?”

“You truly are unbelievable,” I said. “I earned my degree twenty years ago, Richard, and I worked in PR for four years until the twins were born. We both agreed I should stay home with them until they went to school, and then Elena was born, and I was home for four more years. By the time she went to school, I couldn’t find a job. You know that.”

“You were looking for part-time work, Darcie. They were looking for full-time.”

“How deluded are you?” I asked. “Do you know how quickly the PR world changed? I didn’t understand the nuances of social media. I was irrelevant.” Tears stung my eyes, ticking me off even more. “I told you all of this, Richard. Back when I was distraught because I couldn’t find anything in the field. You told me not to worry about it, that I had a job taking care of you and the kids. You hated it when I started working for Cyn.”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” he said, scrunching up his nose. “I’m a professor at Callaway and my wife was working as a barista.”

“Yes,” I said dryly. “I can see how embarrassing that would be.”

My sarcasm went straight over his head.

“You should have taken continuing education classes in your field, Darcie. You should have prepared for the future.”

“Excuse me if I didn’t adequately prepare myself and the kids for our divorce. Had I known you were sleeping with Tiffany two years ago, I would have gone back to school to get another degree that would have made me more marketable.”

“Sarcasm won’t help.”

Now he got my mockery.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were having an affair yourself. You were never much interested in sex in the end.”

Surely he was joking. “Me? Having an affair?” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “When, exactly, would I have had time to do that?”

“I don’t know, Darcie,” he said, throwing his hand into the air. “All that free time you had.”

I laughed. “All that free time? Richard, I couldn’t even find time to work out, because it was just presumed that I would always be there for the kids. You came and went as you pleased, never once questioning who was taking care of the kids or getting dinner or washing your clothes.”

“That was your job, Darcie,” he snapped. “I worked at the university; you worked at home with the kids.”

“And after I started working part-time for Cyn?” I asked. “What about then?”

His face twisted in disgust. “This place was a hobby job. Of course my job was more important.”

“This hobby job paid for Harriet’s dance classes and Jack’s sports camps.”

“Those weren’t necessities,” he said. “Those were extras, which you chose to provide.” He sat back as his upper lip curled. “You spoiled them, which is exactly why they’re behaving like this now. They prefer you because you give them what they want instead of letting them learn the word no.”

I stared at him in bewilderment. How had I spent so many years with this man? “You only parented when you felt like it, which turned out not to be much time at all. I guess the twins were better at figuring it out than I was. Now they’re treating you with the same indifference, and you’re throwing a fit like a three-year-old.” I leaned closer. “Parenting doesn’t work like that, Richard. You screwed up by not being more involved in their lives earlier. You can’t expect them to rearrange their lives to accommodate you because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have been looking elsewhere if you hadn’t been so frigid,” he said, his eyes and voice stone-cold.

I gasped but quickly regained control, stating calmly, “Maybe I would have been more interested in sex if I hadn’t been so tired all the time. If I hadn’t felt like I’d given every last part of myself to someone else. Maybe I would have been more amorous if I’d felt like you were a real partner and not just one more person to take care of.”

I stood, dangerously close to tears, and I refused to let him get the wrong impression. I did not want him back. I would never be capable of loving him again, even if he miraculously changed, but it hurt that everything I’d given him had meant absolutely nothing to him. That he’d considered me worthless.

Replaceable.

No more. I deserved better, and I sure as hell didn’t owe him any more of my time.

I started to walk away.

“Sure,” he sneered. “Run away, just like you always do.”

I turned back and pointed my finger in his face, anger burning in my chest. “You’re the one who ran away. You ran away every day when you went off to your precious job, where you were idolized and adored and protected from the realities of raising a family. You only spent about four waking hours at home during the week, and when the weekend rolled around, you couldn’t find enough excuses to stay away. You, Richard, are the one who ran away to recapture his youth while I was taking care of our children’s physical and emotional needs, so don’t you ever tell me that I ran away, because that is the pot calling the kettle black, you asshole.”

I spun around and marched inside, not trusting myself to stay another moment.

I’d finally reached a point where I was starting to lose most of the bitterness, but now it resurfaced, rising like a tsunami and threatening to destroy me with its undertow.

No.

I was done giving Richard any part of me. Even my anger. I’d given him everything in our marriage and had gratefully soaked up the crumbs of attention he tossed my way. I deserved better. The kids deserved better.

Richard didn’t deserve another moment of my attention.

Unfortunately, letting my anger go was easier said than done.

Damn him.

Chapter Eighteen

When I walked back inside, Cyn took one look at me and shook her head. She knew my chat with Richard hadn’t gone well. Thankfully, she didn’t ask any questions, instead giving me time to process the whole mess. By the time we closed at six, I was ready to give her a recap—including my encounter with Tiffany—which caused her to explode in anger.

“That jackass!” she shouted as she cleaned the espresso machine. “The nerve!” She jerked her gaze to mine. “You didn’t fall for any of his BS, did you?”

“No,” I said. “But some of it still hurts.”

“You know he likely had affairs before Tiffany, right? His affair was not your fault.”

“I know,” I said. “I can look back now and see the signs. I think he thought we were too…suburban. Too domestic for him. He started spending more and more time at the university, leading literary discussion groups, helping students in independent study. He put up a fight when I kicked him out, but I think part of him was relieved.” I gave her a tight smile. “No more Richard nonsense.”

“That man is garbage.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” I started to untie my apron. “The pastry case and coffee maker are cleaned out and everything’s restocked. I think I’ll head out, unless you need me for anything else.”

“You go. I’m about to leave myself.”

“Have fun tonight. I want to hear everything.”

“Same!”

I headed home and grabbed a dinner of leftovers. Nana Stella had sent a text saying she was going to the casino with Sally Jo and that I shouldn’t wait up. I only hoped I had half the social life she did when I was her age.

I wasn’t meeting Ella until eight thirty, but I was paranoid about having another hot flash, so to be safe, I decided to take a shower. I considered a bath but didn’t want to end up boiling myself in the tub. While my skin had seemed burn-resistant lately, I didn’t want to take chances. Before I turned on the water, I took the pins out of my hair and studied the blond streaks, then took out the hand mirror and inspected the wings on my back. What happened when my hair went completely blond? What more could be added to the markings on my back?

I had to stop ignoring that this was happening. But what was I supposed to do? I hated that I’d finally freed myself from Richard, only to fall into the chains of some unknown fate.

The first thing I had to do was learn to control my hot flashes.

I nearly laughed at the thought. If it had been that easy, surely at least one woman since the dawn of time would have figured it out. Okay, so I probably couldn’t control the hot flashes or when they happened, but maybe I could control the heat emanating from my hands. I’d done it last night. I’d focused my energy into the wine glass. Maybe I could learn to control it better.

At least that way I wouldn’t be hurting anyone.

About twenty minutes after seven, I stripped and got into the shower. I washed my hair and body, shaved, and even used my pumice stone on my dry, cracked heels—something I rarely had the luxury to do—but a half hour later, I still hadn’t experienced a hot flash. Had the water kept it at bay? Had it just not come yet? Or maybe the timing of the previous episodes had been coincidental.

At eight, the water was lukewarm at best and my skin was turning prune-y, so I got out.

I didn’t spend long on my makeup—I rarely did these days—and I blow-dried my hair until it was a fluffy, natural-looking mess. I was about to put it back up, but something deep inside me told me to leave it down. There was no running from this, so I might as well own it.

My shower made me run behind schedule, so I texted Ella on my way out the door to let her know I’d be about ten minutes late.

Valkyrie had been extremely popular about ten years prior, but the fickle patrons had moved on to the newer places like Figaro’s. While Figaro’s was going for elegance, Valkyrie had opted to decorate in keeping with their name. The walls looked like the hull of a large Norse warship, complete with large oars sticking out of the walls over the windows. Only, time hadn’t been kind to the décor and the owners hadn’t wasted their meager profits on upkeep. So it had the look of an abandoned ship, and the staff dressed like Vikings. The food had always been decent, not great, but they had been known for great happy hour specials back in the day. Of course, a lot can change over the years, and I hadn’t been there since the twins were in fourth grade.

Ella was sitting at a table by a window, and I wasn’t surprised to see the bar was only half full at nearly nine o’clock at night. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen the place.

When I walked in, she spotted me right away. A warm smile spread across her face as she lifted a hand in greeting, and suddenly a memory popped into my head. When we were kids, before my mother had declared my aunt “dead to her,” their whole family had come over for the afternoon. Ella’s mom had offered me one of the cookies she’d brought. With a look of horror, my mother had informed my aunt that she was watching my sugar intake because I was looking a little on the pudgy side. Ella’s hands had fisted at her side, and she’d told my mom that she didn’t let bullies pick on her family. My mother had been so shocked that she hadn’t protested when Ella shoved a cookie into my hand. The usually silent and shy Ella had shocked us all.

Ella had that same look in her eyes now, and whatever reservations Cyn had planted in my head evaporated. I returned the smile as I walked over.

She stood and embraced me in a tight hug. “Darcie, I’m so glad to see you.”

I hugged her back, then pulled away. “I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner.”

“Well, it’s never too late.” She gestured to the chair opposite her. “Please, have a seat. What can I get you?”

“Just water,” I said as a waitress approached the table. She was wearing fake deerskin pants and a faux fur vest that gave us a full view of her very ample cleavage. So this was their version of a Valkyrie. Obviously, this restaurant had been designed by a man.

Ella’s eyes lifted in surprise. “What? Come on, I’m paying. You still like those sweet drinks like you did when we were teenagers?”

I laughed. “I graduated from wine coolers ages ago.”

I didn’t feel like arguing or defending my decision to keep a clear head, so I ordered the house merlot in addition to the glass of water. When the waitress left, Ella and I both sat in silence for a moment.

“So,” she finally said in one long breath. “About what happened last night…” She glanced around before leaning in closer. “I picked this place for a reason. Not many people are here, yet it’s public enough not to look suspicious or make either of us feel awkward.”

I’d already decided to tell her everything. So why was I hesitating? I couldn’t ignore Cyn’s warnings, especially since Ella and I weren’t close. Part of me wondered if it would be best if I just got up and left. But I didn’t want to. I was an only child, and Ella was my only first cousin. (My mom’s brother had moved to Canada and remained childless.) As a child, I’d wanted a closer relationship with her, but our mothers’ disagreement had gotten in the way of that.

The waitress returned with my wine and my water, and while I was tempted to pick up the stemmed glass and take a generous sip to ease my nerves, I took a small sip to appease my cousin before chasing it with a big gulp of water.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

“I took a long shower before I came,” I said, then forced a laugh. “The kids are gone this weekend, so there wasn’t anyone outside my door asking me for anything.” I grimaced. “That’s why I was late. I lost track of time.”

She leaned closer, earnestness on her face. “Darcie, I’m worried about you.”

That made two of us. But would she really help me?

Harriet seemed to trust her. If she hadn’t, she never would have invited her to dinner last night. I still hadn’t asked her about it, but it occurred to me that I could ask Ella. Maybe her answer would help me make up my mind.

I picked up the wine glass and took another small sip. “How long have you been in contact with Harriet?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “So she told you?”

I smiled. “We’re close.”

“Maybe not as close as you thought if you didn’t know about our conversations.”

I couldn’t help my involuntary gasp.

Horror filled Ella’s eyes. “Oh, Darcie! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that! Too many years of investigative reporting has made me blunt and nosy.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which is why I’m going through my own divorce.”

I was torn between walking away and offering my condolences, but her next words anchored my butt to the chair.

“That’s why I reached out to Harriet. To find out how you were doing.”

“Why on earth wouldn’t you call me, the source?”

“Because,” she said emphatically, “we hadn’t talked in years. I wasn’t sure how receptive you’d be to a phone call.” Then she added, “And let me assure you that you’re not some hot news story, Darcie. This is just two cousins having a drink, so please don’t call yourself a source.”

“So you contacted Harriet instead? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I had only meant to ask her about you, and that was it,” she said, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “But after we talked, I told her to call me anytime if she needed someone to talk to, and to my surprise, she texted a few weeks later, asking me if I had time for a call.”

“When did you first reach out to her?” I asked, trying not to let my hurt feelings show.

“Back in August. Soon after I heard Richard had moved out.”

Five months ago. My daughter had had a secret relationship with my cousin for months. I couldn’t ignore the irony that my daughter had found the one relationship I’d craved as a child.

“I was a sounding board, Darcie,” Ella said with a sigh. “An impartial grown-up to talk to. She could vent and ask advice, and I was more than happy to be that person for her. For you.”

“For me?” I choked out, trying to sort through my emotions. I was hurt that Harriet had kept a months-long secret from me. It felt an awful lot like Richard’s secret affair. But I reminded myself that my relationship with Harriet was completely different and that I should be grateful that Harriet had found someone to talk to about what she was going through, yet my heart still bled. That person used to be me.

My divorce was tainting everything in my life.

Chapter Nineteen

“She’s a lovely girl,” Ella gushed. “Warm, funny, thoughtful. She thinks the world of you and hates Richard for what he’s done to you and to your family.”

I knew I should be pleased with her compliments about my daughter, but every word drove the dagger more deeply into my heart. How many conversations had they had?

“She’s struggled…with everything,” I finally said.

“She didn’t want to burden you,” Ella said, pleading with me. “She knows what a difficult time you’ve had. She’s heard you crying. She’s seen your pain.” Ella hesitated, then said, “I know you two are close, so I’m sorry this has taken you by surprise. I know it must hurt to hear we’ve been talking for months, but she wasn’t sure how to tell you, and you and I hadn’t seen each other since your father’s funeral.” She lifted her shoulders into a half-hearted shrug. “I’m sorry, Darcie. I’m the grown-up. I should have told you that Harriet and I were speaking.”

“Yes, Ella. You should have.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away. It wasn’t a challenge, more of an acceptance of guilt, as if she refused to shy away from the brunt of my pain.

“But I should have known,” I said. “I should have been paying attention. What if you’d been a pedophile, grooming her?” My panic rose.

“No, Darcie, she’s smarter than that,” Ella insisted. “She only trusted me because we’re cousins.”

But Harriet barely knew Ella—I barely knew her either—so I wasn’t sure that made me feel any better.

“She’s a good kid, Darce. You’ve done a really great job raising her.”

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the base of my wine glass and rubbing my finger up and down the stem.

There was an awkward silence for several seconds before she said quietly, “My marriage is ending because Nolan gave me an ultimatum. He’s always hated my job. It’s not a traditional nine-to-five gig, you know? So last week he told me I had to choose—him or my job. He gave me a week to think it over, but I didn’t even need a minute. I chose the job.” A wry grin twisted her mouth. “I keep thinking I should feel guilty. He’s my husband, for heaven’s sake. I’m supposed to choose him, for better and for worse and all that bullcrap. But that’s what it is, isn’t it? Bullcrap.”

My heart softened. “I’m sorry, Ella.”

She shrugged again. “Yeah, me too. Dexter is away at college studying forensic science, so he’ll be spared most of the drama that Harriet and your kids have had to endure. In fact, Harriet is the one who gave me the courage to tell him my answer so quickly.”

“Harriet?”

“Oh!” she said, lifting up a hand. “I see what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, I didn’t share my own tale of woe with her. It’s been a pretty one-way street with the emotional sharing. ”

While I was relieved Ella hadn’t shared her marriage woes with my sixteen-year-old daughter, it made me uneasy that Ella was apparently privy to my daughter’s private thoughts. I was glad Harriet was opening up to someone, since she’d hated going to see a therapist, but my cousin wasn’t bound to any confidentiality rules. She was also a reporter. Although that last concern was silly. Why would she report about my divorce and its aftermath and what my kids were enduring?

“I know this all sounds really bad,” Ella said with a sheepish grimace. “I meant to tell you months ago, but Harriet asked me not to.”

Another knife in my heart. But I told myself this wasn’t about me. This was about my daughter. She’d found someone who would listen to her problems and treat her with respect. I needed to be grateful. Any feelings of jealousy were purely selfish.

“Thank you,” I finally said. “Thank you for being there for her when I wasn’t.”

“It’s not that you weren’t there,” Ella said. “If anything, you should be proud that Harriet could see outside her own bubble and recognize you were in pain too. She was trying to spare you.” She paused. “I’m only sorry it took us so long to come clean.”

“So you knew about our family dinner all along.”

She nodded. “But I wasn’t planning on going. Harriet texted and told me things were getting tense, so I ‘dropped in’ for dessert. I figured you and I could talk later.”

It all sounded reasonable, so why was I so suspicious?

“Harriet told me about the fire at your boss’s house.” She glanced at my hair. “And the blond streak. I can see you have two more now.”

I shifted in my seat and waited for her to continue.

“She said the sofa caught on fire. While you were sitting on it.” She paused a beat. “Did you start that fire too, Darcie?”

We’d reached the moment of truth. Harriet trusted her, and I decided to take a chance.

“This is off the record.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not positive, but it’s highly likely.”

“What on earth happened?” she asked, looking unfazed by my admission.

“I had a hot flash.”

“No, seriously, Darcie.”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack. I had a hot flash, and the next thing I knew, we all smelled smoke. After I jumped to my feet, the sofa burst into flames.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“Ella, I need to know what you plan to do with this information.”

She looked taken aback. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”

“We live in the same town, but other than Dad’s funeral, I haven’t seen you in years. How can I not be suspicious?”

“I know how it looks. Trust me, I do. But everything that’s happened lately has convinced me family is important. We’re family, Darcie. You and me.”

“Blood isn’t always thicker than water, Ella.” It felt cold to say so, but my mother had convinced me of that years ago.

“Trust me, I know,” she said. “But you wanted to have a relationship with me when we were kids.” She grinned and gave me a lazy shrug. “So I’m thirty or so years late.” Her expression turned serious again. “You have to be scared out of your mind. Let me help you.”

I really, really wanted that.

“I am scared, and I have basically no idea what’s going on.”

She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “We can figure this out. I have resources you likely don’t.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Ella!” I said, jerking my hand away.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, looking unoffended. “But I’m good at hunting down information without giving any away. Now, tell me everything. Start from the very beginning.”

So I did. I started at the Super Sort and Seal party, moving on to my date with Parker and how it had ended (with Special Agent Stone tackling me), my encounter with Heath the following morning, and my third hot flash in my mother’s kitchen. I even told her about Vee, and how she’d disappeared. She took copious notes through it all, stopping me from time to time to ask questions. I finished by telling her about my visit to the library and the possible link between my grandmother’s hand mirror and the statue of Persephone.

When I finished, she asked to see the marking on my back, and we went into the bathroom, where I pulled my shirt up so she could examine it.

“And this just appeared?” she said in awe. “Out of nowhere?”

“Yeah.”

I felt her fingertips on my back as she touched the markings.

“It’s not smooth,” she said. “It’s raised.” She pushed my shirt up higher to get a better look, but it was bunching up uncomfortably, so I tugged it over my head and tossed it onto the counter. Putting my back to the mirror, I reached my arm over my shoulder and tried to touch one of the markings.

“Oww,” I said as a muscle in my shoulder began to spasm. “I can’t reach as far as I used to.”

Ella started rubbing my arm, trying to soothe the uncomfortable sensation, when the door to the restroom opened and a woman walked in. She froze in place, her eyes wide.

I could only imagine what she thought—I was in my bra and Ella was rubbing my arm and shoulder.

“I’ll just go to the gas station next door…” she said as she took a step backward.

“It’s okay,” I said, turning around to face her. “We’re just…”

She held up her hands and waved them in front of her face. “No. No explanation needed.”

Except she immediately turned around and ran out of the bathroom.

“Why do I think she’s about to turn us in to the management?” I asked.

Ella grabbed my shirt off the counter and tossed it to me. “Because you’re smart.”

I started to put the shirt back on, cringing when I realized the front of it was wet, making me look like I’d been in a wet T-shirt contest.

Great.

Ella walked over to the door and held it open, making a sweeping gesture.

I rushed out the door and hurried to our table, sliding into my seat and trying to look nonchalant as an employee rushed toward the bathroom.

Ella perched in her chair, twisting to look over her shoulder as the employee walked into the restroom. We both nursed our drinks, and Ella pretended to make small talk until the employee exited the restroom and headed back to the front of the restaurant.

Once she was out of sight, Ella said, “I think we should make an appointment for you to see a doctor.”

“I can’t see a doctor, Ella! They’ll commit me.”

“You’re not going to tell them what’s going on. They have tests to see if you’re really in perimenopause. You just tell the doctor you’re having severe hot flashes—not a lie—and see if they’ll prescribe you medication to control them.”

My mouth dropped open. “There’s medication to stop hot flashes?”

Could it really be that easy?

“I don’t know if they’ll stop completely, but if they’re hormone-induced, then it might make them more manageable.”

“You mean I’ll melt things instead of setting them on fire?”

She grinned. “At least you still have your sense of humor.”

I snorted. “That’s about all I’ve got. But there’s something else. When I was a kid, my uncle used to tell me stories about his grandmother spontaneously combusting.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s an exciting tidbit.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it exciting,” I said. “What if I ultimately spontaneously combust?”

“That wouldn’t make sense,” she said. “You’ve not been burned once through all of this. Let’s say she had the same…condition you do. Perhaps she spontaneously combusted because she didn’t learn to control it. It was too much power for her to control. You just need to learn how to handle it properly.”

“I felt like I controlled the last one,” I said. “I focused the power into the glass.”

“That’s great, Darcie!” she said enthusiastically.

“It doesn’t mean the same thing won’t happen to me.”

“We don’t even know what really happened to her…or if it’s the same thing. We need to do some research.”

Ella closed her notebook and tossed some cash next to her half-empty glass. “I’m going to get started on this. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way.”

I grabbed my coat and started to slip my arms into the sleeves. “Thank you, Ella.”

Given the way she approached life, like a bulldog with a locked jaw, I knew she’d shake out some answers if there were any to find. I already felt better.

“I’m glad to help, and I have a skill set you don’t. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

Chapter Twenty

The next morning, I nursed a cup of coffee and studied the hand mirror. I’d been right—it was a near-perfect match to the object in the photo. Using my phone, I did some quick research on the Greek goddess Persephone, but I didn’t make it through more than the first couple of results before I started doubting myself. The image on the antique mirror didn’t really look Grecian—if anything, it reminded me of paintings I’d seen of Eve in the garden of Eden. Except…Persephone was the goddess of vegetation, so perhaps she fit the bill as Eve. But what did any of it have to do with the fires?

This was getting me nowhere, so I did some more searches for other women who’d spontaneously generated fires. None of the results looked remotely plausible, so it came as a relief when Ella called.

“Do you have something already?” I asked, setting my purse on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

“Go on.”

“I found a few more newspaper articles about the fires your great-grandmother started.”

My heart leapt and lodged in my throat. We were on the right track, but that didn’t give me any sense of relief given that same “track” had led to my great-grandmother spontaneously combusting.

“Darcie? You still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just…there are so many similarities…”

“I agree it’s unlikely to be a coincidence. My source was the Emporia Chronicle, and it seems like they were a bit more thorough in their reporting. Sounds like a rack of dresses went up in the first fire at the clothing store. The second incident was at a neighbor’s house—the drapes—which would explain what she was doing in someone’s house. She was likely paying her a visit.”

I cringed. That could have been me in the paper, arrested for Nikki’s house fire. I supposed it still might be since the investigation was ongoing and no one had interviewed me yet. I sucked at lying.

“And the third…” Ella continued, “well, no surprises there.”

“Did the article say anything about the rumors that she spontaneously combusted?”

“No,” she said, “but the Emporia Chronicle has always been a reputable newspaper—more so than the Perry’s Fall Gazette—and spontaneously combusting isn’t typically an accepted scientific theory. So even if they’d heard that from a witness, I doubt they would have reported it. Even as hearsay.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to send you an email with links to the articles, but I’ll warn you now that they’re microfiche images. I’m still digging, so I’ll let you know as soon as I find something else.”

“Thanks, Ella.”

“I’ve got your back, cuz.” Then she hung up.

I grabbed my laptop and sat at the kitchen island to read the articles. As Ella had suggested, they were a lot more detailed—the first article even included the name of Great-Grandma Sylvia’s friend, Dorothy Merrick.

My stomach a ball of nerves, I moved on to the third article. The final fire had happened a month after the incident at the dress shop. No one else had been home at the time, but the fire marshal said a very intense heat had originated from her bedroom, so intense they had trouble finding human remains. But they found melted dental fillings and determined Sylvia had been the source of the fire. At the time of the article, they were still investigating, but the author speculated she must have doused herself with gasoline or some kind of accelerant. Neighbors suggested that she’d been depressed, and one had found her hysterical a week prior to the last fire.

There was a photo of her, a candid that they must have gotten from someone. The woman in the photo was smiling and looked happy. Definitely not someone who’d set herself on fire, yet then again, most of us hid our true faces from the world. But something else stuck out at me. She looked familiar. Was it just a resemblance to my grandmother and mother?

“What has you looking so pensive?” Nana Stella said at the entrance to the kitchen.

I glanced up at her, running my teeth over my bottom lip. “I’m reading a newspaper article about your mother’s death.”

Her face froze.

“Did Great-Grandma Sylvia’s hair turn blond?”

“I told you I don’t know anything about what happened, Darcie. We’d moved away for your grandfather to take a new job. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and after all of this started, my father refused to let me visit. He said it would be bad for her. That it might make everything worse.”

“Setting fires, you mean? I found a couple of articles talking about that.”

“They weren’t her fault,” she said adamantly.

“Did you know about them at the time?”

“My father called to tell me about the arrest. I wanted to go home to see her, but he thought it would upset her.” She made a sound that was almost a growl. “If she did what they say she did, it wasn’t her fault. Mother would never have hurt anyone on purpose. I managed to sneak a letter off to her, through her friend, just to tell her I loved her and would come to see her as soon as I could. She sent me a response saying it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But she didn’t want me to come home until it was all cleared up.”

Taking my hands, she looked in my eyes and said, “It’s one of my greatest regrets, Darcie. Not coming home when I should have. I wouldn’t have listened to my father, but I’d just gotten a hysterectomy. The recovery took longer than I’d hoped.”

“Wait,” I said. “You had a hysterectomy?”

She nodded. “Broke your grandfather’s heart. He’d still hoped we might have another kid. Always wanted a houseful of them.” She gave me a sad look. “Two was plenty for me.”

“Mom had a hysterectomy when she had me.”

She gave me a look that suggested I was slow. “I know, honey. I was there.”

“Did you have your ovaries removed?”

“Oh, yes. They didn’t know as much as they do now. They took it all.”

“Did Mom have her ovaries removed?”

“Yes. She’d had issues with ruptured cysts, so her doctor took them clean out.”

“Neither of you went through a natural menopause?” I said.

“No, I guess not. Part of me was relieved,” Nana said. “Obviously, I struggled when it happened, but I didn’t feel so bad about it once my friends started having hot flashes. I worried I wouldn’t be able to help Gertrude when she went through the change, but she had hers removed too, so it was a moot point. Even if she hadn’t, I doubt she would have wanted advice from me. She tends to keep her business to herself.”

No one knew that better than me.

“Did you know your mother’s friends?” I asked. “Did you know Dorothy?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, fondness filling her eyes. “I babysat her children. She and Mother were as thick as thieves.” She gave me a curious look. “How do you know about her?”

I considered lying, worried she’d shut down, but I needed more information. “She was with Great-Grandma Sylvia during the first fire.”

A shadow crossed her face.

“Did you talk to Dorothy about the fires after your mother’s death?”

“She tried to talk to me about what happened to Mother, but I was too torn up to listen. I told her I didn’t want to know any details. I wanted to remember her the way I did. But she came to your grandfather’s funeral, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

I gasped. “Dorothy is still alive?”

Nana laughed. “She was younger than Mother by almost a decade. She had what they used to call a shotgun wedding, and her first baby was born when she was just sixteen. I think Mother took her under her wing.”

“Do you have her address?” I asked, trying to hide my excitement for fear she’d go silent again.

“Well, of course I do. We have tea at least once a month.”

“You do?” Which was when it hit me. I knew Nana met a friend named Dorothy once a month. One who wasn’t as wild as Sally Jo. I couldn’t feel too badly about not immediately making the connection between the two women, though; it had never occurred to me that Great-Grandma Sylvia’s friend could still be alive. “Do you think she’d be open to talking to me?”

Nana frowned. “Oh, Darcie.”

I took my hair down and fluffed it out. “I have another streak, Nana. Something is happening to me, and I need to know as much as possible.”

Fear filled Nana’s eyes. “Darcie.”

I understood why she was afraid. At the time, she’d believed her father, or at least mostly believed him. My situation was bringing all of that back, plus she had to feel some burden of guilt. If her mother hadn’t been crazy, then she’d been treated abysmally. But at this point, it didn’t matter. I needed to understand everything. I needed a strategy to stop this.

“I’ve started fires too. Three of them. One of them was in Mom’s kitchen the other night. You and the kids were in the very next room. Please, Nana. I need to know what happened to your mother.”

She studied me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “It’s time I stopped running from the truth.” A sad smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “I’ll go call her now.”

Chapter Twenty-One

An hour later, we were both buckled up in my car, headed across town to see Dorothy. Nana sat perfectly still with her hands in her lap, and I felt like I was about to fidget right out of my seat.

“Maybe I should have stayed home to wait for the twins,” Nana said. “They’re going to come home to an empty house.”

“Don’t you even try that,” I said. “They come from school most days to an empty house. You need to know the truth, Nana. We both do.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared out the window.

“All this time you’ve spent with her, you haven’t asked her about your mother?”

“We’ve talked about her, yes, but not the fires. Dorothy knew it was a sensitive topic.”

“And you’re sure she’ll be open to discussing it?” I asked.

“I told her it was the reason for my call.”

I was wearing a lightweight knit hat that Harriet loved to wear, something I could use to hide the blond without looking too noticeable or out of place.

“Do you know anything about the mirror you gave me?” I asked.

She hesitated, then said, “No. I remember seeing it when I was a girl. She did tell me it was important to the women in our family, but that’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

I gave her a soft smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I saw you were suffering, but I kept all this to myself as though pretending it wasn’t happening to you would make it go away.”

“Well, you’re telling me now,” I said reassuringly. “That’s what matters.”

When we reached our destination, I parked in front of a white clapboard house that looked to have been built over a half century ago. Even though there were still a few inches of snow on the ground, I could tell both the yard and the house were well maintained.

“You should see this place in the summer,” Nana said, opening her car door. “It’s bursting with flowers.”

We walked up to the front door together, me slowing my long strides to match her shuffle. It hit me that my grandmother was aging and I wouldn’t have her forever. Instinctively, I knew this—she was in her mid-eighties—but this was the first time the truth had hit me full in the face.

The front door opened as we reached the small porch, and a short older woman poked her head through the opening. “Stella, Darcie. Come in. Come sit by the fire.”

We walked into a small but cozy living room with furniture that looked like it had been new in the eighties. A fire was burning in the brick fireplace and the smell of something delicious hit me right in the face.

“You’ve been cooking,” Nana said in an accusatory tone.

“Oh, you stop,” Dorothy said with a wave of dismissal. “You know how much I enjoy it.”

“It smells wonderful,” I said, my stomach rumbling.

“It’s just a pot of chicken tortilla soup. I thought we could sit in the living room and eat on TV trays by the fire.” She pulled her cardigan closer. “I can’t seem to get warm these days.”

From what Nana had said, I suspected Dorothy was in her early nineties. She walked with a slight hunch and had the same shuffling gait as my grandmother.

“I still need to dish up the soup and set up the TV trays,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” I asked. “It’s the least I can do after we barged into your home on such short notice.”

She looked up at me with her eyes made cloudy by cataracts. “I’m just so grateful for the chance to discuss this with Stella—and you, of course. I would have gotten up in the middle of the night if you’d asked.”

“No need for that,” I said with a chuckle. “But you and Nana can catch up while I dish up the soup.”

“Why, that would be lovely,” she said, then braced her side against the counter and proceeded to direct my every move, from which bowls to use—“The blue smaller ones, dear. Not the white. They’re much too big.”—to which spoons to how to set up the TV trays.

Ten minutes later, we were all settled in with our soup, drinks, and slices from a loaf of white bread that looked suspiciously fresh considering it had been in her cabinet two weeks past the expiration date.

After Dorothy and Nana made some small talk about what they’d been doing over the last few weeks, Dorothy shot Nana a smug glance. “So you finally want to know what really happened with your mother?”

“Yes,” Nana said, but she seemed to choke on the word.

“She’s indulging my curiosity,” I said, giving up on the soup. While it was delicious, my stomach was too tied up to get much down. “I want to know more about my great-grandmother, and there’s a chunk that’s missing from the months before her death. A piece we think you might know about. It’s come to our attention that the commonly accepted story probably isn’t true.”

She nodded, setting her spoon down on the plastic TV tray. “Of course. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“I found some newspaper articles,” I said. “Two were about fires that happened before the one that killed her. One was at a dress shop and the other was at her neighbor’s house.”

She frowned. “Alberta was an awful, awful person. But your great-grandmother always helped everyone. Alberta had been ill and Sylvia insisted on bringing her family dinner. Sylvia was one of the sweetest people I knew. It didn’t matter if that witch liked her or not, Sylvia was going to help her anyway.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

She paused, looking from me to my nana and back again. “I know this is going to sound crazy,” she said, “but going through the change unlocked something in Sylvia. When she had hot flashes…they caused fires. She wasn’t an arsonist. It was supernatural.” Nana Stella let out a slow breath of air, like a balloon with a pinprick puncture, but I didn’t react. I’d expected this. I suspected Nana had heard something about this before, but she’d never believed it in the past. That had changed. After giving us a moment to process her revelation, Dorothy said, “That was what happened at Alberta’s house. Sylvia had a hot flash, and she caught the drapes on fire.”

“Not so crazy,” I said with a soft smile. “Did it start with the incident at the dress shop?”

Dorothy frowned. “Yes, and if I hadn’t been there to see it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. It took us a while to figure out what was going on. Sylvia said she was feeling flushed and her entire face turned red. She was clutching a dress on the clothes rack, and the next thing we knew, it burst into flames. The police and the fire marshal questioned us, of course, but they couldn’t figure out how the fire had started. So while we were persons of interest, we were never arrested. But the police had their eye on us, and when Alberta called them about her curtains, they were eager to pin it on Sylvia.”

“To say it must have been difficult is an understatement,” I said. “How did her husband take the police interest?”

I had a feeling I already knew.

A sad look crossed Dorothy’s face, and she darted a glance at Nana Stella before answering me. “She told him what was happening, and he thought she was crazy. He told her she belonged in an institution. That she was acting like a hysterical woman.”

The good old hysterical woman bit. Classic.

I swallowed my anger, which tasted like bile.

“That must have been hard for her,” I said, glancing at Nana Stella too. She looked upset but resolute. She was ready to hear this. “The last article I found suggested that she was depressed.”

Dorothy made a face. “I read that article. That was Alberta’s doing. I told you she was a nasty piece of work.”

“Was Great-Grandma Sylvia depressed?” I asked.

“No. At the time of the last fire, she was worried but not depressed. She’d learned to anticipate the flashes and knew how to handle them. She had it under control.”

Fear knotted in my stomach. I’d hoped I had an advantage over Great-Grandmother Sylvia, but perhaps not.

“Did she get burned in any of the previous fires?” I asked.

“No,” Dorothy said, her already-wrinkled forehead creasing more deeply. “That’s why I never understood why she’d go down in the house fire. It didn’t make any sense.”

“What did her husband say about her death?” I asked.

“He refused to talk about it,” she said, shaking her head. “No great surprise there. He probably felt vindicated in a sense. But he wasn’t a truly bad man, just not an understanding one.” Lifting her gaze to my grandmother, she said, “Sylvia loved you more than life itself. You and your babies gave her so much happiness.”

“Why didn’t she tell me what was going on?” Nana asked, her voice breaking.

“She didn’t want to worry you, dear, and she knew it would be hard for you to believe what was happening to her. It would have been hard for anyone to believe it, and you’d always had such a practical mind.”

“So she died,” Nana said with a hint of anger. “And left me clueless and heartbroken.”

Sadness filled Dorothy’s eyes. “I tried to tell you she wasn’t crazy, but you refused to listen to the rest. In the end, I figured it was better that way. I suspected you’d think I was crazy too. So I stopped pressing. You had two children and plenty of worries of your own.’

“I should have been there for her after it started. My father didn’t believe her. Didn’t help her. I should have been there.”

What could you have done, Stella?”

“I don’t know,” Nana said. “But I wish I’d seen her just one more time. I should have come home after her arrest.”

“Oh, Stella,” Dorothy soothed. “None of us had any idea she would end up that way. If we had known, we would have searched harder for a way to make it stop.”

My chest felt like it was caught in a vise, slowly squeezing my lungs. I could barely breathe and my heart beat like a thumping jackrabbit. There was no denying it now. The exact same thing that had happened to my great-grandmother was happening to me.

Which meant I was going to spontaneously combust.

“Did anything happen to her hair?” I forced out, sounding breathless.

Dorothy turned to face me. “Her hair?”

“Did her hair change colors?”

Her face went blank. “It had always been very dark, but it turned to corn silk. One section at a time. She hid it under scarves and didn’t tell another soul other than me. Your grandfather knew, of course, but he was convinced she was dyeing it. How did you know?”

I slowly took off my hat.

Dorothy gasped, her eyes wide with fear.

“The same thing is happening to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nana Stella looked like she was about to pass out.

“When was the last time you saw Sylvia before she died?” I asked.

“Oh, honey,” Dorothy said, still distressed over my presumed fate.

“Dorothy,” I said, more harshly than I’d meant to sound. “Focus. When was the last time you saw her?”

“The day before she died.”

“How was she feeling?” I asked. “What was her state of mind?”

“She felt strong. Although the arson charges were a source of stress, she felt she had some higher purpose. That all of the changes she’d been going through were leading to something. She was controlling the fires that came with her hot flashes, and she…she seemed excited.” Tears filled her eyes. “That’s why I found it so hard to believe when I learned she was gone.”

“Was her hair completely blond the last time you saw her?” I asked.

“No,” Dorothy said. “But she was mostly blond.”

“And no one noticed?” Nana asked. “Surely people talked.”

“No, like I said, she kept it covered with a scarf. It was only for a few weeks, so nobody commented on it.”

According to the newspaper articles, this had happened over the span of a month. Surely that meant I had time. My life had only been unraveling for a matter of days.

“Sylvia thought it happened because of the curse,” Dorothy said.

“What curse?” Nana asked.

“After the hot flashes and fires started, Sylvia told me a story her mother had regaled her with. According to family lore, there was a curse on the women in her line. Something to do with an ancestor who lived in England. Though she was unclear about some of the details, it was believed the women of the family line would meet their end in a fiery death. I know Sylvia believed it was true. The family had moved to Perry’s Fall in the hopes of escaping it. But it didn’t change anything for Sylvia’s mother or her grandmother. Her mother died of scarlet fever in her thirties, and her grandmother died in childbirth in her early forties.” She gave me a knowing look. “One of those change-of-life babies.”

Which meant neither of them had gone through menopause. Just like Mom and Nana. Maybe Ella was onto something with the medication idea. Hot flashes caused the fires, so if I could stop them from happening, I should be able to suppress the fire.

“So the fiery death curse must still have affected Sylvia’s great-grandmother,” I said, “if her death was the reason the family relocated. Did Sylvia know what happened to her?”

“She died in a fire,” Dorothy said. “As a child, Sylvia’s grandmother had thought the curse was nonsense, everyone did, but she changed her mind when she saw what happened to her mother.”

“I had no idea about any of this,” Nana said, looking grief-stricken.

“Sylvia didn’t want you to know,” Dorothy said. “She was hoping it was all a bunch of hooey, but when it started happening to her, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

“Did she get any marks on her back?” I asked. “Like a tattoo?”

Dorothy gave me a confused look. “No. Not that I know about.”

I nodded. “That’s okay.”

That didn’t mean anything. She might not have told Dorothy, or maybe she didn’t notice. I’d only noticed my wings because I’d had on that backless dress in the dressing room. Otherwise, I might still be oblivious. I didn’t typically spend a lot of time admiring my back in the mirror. Not since I was a teen checking out my tan lines.

I had never believed in curses. If they “worked,” it was the power of suggestion, but I’d never heard of this curse until now, so there was no suggesting any of these manifestations into existence. But if there was one thing I knew for sure—or thought I did from having consumed plenty of pop culture on the topic—it was that curses could be broken. You just had to know who’d created the curse, and presumably why they’d done it.

But how in the world was I supposed to find out who’d cursed my many-times-over great-grandmother? And what would happen then? Would I need to locate their descendant?

It all seemed so impossible.

Chapter Twenty-Three

We left soon after that, and poor Nana was more distressed than I’d ever seen her.

“Stop worrying so much, Nana,” I said, trying to sound reassuring even though I was freaking out. “I’m going to get an appointment with my doctor so I can ask for medication to stop my hot flashes.”

She turned to me in surprise. “You can do that?”

“Ella thinks so. Based on the timeline of what happed to your mother, I should have a couple of weeks to get it under control.”

“Oh, Darcie, I hope so. Or maybe you can have your ovaries removed.”

That was a possibility, but I doubted I could get an ob-gyn to agree to such a drastic procedure unless I could prove it was medically necessary. If I started spouting off about hot flashes and fires, I’d find myself in a locked ward. Great-Grandma Sylvia’s almost-fate was proof enough of that.

“We can’t tell the kids, okay?” I said. “They’re already upset enough about everything else. They don’t need to know about this too.”

Her expression tightened. “If you keep them in the dark, you’ll be doing the same thing to them that my mother did to me. It was awful, the not knowing.”

“First of all, I doubt your mother knew she was going to burn up. It sounds like she was feeling pretty good before it happened. And second, do you really think she would have told you if she’d thought she was going to die like that? Would you have told Mom and Uncle Matthew?”

She was silent for a long moment. “I can’t help but feel responsible.”

“How can this be your fault, Nana? Because it appears to be hereditary? It’s not your fault, just like it’s not Mom’s fault and it won’t be my fault if this passes to Harriet or Elena.” But when I mentioned my own children, I realized how impossible it was not to feel guilty about such a thing. Maybe I should tell them what was going on so they wouldn’t be completely blindsided like I was.

“Let me think about it,” I said. “Let’s see if the medication helps.”

“Okay,” she finally said, then was quiet the rest of the ride home.

Harriet was in the living room when we walked into the house. Nana barely said hello before excusing herself and heading off to take a nap. Or so she said.

I asked Harriet about her weekend and we talked about her upcoming ACT exam. A deep melancholy seeped into my bones. I’d always presumed I’d be around to see her graduate and go off to college. Be there when she got married and snuggle her babies. What if I was like Sylvia—confident I’d conquered the curse when instead it was conquering me?

“Mom,” Harriet said, worry lines etched into her forehead, “what’s going on? I’ve never seen Nana like that, and you seem…subdued.”

“Maybe Nana’s coming down with something. She was pretty quiet at lunch with her friend. And me…well, I didn’t sleep very well last night. I’m just tired.” I gave her a warm smile. “What do you say we snuggle up on the sofa and watch a movie, just the two of us?”

Her face lit up. “I’m going to get us a snack. You want anything?”

“Surprise me.”

I closed my eyes and tried to settle my racing thoughts. I’d love nothing more than to hole myself up and think all of this through, but if the medication didn’t work, then I might only have a few weeks left with my kids. The least I could do was be there for them now.

I’d just grabbed the remote to turn on the TV when I felt my skin begin to flush.

Horror washed through me.

No. Not now. Not with Harriet in the next room.

I was about to run outside, but I saw the firewood stacked up at the edge of the hearth. Leaping off the sofa and nearly falling on my face, I rushed over to the fireplace. I picked up a log with one hand while I opened the fireplace screen with the other.

The heat grew in my chest and flooded my head, making my upper body feel like it was about to combust. Then the heat raced down my arms into my hands and the log instantly burst into flames. I tossed it into the fireplace and watched it glow bright red, hotter than a natural fire would burn. The next log I picked up caught fire too, only this blaze didn’t seem as intense.

“Mom?” Harriet said, fear in her voice.

Little wonder. I was holding a burning log.

Tossing it into the fireplace, I turned to face her. “I thought it might be cozy to have a fire.”

She moved toward me carrying a tray with two glasses of water and two bags of chips. “But your hand…you were holding a burning log…”

“It only looked that way,” I said, holding up my hand so she could see it was unscathed.

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything when I shut the screen and moved back to the sofa. She just set the tray down on the coffee table.

“What’s it going to be?” I asked, reaching for her. “You mentioned wanting to see that Sandra Bullock movie.”

“That sounds good,” she said as she picked up my hand to examine it. “No burns.”

“See?” I said, my anxiety ratcheting up. “I told you.”

“You were touching fire, Mom. I know what I saw.” Her gaze lifted to my head and she tugged off my cap, gasping when she saw my new streaks. “What’s happening to you?”

“I’m fine, Harriet.”

“No, you’re not, Mom. Something is going on.”

I drew in a breath. “You’re right. Something is going on, but I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am,” I said, brushing several strands of her dark hair from her cheek. “I’m calling the doctor first thing in the morning. It was Ella’s idea.”

Guilt filled her eyes. “You talked to Ella?”

It occurred to me that if I didn’t manage to save myself, Harriet would need someone to talk to more than ever. I needed to make sure she knew I was okay with it. “She and I met last night and had a nice long chat. Don’t worry, I know the two of you have been communicating, and I’m glad that you had someone you felt comfortable talking to. I talked to her too, and she helped me come up with a plan to work on this.”

“She did?” she asked in surprise.

“Yeah, and we both know how smart she is, so for now, we’ll trust the plan we came up with and enjoy the movie. Okay?”

She smiled, then threw her arms around my neck. “I love you, Mom.”

I would get a handle on this, because I had something to fight for. Three somethings to fight for.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Parker was back at work on Monday morning, but he refused to look at me when I passed him in the hall.

“Parker?” I called after him.

He reluctantly turned to face me. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I said, walking closer. “I’m so sorry I left the way I did.”

“No problem,” he said, barely looking at me. A pretty big turnaround from his eager text on Thursday night.

“Are you okay?” I asked. While he was distant, I had the feeling he wasn’t upset with me. “You weren’t here on Friday.”

Except I was fairly sure he had been. Would he admit to hanging out in the basement?

“Yeah,” he said, already starting to drift away. “I must have caught whatever you had.”

That was an outright lie. If he’d caught something from me after our dinner, he’d likely be dead. I was tempted to press him on it, and to ask him why he’d my workplace with Special Agent Stone, but I didn’t get the chance. He was already heading back to his section.

I got coffee from the breakroom for Kristie and me, then called my doctor to make an appointment. They couldn’t fit me in until next week. I tried to get a sooner appointment with one of the other ob-gyn offices in town, but the wait at any of those other places would be months since I’d be seeing the doctor as a new patient.

Next week it was. Still, I wasn’t going to sit idle. I planned on looking up alternative treatments for hot flashes when Nikki wasn’t looking. I’d already started the day before, but other than a bunch of somewhat dubious herbal supplements, I’d come up with nothing.

“Are you sick?” Kristie asked.

“No,” I said. “Nothing like that. But I’ve had a few more hot flashes since Nikki’s party, so I thought it might be a good idea to get checked out.”

“Good idea,” she said as she took a sip of her coffee. “You’re the only one who’s ever brought me coffee. I need to keep you healthy so you’re here as long as possible.”

The rest of the morning was uneventful—especially since Nikki stayed holed up in her office—and I was in better spirits until midafternoon when I felt a now-familiar heat rising up in my chest. I fought the urge to sprint, and thankfully, I made it to the restroom before I felt it erupt. Turning on the cold water tap at one of the sinks, I held my hands under the stream and felt relief that I’d narrowly avoided another disaster. The water boiled within seconds, and the mirror fogged up as if it were a sauna. Steam filled the air as I walked out, and Eunice gave me a questioning look as I passed her on her way in.

“It was like that when I came in. Maybe Nikki’s next MLM is for do-it-yourself spa treatments.”

Eunice shook her head in disgust. Nikki made a great scapegoat. Everyone knew she was capable of just about anything.

Which she proved when she made me stay fifteen minutes late to finish up a report.

“After all the time I docked you last week, you should be grateful to me that you can make it up,” she said in a snide tone, and while she had a point, it was hard to be grateful for anything she “offered” with such condescension.

Still, I did need the money.

Jack had a home basketball game, so I raced home to pick up Elena before heading to the high school to cheer him on. Harriet was at dance, but she planned to meet us at the game later.

His team was winning by the third quarter. Elena had found some friends from school to hang out with, and I was sitting with a group of other team parents. The team had made a fifteen-point comeback since halftime, and Jack was one of the teammates who’d gotten them there. I was watching him drive the ball down to the home end when I caught sight of an older woman with short white hair standing on the other side of the court. I recognized her instantly.

Vee.

Was I hallucinating? She had to have some of the answers I was looking for, but what in the world was she doing here?

I shot to my feet and started scrambling down the bleachers.

“Darcie?” one of the mothers called after me. “Is everything okay? You look like your pants are on fire.”

For a moment, I thought she meant it literally. I turned around to check, pushing out a huge sigh of relief when I saw my J. Jill leggings were still very much intact, if not a little worn from constant use.

The mother laughed and I gave a goofy shrug, then turned my attention back to keeping Vee in sight while I tried not to trip down the stairs. I’d just reached the floor when her gaze shot to the spot where I’d been sitting moments before. Her eyes widened and darted around until they found me. The next moment she was heading for the exit, moving unnaturally fast considering her age.

Oh, hell no.

I headed out of the gymnasium on our side, then raced to the foyer that ran the length of the gym, searching for Vee.

She was already bolting out the door to the parking lot.

I exited out the nearest door and ran after her. “Vee!” I shouted. “Wait!”

She didn’t slow down; instead she ran to her car faster than I would have thought possible for a woman who had to be at least sixty. She’d just reached her car when I caught up, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. She wasn’t out of breath at all, of course.

I really needed to start using that gym membership.

“What…are you…doing here?” I wheezed out.

“Oh, hello,” she said, pretending to just now notice me. “How did those dresses work out?”

“Stop,” I said, not hiding my irritation. “I know you were watching me from the stands. And I know you don’t work for Macy’s. Who are you and what do you want with me?”

She shook her head, confusion filling her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was here watching the game, same as you.”

“You know someone on the team?” I asked.

A sad smile washed over her face. “My grandson.”

I squinted at her. “Who’s your grandson? I know most of the boys on the home team.”

“He plays for the other side,” she said. “Are you always so suspicious?”

“I am when someone is watching me.”

“Darcie,” she said patiently.

“You weren’t surprised by my hair or the marks on my back,” I said. “It was like you were looking for them. Then you said that phrase. ‘From the ashes, she has risen.’ You know what’s happening to me.”

She started to protest, then said, “I do. But I should have let you be. This is part of the test.”

“What test?” I asked, but she was already starting to get in her car. I grabbed her arm, my fingers digging in. “What’s happening to me, Vee? I need to know! I need to stop this!”

Her eyes searched mine. “All in good time, Darcie.”

I heard a cry in the parking lot behind me. Something primal in me responded to it. Spinning around, I spotted Harriet two rows over pushing at a dark figure. The person grabbed her arm, dragging her toward a white cargo van with an open sliding door.

A now-familiar heat rose up in my chest, but this time it had a purpose. To protect my daughter.

I sprinted toward her, faster and more agile than I would have thought possible. The heat built in my chest, begging to be released. I ached to blast the fire at the person attacking my daughter, but some rational part of me knew it would kill him, and something deep inside me—my conscience—revolted against it. Besides which, he had his hands on Harriet. She could get burned too. I wouldn’t risk that.

Instead, I hurled the fire at the van. It would remove his easiest escape route, for one thing, and it might distract him enough for Harriet to get away.

I lifted my hands toward the van, now ten feet away, fire streaming from my palms like a flamethrower. Paint bubbled on the hood. Glass shattered. The interior ignited.

The flames from my hands abated, and I turned my attention to my daughter, relieved to see the dark figure—I could now see he was a man, although he had on dark clothes and a mask—had let her go and had backed up several feet.

“Harriet,” I shouted. “Run!”

She stared at me in horror, frozen in place.

“Harriet! Run!”

The man took off, glancing back at us, but even though I very much wanted to stop him, saving Harriet was more important. I was already running on instinct, racing toward my daughter and lowering my upper body like a football player. I threw her over my shoulder and darted toward the back of the parking lot.

I’d made it past several cars when an explosion ripped through the air. The force threw us to the ground, and I rolled to my side, pulling Harriet’s body down so I could protect her from the fallout.

We lay there stunned for several moments before I turned to look up at the night sky. Vee’s face came into view.

“Well done, Darcie. Well done.”

Then everything went black.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I woke up in a hospital bed, a light blue curtain pulled around me, and I bolted upright, shouting, “Harriet!”

A splitting pain shot through my head, and I nearly passed out.

“Mom?” I heard her call out from my right side. The curtain was drawn back and her face came into view.

“Harriet,” I said, some of my panic relieved. She looked pale, but she was safe. “Are you okay?”

She threw herself onto me, laying her head on my shoulder. “I’m fine, Mom, thanks to you. You saved me.”

I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight. “I was so scared.”

“You were scared?” she said in surprise, pulling back to look down at me. “You didn’t look scared. You looked fearless. And after the van caught fire, you shoved me out of the way.”

I stared up at her. “What?”

She turned serious. “The van caught fire and you shoved me hard out of the way. Then the guy who was attacking me ran off.”

I shook my head. “Harriet—”

“The police already took my statement, Mom,” she said, her tone a little sharp. “That’s what happened.”

My smart girl was one step ahead of me.

“Harriet,” a woman said in disapproval. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I’m fine,” Harriet said, standing next to me with her shoulders squared back like a warrior preparing for battle. “I’m staying with my mom.”

A woman in scrubs came around the curtain. “We’ll have to ask the doctor. Your mother needs her rest.”

Her tone made it clear she didn’t approve of this plan.

I clutched Harriet’s hand. “No. I want my daughter here with me.” Then a new wave of panic hit me. “Where’s Elena?”

“She’s with Jack and Nana in the waiting room. She’s okay. Jack tried to call Dad, but he’s not answering his phone.”

He was a sleaze, but not enough of one to ignore Jack on purpose. At least I didn’t think so. But it wasn’t unusual for him to turn his phone off when he led a discussion group or had a rare night class. “I must have scared you all.”

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” She sat in a chair next to my bed and told the nurse once again that she wasn’t leaving. After the nurse left the room, Harriet lowered her voice and said, “Mom, your hair…it’s blonder.”

My heart skipped a beat. “How blond?”

“There’s not much dark hair left.”

I was running out of time. While I’d gained some control over what was happening, Sylvia had thought she could control the fires too, and look what had happened to her. I had to get medication. I had to find Vee.

So when the doctor came in, I asked him. Harriet had gone out to grab a soda from the vending machine, so it was just me, the doctor, and two residents (perils of a teaching hospital).

“I see we’re here for a possible concussion and rib fractures,” the doctor said brightly, as if the hospital were a spa. His smile was almost alarmingly wide. I didn’t have high hopes for this conversation.

“Yes, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with something else.”

He nodded, waiting for me to continue, and I took a deep breath before launching into it. “I’ve started going through perimenopause, and my hot flashes are really powerful. Like I’m on fire. My ob-gyn can’t see me until next week. Is there anything you can do to help me before then? Some medication, maybe?”

The two residents leaned in close, as if taking notes, and the doctor tilted his head. He was looking at me like I was a junkie in search of a fix.

“Hm… you know, we really like for those sorts of drugs to be prescribed by a patient’s regular practitioner. Why don’t you buy some ice packs?”

“These are really painful, Doctor. Isn’t there anything you can do to help?”

“Some ladies have found benefits from vitamin E or other natural remedies,” he said with a small smile that told me what he thought of such things. “Now, let’s make sure you don’t have any broken bones, shall we?”

He wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already discovered on the internet, and while I planned to get some vitamin E—and another supplement or two—as soon as I got the chance, my gut told me it wouldn’t be enough. I needed the big guns. I needed drugs.

They spent hours x-raying and CT scanning most of my body. Ultimately, it was determined I’d gotten off pretty easily, all things considered: a mild concussion, bruised ribs, and a sprained shoulder. They wanted to keep me overnight, but I insisted that I was going home to my kids.

A police officer took my statement, and I gave one very similar to Harriet’s story. Her version only differed in one way: she’d caught a slightly better glimpse of the man who’d attempted to drag her into the van. Only he’d been wearing all black, including a black stocking cap, and the only feature she’d been able to detail for a sketch artist was the dark beard she’d noticed underneath it. I couldn’t help but wonder if she were holding something back, but I didn’t press. If she did have details she didn’t want to share with the officer, I hoped she’d tell me later.

After the hospital personnel let us know I wasn’t in critical condition, I gave Elena and Nana long hugs and told Jack to take them home. Harriet still refused to leave my side, and it didn’t surprise me when Jack returned and sat in the exam room with Harriet and me. It was well after midnight when I was released, and Jack treated us both like we were fragile glass, insisting on helping me get into bed. Harriet was still traumatized and insisted on sleeping with me, not that I had any intention of stopping her. I didn’t want to let her out of my sight.

On the way home from the hospital, I’d made Jack stop at the pharmacy—telling him the doctor had given me a prescription—and bought a bottle of vitamin E and some black cohosh, a supplement that might (according to the internet hive mind) help me. I knew there was a good chance it would give me a stomachache, but that was a small price to pay if it actually worked.

Harriet and I stayed home the next morning—Harriet because she was exhausted, and me because the doctor hadn’t released me to go to work. Jack and Elena wanted to stay with us too, but I insisted that they go to school. We needed some semblance of normalcy.

Around ten o’clock, while Harriet was still asleep, I was nursing a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. I hoisted myself off the barstool and shuffled to the entryway, every part of me aching.

When I opened the door, I found myself face-to-face with Special Agent Stone.

“Darcie,” he said, his gaze sweeping me up and down as though assessing my injuries. “May I come in?”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Is this official business?”

“No, I’m here as a friend. So may I come in?”

Part of me wanted to tell him to stuff it, but I suspected he’d heard about the van and was here for answers. Maybe I could trade him. I’d give him some answers if he gave me something in return.

“Fine.” I turned around and padded into the kitchen, letting him follow me. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Yeah,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “Thanks.”

I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and gestured for him to sit on a stool at the island. “Cream or sugar?”

“Black,” he said as he took a seat. “You look like you went through hell last night.”

“You’re a bucket full of sunshine yourself,” I said, although the truth was that he looked good. More than good. Great. He looked even better than the day he’d ambushed me in my car. Less pained. His blue eyes were sharper. And I…I was still in pajamas, hadn’t brushed my hair, and I was pretty sure I had raccoon eyes from not washing my makeup off the night before. And then there were the bruises on the side of my face.

Oh well. The night we’d met he’d seen me in shapewear and a bra—he probably expected this sort of thing from me.

“Your hair’s different.”

“Observant too,” I said, not that I could blame him for mentioning it. My previously dark hair was now ninety percent corn silk. Summoning the fire intentionally had done that.

“I heard that the doctor recommended you stay overnight,” he said, taking the mug I offered him.

“Yeah,” I said as I slowly slid onto the stool across from him, trying to minimize the pain to my head. “I don’t get the luxury of lounging around and being waited on. I have kids who need me. And hospitals in general…”

“I hate hospitals too,” he said with a teasing grin. “You can never get any rest there.”

My head was pounding, and I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. “What are you doing here, Special Agent Stone?”

“Come on, Darcie,” he said, shifting on the hard stool. “Call me Heath. I’m not here on FBI business.”

“Then why are you here, Special Agent?” I asked as I nursed my mug.

“I’m here as your friend, and because I have some information you might be interested in.”

An FBI agent wanted to share information with me? This felt like a honey-trap, but I was so desperate for information, I couldn’t ignore the bubble of excitement rising in my chest. “And what’s that?”

“You started that fire last night, didn’t you?” he asked. His tone was casual, but my heart was beating alarmingly fast in my chest.

“I’m sure there’s a police report you can read,” I said slowly.

“I already spoke to the Perry’s Fall detective. He says you and your daughter claimed the van just caught on fire and then exploded.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“That’s crap and we both know it. You started that fire, Darcie.”

I tried to stare him down, but it was hard when there were currently two of him. “Do you expect me to confess that I’m a serial arsonist, Special Agent Stone?”

“Will you please stop calling me that?” he spat in frustration, raising his voice. “My name is Heath, and I’m here because I’m worried about you.”

“You’re here because you think I’m a freak of nature.” Or rather because he knew I was a freak of nature.

“No, Darcie. I promise you that’s not it. I want to help.”

There was no way I believed any of that. “Who says I need help?”

He gave me a look that suggested I’d lost my mind. “You blew up a van and gave yourself a concussion. You tell me.”

I burst out laughing, making my head hurt even more.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking offended.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I put my hand against my left temple. “Okay, Heath, how are you going to help me?”

He looked taken aback by my question. “Well, I…”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have a clue.”

“Okay,” he said with a sheepish look. “But I don’t know how to help you because I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“And you don’t like not knowing, so you’re here to satisfy your curiosity.”

His gaze dropped to his mug. I would have bet money that he was about to leave, but instead he looked up at me and said, “You’re right. I’m beyond curious. Look at my hands.”

He held them out to me, and I almost gasped. The outlines of my fingers were no longer visible. In fact, all evidence of his burns were gone.

“How did this happen?” Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and pulled it closer to examine it.

“The parts you touched healed,” he said, “and then the healing spread. They should still be red and painful, but look at them. The burns are completely gone.”

I brushed my fingers over the back of his hand. I realized it had been years since I’d touched another man’s hand like this, and I was shocked by the fact that I kind of liked it. His hands weren’t manicured and moisturized like Parker’s—these were hands that had been used for work. That had spent time outdoors.

Not the time, place, or man, Darcie!

I promptly dropped his hand, not that he seemed to notice.

“Why haven’t you healed yourself?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. Strangely, I hadn’t even considered it an option. But in fairness, I hadn’t actually tried to heal him. It had just happened. “Maybe it only works on burns.”

But if that was true, then how had I healed Jack’s shaving nick? Or had it just healed over the course of the day? Young skin was pretty miraculous.

“I take it you know more about what’s going on with you than you did last week?”

“Yeah,” I said, picking up my coffee cup so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him again. “A little.”

“Well, are you going to tell me?”

“Maybe,” I said, surprised to hear myself say it. Now that I thought about it, though, he could be useful. He had resources I didn’t, ones not even Ella could match. “It depends on two things. First, what are you going to do with this information?”

He studied me for a moment, and then his eyes widened slightly. “You think I’m going to inform some government agency that’s going to put you in a lab and study you.”

I lifted my chin. “Something like that.”

“I’m not sure those places even exist outside of TV. Whatever you tell me stays with me, Darcie. Even if I wanted to tell someone, they’d just think I was crazy.”

He had a point.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked. “Does it make you trust me?”

“Not totally,” I admitted.

“So what’s the second condition?”

“I need you to find someone. I only know a first name, but I can give you a pretty good description. I’ve also seen her on a couple of occasions where she might have been caught on camera. Maybe we can get the footage or something. That’s all I have.”

“You expect me to find someone with such skimpy information?” he asked.

“You are with the FBI, aren’t you?”

He shook his head, mumbling under his breath as he glanced to the side. When he turned back to me, he said, “I’ll do the best I can, but that’s all I can guarantee. Is that good enough for our deal?”

I didn’t have to tell him anything, or I could just tell him a few bits and pieces and call it good. Sure, he might put some effort into finding Vee, but I would have no way of knowing how much or how little he would try. But I had an ace in the hole with that too.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell you, but I need you to start looking for this person today.”

He sat up straighter. “I can make some preliminary—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head and instantly regretting it. “Concentrated effort. Today.”

His blue eyes turned serious. “Okay, Darcie. Today.”

I sure hoped I didn’t regret this.

“I’ve started five fires now. With each one, I’ve gained more control, and with each one, my hair turns blond in sections.”

Even though he had come to me, part of me thought he’d laugh it off or look disbelieving. But he only nodded slightly and asked, “Do you purposely create the fires or do they just happen?”

“Until last night, they just happened. They started with a hot flash, like I told you last week. But last night was different. I saw a man grab my daughter and try to pull her into the van and I lost it. I had an overwhelming need to protect her, and the inferno in me just grew. For a split second, I considered torching him until the idea to blast the van hit me. So I held up my hands and the flames surged out. Just like a flamethrower.”

He stared at me with a completely blank face. I was sure he was going to call me a liar, but he surprised me again. “So you set the van on fire. Then what happened?”

Out of habit, I ran my fingers though my hair, and the baby fine strands took me by surprise. “The man ran off. I could see how quickly the fire was spreading in the van, so I ran for Harriet, flung her over my shoulder with strength I don’t normally possess, then tried to get us both as far from the fire as possible. When the van exploded, the force threw us to the ground, and I rolled to my side to keep Harriet safe. Then I blacked out. I woke up in the ER.”

He was quiet for several seconds. “And this all just started out of the blue? Has anything happened to incite the changes? Have you been exposed to chemicals or eaten something new?”

“Have I been bitten by a radioactive spider?” I teased. “No. Nothing like that.”

His eyes narrowed. “But you know something. I can see it on your face.”

Did I trust him enough to tell him everything? Just because he had an FBI badge didn’t mean he was a trustworthy person, and I wasn’t doing this alone anymore. I had Ella, and Nana Stella knew everything too.

“Not really,” I said. “I’m pretty clueless as to why and how this is happening.” Then I used this as an opportunity to segue into finding Vee. “But I think I’ve met someone who does know.”

I told him about my encounter with Vee at the department store, then again at the basketball game. “That’s why I was out in the parking lot,” I said. “I chased her down, demanding answers.”

“That’s an interesting turn of events,” he said. “Especially given the fact that the van was a rental and the name used on the paperwork was an alias.” He held my gaze. “Whoever rented that van went to great trouble to hide their identity, which isn’t surprising in itself given the nature of the crime. But the timing of the attack…the way it perfectly coincided with your discussion with this mysterious woman.” He paused. “Darcie, I think she might have set you up.”

I started to protest, but I had to admit he might be right.

Every hair on my arms stood on end. Harriet’s near-abduction hadn’t been random. I had a sudden urge to run to my room and make sure my daughter was still there.

“She stayed on the other side of the gym,” he continued, “hoping to catch your eye, then lured you to the parking lot. Once you were out there, her accomplice attacked your daughter to get you to demonstrate your powers.”

My already-aching head was reeling. “But…how could she have known when Harriet would arrive at the game?”

“Did your daughter plan to come late?”

“Yeah,” I said. “She had dance after school and joined us once she got out.”

“So anyone who’s been watching your family and studying your schedules would know what time Harriet got out of dance. They’d know when to expect her to come to the game.”

The thought of someone watching us sent shivers down my spine. On top of that, I couldn’t get Vee’s face out of my head.

Well done, she’d said.

I’d thought nothing of it, assuming she was just praising me for how I’d saved Harriet, but I suspected Heath was likely onto something.

She’d set me up.

I suddenly felt nauseous.

“Darcie, you’re not looking so good,” he said as he slid off his stool. “Let’s sit down in the living room where it’s more comfortable.”

I let him help me over to the sofa. I hated every moment of looking needy in front of him, but the room was spinning, and it would be much more embarrassing if I refused his help and fell flat on my butt.

Once I sank back into the cushions, he took a seat in a side chair, and I told him about Vee’s parting words.

“We should talk to the police about her involvement,” Heath said, looking worried.

“You are the police,” I said. “I’m telling you.”

“No, I’m the FBI, and this isn’t a federal case. If I try to take over, people will start asking questions, and I really don’t think we want people poking around.”

He was right, but my gut told me not to tell the police about my mystery woman. “You promised you’d try to find Vee.”

“And I will, but I have to be careful with that too.”

I could see the logic in his answer, but it was still frustrating.

“This seems like terrible timing,” he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. “But I’m also here for another reason.”

My eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“Friday night, there’s a Founder’s Day masquerade ball at the art museum. A new exhibit is being unveiled.”

“The exhibit in the basement of Lisman and Freud. It’s being moved this week.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he was quick to hide his interest. “Yes,” he said in a subdued tone. “What do you know about the exhibit?”

“Only that it’s been in the basement for months and it has something to do with our notorious town founder.” And that I felt drawn to it, but I wasn’t ready to share that tidbit with him. He already knew enough. “Is that why you were so interested in Parker? After our date went awry, he didn’t come to work the next day. He came in on Monday, but he seemed off.”

“Off? How so?”

“Distant. Aloof. Like he had something on his mind and couldn’t be bothered with any of us. At first I thought it was because I’d ditched him, but he was like that with everyone.”

“I’ve been watching him for months. I think he’s feeling the heat.”

“You think he’s up to something underhanded in regard to the exhibit?” I remembered hearing him in the basement on the day he’d called in sick. Maybe I should have said as much to Heath, but I wasn’t sure I trusted him either.

“I do. I think he asked you out to dinner because he knows your mother is on the board and you could get an invite. They sold out weeks ago. I’m sure he could find another in, but he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself.”

I couldn’t ignore that Sylvia had died on the day of the ball. It wasn’t a stretch to think the ball was somehow related to our family curse. Especially since my great-grandmother had been on the board…just like my mother was this year. Somehow I knew I was meant to go to the ball.

Apparently Parker had thought so too. Embarrassment flooded out my other thoughts, and it took a second for my synapses to calm enough for me to find words. “You think he only asked me out to dinner to get an invite to the fundraiser?”

He’d certainly brought up the ball quickly enough on our date.

Horror washed over Heath’s face. “Shit. Darcie. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I closed my eyes. “Yeah, you did.”

Why in God’s name had I thought a man who looked like Parker Townsend would be interested in me?

What a fool.

“Do you have an invite to the fundraiser?” he asked.

I opened my eyes and tried to focus on his face, but it was blurry, a sign that I’d been doing too much. “Why do you care if I have an invite to the fundraiser?”

“If you do, then I want you to invite him as your date. We can watch him. See what he does. Word has it he didn’t win a set of the company invitations.”

How did he know that? Then I felt stupid. Of course he knew. He was with the FBI, which made me wonder why he needed my help at all. “You want me to invite him to a fancy masquerade ball? I’m supposed to just make small talk with him all night, knowing he was using me?”

“You could do it for revenge,” Heath said with glittering eyes. “Payback.”

“What exactly is going to happen to him at this fundraiser?” I asked, my back straightening. “I need to make sure it’s satisfactory payback.”

He laughed. “I think you’ll find it sufficient.”

“Then count me in.”

Darcie Weatherby was done taking crap lying down.

Chapter Twenty-Six

My mother was suspicious when I called her to ask if it was too late to RSVP for the ball. I told her that our failed family dinner had been eye-opening to me and I wanted to take more of an interest in what she did. I must have been somewhat convincing, because she told me she’d put my name on the guest list and I could just check in at the door.

“Can you add a guest?” I asked. “I’d like to bring someone.”

“Cyn,” she said in a dry tone. “I thought she was already attending.”

“Not Cyn. A man I went out to dinner with last week. Parker Townsend.”

“A date?” she asked in a perky tone. After her insistence that I get back together with Richard, I was surprised to hear the excitement in her voice.

“It’s still very early, but he’s a charming man,” I said, then couldn’t help adding, “I think you’ll like him.”

“Consider it done.” Then she added in a hesitant tone, “You realize it’s a formal masquerade ball, right? You’ll need a formal dress and mask. He’ll need a tuxedo and mask. Neither of you will be let in without them.”

“I know, Mom, but thanks for checking.”

“I know money is tight for you right now,” Mom said. “Let me help you pay for the dress.”

My pride rose up and insisted I refuse, but I couldn’t afford to. I considered calling Heath and insisting he pay for the dress since I was doing this to help him, but I decided I could afford to relinquish my pride.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”

My mother was quiet for several seconds before she said in a tight voice, “Thank you for wanting to be involved in my life, Darcie. This is one of the best gifts you could give me.”

I was a terrible person. It was going to break her heart when she realized I’d used her.

“Hey, Mom. One more thing,” I said, my voice catching. Good thing my mother wasn’t even remotely good at reading other people’s moods. “How did you end up chairing the committee for the Founder’s Day Ball?”

“Why, Mayor Harless,” she said. “She said she couldn’t do it without me.”

Was Mayor Harless part of this? And what exactly was she part of?

Once I had the invite, the next step was getting Parker to accept my invitation. It turned out to be much easier than I’d expected. I sent him a text, telling him that my mother had invited me and a guest to the fundraiser ball, then asked if he would be interested in being my plus-one. He responded within seconds, telling me yes, he’d love to. Then he asked how I was doing after the explosion. Word had gotten around, apparently. I was surprised my mother hadn’t grilled me on it. Did that mean she hadn’t heard or was ignoring that it happened? Either way was fine with me, because I had no desire to discuss any part of it with her.

Flowers showed up on my doorstep a few hours later, with a card in Parker’s handwriting.

Feel better soon. I can’t wait for Friday night.

The note made me want to take a shower, but Heath had suggested that taking Parker to the ball would be the perfect revenge. I wasn’t typically a vengeful person. I usually let karma deal with the users and abusers in my life. But maybe karma needed a helping hand. Nothing bad had happened to Richard, after all, and he was hardly an upstanding person.

The flowers went straight into the garbage—which I then had to take to the bin outside so the kids or Nana Stella didn’t find them in the trash and wonder about them.

Ella called shortly after. She’d heard about the explosion and had suspected I could be involved. I filled her in on the details, keeping mention of Special Agent Stone’s visit out of it. My cousin vowed to look into finding Vee, and I took satisfaction in knowing that two very competent people were searching for her. Surely one of them would track her down.

“Ella,” I said, “before I let you go, I wanted to tell you that I accepted Mom’s invitation to the fundraiser ball at the art museum Friday night.”

“You want to go to that?” she asked in surprise. “That doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. I mean, I know we haven’t spoken much over the past few years, but you never seemed like the princess and ball gown kind of woman. Not even when we were kids.”

I still didn’t want to tell her about the FBI investigation—I wasn’t one hundred percent certain what Heath was investigating and, stubborn man that he was, he refused to tell me—so I said, “It’s not, but after the dinner last Friday, I thought it might be good to show some interest in her activities.” Then I added, “She’s not getting any younger, and I want to have some kind of nonconfrontational relationship with her. This seemed like a good first step.”

To my shock, I realized I actually meant it. My mother had sounded different on the phone, more open.

“Look at you being all mature,” she teased. “I approve.” She reassured me that she would track Vee down and hung up.

* * *

On Wednesday morning, Harriet still refused to go to school. She was scared to death someone would try to kidnap her again, but Jack, Jeremy, and their friends vowed to be her bodyguards. It was eating Jack up that someone had tried to hurt his sister, and this was something he could proactively do to protect her. He swore that he and/or several of his friends would be with her at all times whenever she was outside, so she reluctantly agreed.

The doctor still hadn’t released me to go back to work, but I was taking three naps a day and couldn’t read for more than twenty minutes without my constant nagging headache becoming unbearable. There was no way I could do my job. At this rate, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to attend the fundraiser, which I was beginning to think might not be a bad thing.

Sure, I was humiliated that Parker had only used me, but my need for vengeance was fading.

I was taking yet another nap when I got a call from the detective investigating the case. “Ms. Weatherby. We’ve apprehended the suspect who attacked your daughter. I wanted to let you know before we release the information to the press.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Who is he? Do you know why he did it?”

“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to say,” he said. “We’ll let you know as soon as we can.”

After he hung up, I promptly called Heath and told him the news.

“Can you get me information about him?” I asked.

“Darcie,” he groaned. “It’s not like it’s in a data bank I can hack. This stuff isn’t as easy as TV shows would lead you to believe.”

“I lowered myself to ask my mother to get me into that ball,” I said with clenched teeth. “And then I lowered myself even more to invite Parker. This is the least you can do, especially since you haven’t tracked down Vee yet.” Then I added, “You still haven’t tracked her down yet, right? I figured that’s the case since I haven’t heard from you.”

“You’re not my only case, Darcie,” he said. “And you’re not even an official case.”

“I’m running out of time, Heath,” I said, “and finding her could mean all the difference. Maybe this guy will lead us to her, because we both know she’s connected to what’s going on.” A hum of anxiety surrounded me every waking moment and had even begun to infect my dreams. Two days had passed since the attack on Harriet, and I was no closer to saving myself.

“What do you mean you’re running out of time?” he asked, sounding strained. “What are you talking about?”

The vitamin E and black cohosh hadn’t worked. Or maybe they just hadn’t worked well enough. I’d had another hot flash while I was cooking dinner the previous night, and although it had been the mildest one yet, I’d nearly caught the kitchen curtains on fire. I’d managed to tamp down the strength of the flames, though, and the only thing that ignited was a candle on the window ledge. However, the effort it had taken had induced a headache so severe I’d needed to stop making dinner and take a three-hour nap.

I only had a few patches of dark hair left, and the wings in my back looked like a well-crafted 3D design. They were fully developed and looked like I could flap them off my back and start flying at any moment.

But even more unnerving than all of that, I could feel something deep inside me trying to claw its way out, preparing to emerge, and that scared the crap out of me.

Maybe Cyn was right. Maybe I was becoming a fire demon. I wondered if I should start preparing my kids for life without me. Would Richard take them in? They would cramp his new lifestyle. The hardest part of all of this was not knowing what would happen to my babies.

“Nothing,” I said with a sigh. “This is all just a lot.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Then, before I could respond, he hung up.

* * *

Cyn had trouble getting away from the coffee shop during the week, but she called or texted multiple times a day, every day, asking for updates about my health and my hot flashes. She still hadn’t bought a dress for the ball, so when she heard I was feeling better on Thursday, she had Indigo cover for her so we could go shopping. Since I couldn’t drive yet, she picked me up around two and drove us to the mall while the kids were still in school.

“We need to go to Macy’s,” I said, remembering the red dress. “I saw something there last week.”

“Okay, then,” she said enthusiastically. “Macy’s it is!”

I nearly panicked when I couldn’t find it—they’d refused to put it on layaway the previous week—but it came into view while Cyn was rummaging through a rack of formals. It was the only one left and in my size.

“That’s spooky,” I said.

“Spooky?” she asked in disbelief. “More like lucky. That’s going to look great on you.”

Cyn found a sapphire blue dress, then joked that we were jewels in our respective dresses. She begged me to try the red one on, but I didn’t see the point. I knew it fit. Vee had gushed about how I looked in it.

I nearly told Cyn that Vee, the mysterious old lady who’d found me in the dressing room, was actually the one who’d brought this dress to me, but I found myself biting back the words.

An overwhelming sense of foreboding washed over me. I had a very bad feeling about this ball, all the more so because Vee had found me the perfect dress for it last week, before I’d had any notion of going. I couldn’t help thinking the events of the last week had been orchestrated, but by whom? Fate? Vee? The person who had cursed my grandmother many generations removed?

Regardless, this red dress was part of it, and the ball was part of it too. I knew both facts as well as I knew my own name.

Friday night was when this would all come to a boil, and I needed to be prepared.

I considered running, but there was nowhere I could go to escape it. I could only stay and fight, and hope I got answers that would change my fate—if I didn’t want to go down in the Perry’s Fall history books as the woman who spontaneously combusted at a fundraiser ball.

“Darcie,” Cyn said after we paid for our dresses and shoes. “Do you think you’ll feel up to going tomorrow? You look like death warmed over.”

My head still hurt, and my entire body ached. I had no idea how I was going to manage going tomorrow night, but I’d find a way.

I had a date with destiny, and nothing was going to keep me from it. Not even my traitorous body.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thankfully, by Friday night my headache was manageable. My shoulder and ribs still hurt, but I could handle the pain. It was the bruises that bothered me, although thank goodness the dress’s lacy three-quarter sleeves would cover most of the ones on my arms. But my right shoulder and the side of my face were black and blue. I looked like I’d been in a fight and lost.

“I can fix it,” Harriet insisted, then set to work with her concealer and bronzer, her makeup brushes flying. While her skills did a good job of concealing the bruises from a distance, they were pretty unmistakable up close.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Harriet said. Her words were drenched with guilt.

“What on earth do you have to be sorry about?” I asked. “I look a hundred times better than I did before you started. Besides, while I wish the bruises weren’t there, it’s better than the alternative—dead. So I’ll take them and wear them with pride.”

“But this is all my fault,” she said, with tears in her eyes.

“Your fault?” I asked in horror. “How could this be your fault?”

“If I’d been paying better attention as I walked across the parking lot. If I’d tried to fight back more. He caught me by surprise and I—”

“You stop that right now,” I snapped.

Her eyes flew wide and she stared at me, openmouthed with shock in her eyes. I rarely spoke to them in harsh tones, so I knew she was caught off guard.

I was happy to have her attention.

“Harriet Nicole Weatherby, you listen to me and listen to me good,” I said in a stern voice. “This is not your fault.”

She got teary-eyed, and a couple of tears spilled over her lower lids.

“This is not your fault,” I said more insistently. “Did you ask that man to attack you?”

Her voice quavered. “No. But—”

I held up my hand. “Stop right there with the buts. Full stop. Don’t you dare take one iota of blame for this, because if you do, you’re taking some of the guilt that fully belongs to that man.” And whoever was behind it. “You’re minimizing what he did.”

She looked at me, speechless.

“I have no idea what he planned to do with you, Harriet.” A lump formed in my throat, and I struggled to push out the words. “Every time I let myself start to think about it…” My voice broke and I was dangerously close to breaking down. “Harriet, don’t you dare take on one tiny sliver of guilt. That man is bad. Very bad. And I will see that he pays for what he tried to do.” Protectiveness rose from the very center of my chest, seeping out through my arms and up to my head.

Harriet’s eyes flew wide. “Mom. Your hair.”

I turned to look in the mirror, shocked to see the blond tresses were now glowing orange red like molten lava. I reached up to touch one, not surprised to find it hot to the touch.

“Stay back, Harriet,” I said, lifting a hand and taking several steps away from her. While I hadn’t paused to look in the mirror during any of my other hot flashes, I felt safe in presuming this was a new development.

So much for the supplements helping.

“Mom, what’s happening?” Harriet cried.

“I don’t know,” I said, but that wasn’t entirely true. While I didn’t know how this would end, I knew I was transforming, a process that had started the night of the Super Sort and Seal party. But what was I becoming?

I was scared too. Terrified. This had ended badly for the women before me, so what made me think I could change my fate? The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Harriet, but I couldn’t stop it from happening any more than I could change any of this. Tears swam in my eyes and streaked down my cheeks. Some sane part of me told me I should put distance between myself and Harriet—just in case—but I instinctively knew I wouldn’t hurt her.

“You caught that van on fire,” Harriet said, stating it as the fact it was. We hadn’t talked about this since I was released from the hospital, but we’d danced around it for days. It was almost a relief to discuss it openly. “Fire shot out of your hands.”

“Yes,” I said. The power had stopped growing, but it was still present. I knew I could tap into it at any time.

“You threw me over your shoulder and ran. You could barely pick up that fifty-pound bag of dirt at Lowe’s a few months ago.”

I gave her a soft smile. “Ever heard of an adrenaline boost?”

“No,” she said adamantly. “That’s not it and you know it.” Her chest heaved as she sucked in a deep breath. “What’s happening to you, Mom?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know for certain, but I’m trying my best to find out how to stop it.”

“Have you been to a doctor?”

“I have an appointment next week. That’s the soonest I could get in.”

Panic washed over her face. “Next week? That’s not soon enough. Maybe you should go to the ER.”

“I was at the ER,” I said with a sad smile. “Just the other night. I talked to the doctor, and he suggested some supplements that might help. I picked them up at the store.”

“Well, they clearly haven’t done anything.”

“Harriet, it’s going to be okay.” I had to believe it would be okay, because I refused to let the unthinkable happen. I refused to leave my children. Tears fell down my cheeks.

“You can’t keep crying,” she said as she started to laugh. “I’ll have to redo your makeup.”

I grabbed a tissue and dabbed my cheeks. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, brushing away her own tears, then grabbed the bottle of foundation. “I’ll just touch it up.” She squirted some on the back of her hand, then dabbed a sponge into the makeup and lifted it to my cheek. She was about to dab, then froze, her hand inches from my face. “Your bruise.”

I stared at her in confusion. “What about it?”

“It’s…” She grabbed the makeup mirror on the counter and handed it to me. “Look.”

I held up the mirror and examined my cheek. At first all I saw were the streaks through my makeup, but then I realized the skin under the streaks left by my tears was no longer bruised.

What the…?

My cheeks were still wet, so I put my fingertips on my cheekbone and smeared the tears over the purple, blue, and green discoloration. Within seconds the bruises started to fade. Even better, my headache vanished.

I’d been crying when I touched Jack’s chin.

I’d been crying when Heath had helped me to my feet.

My tears were the healing agent and the reason I hadn’t healed myself.

“My tears. It’s my tears that heal.”

“Cry some more, Mom.”

“I can’t cry on command!” I protested.

Harriet grabbed my arm and gave it a vicious pinch.

“Ouch! What was that for?” I demanded, rubbing my arm.

“I’m trying to help you cry!”

I started laughing and she looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“This isn’t funny, Mom.”

“I know.” I couldn’t stop laughing. I knew it was my mind’s way of coping with stress, but I couldn’t help wondering—could I use my tears to save myself when the time came for me to burn up?

My laughter had produced more tears, so I collected them on my fingertips and swiped them on my shoulder and upper back. The deep ache in my muscles began to ease, and the bruises began to lighten.

“How is that happening?” Harriet asked in awe.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but let’s not tell anyone until we understand the ramifications. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my forty-two years, it’s that everything has a price. What’s the price for this?”

She nodded. “Okay, but something huge is happening to you.”

“I say we table this until tomorrow,” I said. “Parker’s supposed to be here in twenty minutes, and I still haven’t gotten dressed or figured out what to do with my hair.”

“It’s a masquerade, right?” she said. “Wear it down—then no one will know it’s you. You’re almost entirely blond now.”

I laughed. “This isn’t one of those Cinderella Story movies. People aren’t really that easily fooled.”

“Still, seems like a good occasion to debut your new look.”

She had a point, plus putting my hair into a French twist wouldn’t hide anything. There was only one dark streak left at the nape of my neck. “But I can’t just wear it like I always do. It’s too casual.”

“I’ll plug in the curling iron, and we’ll give you some beach waves. I think we have time.”

She quickly fixed my face, and then I put on the dress, thankful that it had a built-in bra since the dress was backless.

“Mom,” Harriet gasped when she saw my back. “You have wings.”

I turned my back to the mirror and gasped myself when I saw the markings. Where once they’d only been black, they’d been shaded in with various shades of orange and red. They looked like they were folded up, waiting to be unfurled and take flight. They looked real.

“Mom…” The fear in her voice was palpable.

“It’s okay,” I assured her even though I wasn’t feeling assured. “But maybe I should wear something else.”

“You don’t have anything else,” she protested. “And while I admit they scare me, they look really great with your dress.”

“Can you imagine what your grandma’s going to say when she sees them? And my hair?”

She grinned and pointed to the mask on the bathroom counter. Harriet had rejected all of the ones I’d brought home from my shopping trip with Cyn and ordered this one online. She had it overnighted, and it was delivered just this morning. It was gold filigree and swooped to one side with a feathery look. “She’ll never know it’s you.”

By the time the doorbell rang at seven forty-five, Harriet had finished with my hair and securely tied on the mask. The cutouts in the mask gave it a lacy look, plus they made it lighter and less confining. I ran hotter than I used to, so I was happy that I wasn’t wearing something tight and constricting. I definitely didn’t want my makeup dripping off my face.

“Mom,” Jack called out. “Your date is here.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

Harriet and I walked out to the family room. Parker was standing next to Jack, who was giving my date a menacing glare.

Parker looked good—no, great—in his black tux, white shirt, and black bow tie. His shiny black shoes completed the ensemble, but I saw him through different eyes after my conversation with Heath. Parker had only been using me.

His mouth dropped open when he saw me. “Darcie…you look amazing.”

Elena walked over to Jack, and he wrapped his hand around her shoulders, holding her close. She studied me with trepidation. “You don’t look like you.”

“It’s called dressing up,” Harriet said with a frown. “And her date is right. She does look beautiful. Don’t you think?”

Elena nodded, but she looked so forlorn that I nearly called the whole thing off. I’d only agreed to go through with this because Heath had promised to help me find Vee, but other than a few leads that had gone nowhere, he’d come up with nothing.

We’d exchanged several texts since our last call, but most of his messages were questions about my hot flash episodes. Still, we’d had a few exchanges that bordered on personal. He’d asked me how the kids were doing after the attack, and offered a recommendation for a therapist if I thought it would benefit Harriet—or me—to talk to one. I’d asked about his day once, and he’d told me that he’d love nothing more than to go out for a nice steak dinner, a few drinks, and my lovely company.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he genuinely interested, or was he like Parker, stringing me along to get what he wanted?

I’d suggested that we table his invitation until after the ball.

Ella hadn’t come up with much either. She had found someone at Macy’s who remembered seeing Vee the night Harriet and I were there, but the witness had never seen her before or since.

It was as though Vee didn’t exist.

But considering how fast I seemed to be changing, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe we didn’t have time to find her. I needed to use what little I had left to learn more about my abilities so I could keep myself alive. In the meantime, I might as well help stop Parker if he was up to something nefarious. And, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think of that weird energy I’d felt in the basement of Lisman and Freud. Something from the exhibit had drawn me in, and I really, really wanted to see it. Tonight, I hoped I would.

“I won’t be out late,” I said, approaching Elena and pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t want you to go, Mommy.” She tugged my face down to hers and whispered, “I think something bad is going to happen.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” I lied. “Don’t wait up. I’ll see you in the morning.” While I was sure I was about to walk into a shit show, I would be here when my daughter woke up. Never underestimate the determination of a mother.

I grabbed my coat and purse, and then Parker and I headed out of the house and down the driveway to his car. He opened the door, and when I looked back at him, his gaze was on my hair and face. Despite everything, there was genuine admiration there.

“Your hair…you dyed it. It’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. I was too nervous to fully bask in his compliment, even if he’d meant it. I wondered how long I’d need to stay with him at the party…probably not long. Heath hadn’t said I had to hang out with him. Only that I had to be there. Obviously, Heath thought Parker had grand plans for the night, but what?

I couldn’t help wondering what Parker was wrapped up in. The exhibit had been in the basement for months—if he’d wanted to steal something from it, surely it would have been easier while it was still in-house. Despite what the sales team pushed, Lisman and Freud wasn’t exactly the most secure place in town, let alone the world.

On second thought, maybe I’d stick around Parker and find out.

He kept trying to make small talk on the way to the fundraiser, but I was too pissed and nervous to be an active participant.

The art museum had valet parking, so Parker pulled up to the curb and handed the keys to the valet on his way to my car door—but before he could get there, I was out and walking toward the entrance.

“Darcie,” he called after me. “Wait up.”

It was either wait for him now or at the door, so I slowed my pace and let him catch up.

“Sorry,” I said when he fell into step beside me. “It’s cold.” It was a fabricated excuse. The wind was biting, but I wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt nice. That didn’t bode well.

“Of course,” he said, placing his hand at the small of my back and ushering me toward the entrance. It took everything in me to not pull away.

There were two couples in line in front of us. Parker didn’t wear a coat over his tux, so he stomped his feet while we waited, leaning in closer under the pretense of keeping me warm. When we reached the man with the clipboard at the door, he said in a dry tone, “Invitation please.”

“I don’t have an invitation,” I said. “But my mother, Gertrude Tinsley, said I’d be on the list.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, Ms. Weatherby. Your mother said you’d be attending with a guest. Go right in.”

We walked into the large marble foyer, and I dropped my coat off at the coat room. I stuck the ticket in my small handbag, and we headed into the reception.

As Parker and I made our way to a table, he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe we should go tell her hello,” he said, looking around.

“She’s busy greeting guests,” I said, suspicious of his interest. What did my mother have to do with his plan? While Heath had admitted he was investigating Parker in something having to do with the exhibit, I still had no real idea what they were up to. I’d pretty much ruled out theft as a possibility. If Parker were going to steal the artifacts, he’d have to have been the worst thief in the world to wait until the artifacts were in a public place, rather than absconding with them from the less-than-secure basement of Lisman and Freud. But one thing was certain—I was in no hurry to introduce Parker to my mother. “We need to wait until the ball is underway. I’m sure she’s busy.”

Disappointment washed over his face.

“How about I go get us drinks?” he asked, still looking around the room.

“Sure,” I said, eager to have a break from him. “I’d like a glass of white wine.”

As Parker went off to get us drinks, I let my gaze scan the room. The ball was set up in the middle of the floor, where there was a large circular opening that cut to the top of the three-story-high building. At the end of the hall was a large marble staircase that led to the next floor, and a small orchestra was situated to the right side, playing classical music that echoed through the cavernous space. Artwork was hung on the walls, only slightly more impressive than the elaborate ironwork of the balconies stretching the length of the two floors above. It was obvious Perry had spared no expense in its construction, and while I wasn’t upset that he’d been chased out of town—he had kind of deserved it for not keeping it in his pants—it seemed a bit harsh that he’d never seen his multimillion-dollar project again.

A faint pulse thrummed through my head—a muted version of what I’d felt in the basement of Lisman and Freud—and I knew whatever relic I’d reacted to there had been moved to the museum. And it was important somehow.

“Darcie,” Ella said, sliding in next to me wearing a floral dress with a boatneck, three-quarter-length sleeves, and a full skirt. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Your hair…” Her voice trailed off, and it struck me that her eyes were droopy and her mask was lopsided.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said in irritation. “Old news.” I reached up to straighten her mask. “We need to figure out how my family curse plays into this exhibit. There’s some connection, and I think it might have something to do with James Perry.” I knew Mayor Harless was also connected, but I figured we should start with my family.

She pursed her lips and slumped to the side. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Shouldn’t she know? She lived here, and she was an investigative reporter, not the type who wouldn’t be up to date with the town lore. Besides, I was fairly certain no one could live in Perry’s Fall without hearing some of the stories.

She started to fall over and I grabbed her upper arm to keep her from toppling over. “He was the guy who built this museum. Perry’s Fall.”

“Oh…that’s right.”

“What’s up with you?” I asked, looking her up and down. “You seem out of it.” Oh my. Was she drunk?

“I had an allergic reaction to the shellfish I had at dinner,” she slurred, “and I took some Benadryl about ten minutes ago.”

So I probably couldn’t count on help from Ella tonight, but I was going to try anyway. “Ella, I need you to focus. How can we find out if my relatives had anything to do with Perry?”

“I’ll look into it tomorrow.”

I suspected tomorrow would be too late.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and I spotted Heath lurking in the shadows by the artwork, motioning to me.

For a second, I felt a twinge of something. A pull toward him. He was wearing a tux and no mask. Rule breaker. Not that I was surprised.

But instead of doing his bidding—who was he to boss me around?—I turned my back and pretended not to see him. I’d gotten Parker here, which meant I’d lived up to my end of the bargain. Heath had yet to produce anything useful.

I turned my attention to the center of the room and saw Parker heading my direction with two glasses in his hands. His gaze was scanning the room, and it was obvious he was looking for someone…or something.

I wasn’t ready to deal with more Parker just yet, but I smiled when I saw Cyn and her date following him.

Maybe Cyn could help me wrangle Ella into action. Or maybe she and I could figure this out without Ella’s help.

Fat chance.

Parker sidled up and handed me the glass of white wine, pressing his hip against mine and wrapping his arm around my lower back.

I wanted to pull away, but Cyn waggled her eyebrows as she approached with her date. “Hello, ladies,” she said, shooting me a huge grin. “This is my date, Philip Hinkle. Philip, this is my best friend, Darcie Weatherby, and her cousin, Ella Hughes.”

We all shook hands while I introduced everyone to Parker.

“I hear you have big plans for Perry’s Fall,” I said to Philip.

“I’m working on it. My security firm’s about to release a life-changing product, and I’m hoping it will bless us all.”

“That’s great,” I said, noticing how happy Cyn looked. I sure hoped Philip Hinkle was a good man, because she deserved the best.

“Philip does triathlons,” Cyn said, gazing up at him in adoration. “He’s even convinced me to go to the gym to work out with him.”

I couldn’t hide my astonishment.

“I know. No one is more surprised than me,” she said, lifting a foot behind her. She’d insisted on buying strappy sandals with three-inch heels even though I’d warned her that her feet would hurt within fifteen minutes. I had on a pair of two-inch, wide-heeled pumps. If I needed to run at some point, I needed the most practical shoes I could manage, although it was questionable how practical they’d be for running. I’d likely end up kicking them off.

And coming back for them later. Heck, I hadn’t even made a payment on my credit card yet. Might as well get something out of all that debt.

“Ella,” Cyn said, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Neither did I,” she said, her upper eyelids drooping, “but then Gertrude invited me to a private dinner with her and a few friends that included the mayor.”

“Really?” I asked in shock. “After last week’s dinner?”

Ella leaned her elbow on the table, then rested her cheek on her upturned palm and closed her eyes. “Damage control.”

“I think you should go home, Ella,” I said. “Let’s get you a ride.” As much as I wanted her help, she wasn’t going to help anyone tonight. Herself included.

Ella bolted upright, and her eyes flew extraordinarily wide. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” I said, lowering my voice. “You need to go home and sleep.”

“I can’t miss this opportunity,” she said, her eyelids starting to droop again. “I’m getting an exclusive with the mayor after her speech introducing the exhibit.”

“Where is the exhibit?” Cyn asked. “I’ve been dying to see it ever since I heard it was coming back from Birdsboro. What’s-His-Name Perry must have had a serious case of sour grapes to set up the schedule like that. Or maybe he just wanted the exhibit near him.” She gave me a knowing look. “He moved to Birdsboro, England, you know.”

Something was niggling in my brain, telling me again that my family’s tie to James Perry was important. I just didn’t know how. I really needed to find out.

I grabbed my phone out of my purse. “I need to make a call.”

“Now?” Cyn and Parker said at the same time.

“Yes. Now.” I grabbed Ella’s arm and tugged. She was leaning on her elbow and had clearly drifted off to sleep. My tug had her fluttering her eyes like Sleeping Beauty. “Come on. You have work to do.”

Her eyes went wide. “Is it time to interview the mayor?”

“Not yet,” I said, dragging her to the entrance. “I have something else for you to do, but I need you to sober up first.”

“I am not drunk,” she said as she stumbled.

“No, but you are stoned.” I knew coffee wouldn’t sober up a drunk, but could it bring back a woman drugged on antihistamines?

People were staring, so I dropped my hold on her to wrap my arm around her lower back, steering her toward the entrance. “Did you bring your laptop?”

“In my purse,” she mumbled, but I noticed she didn’t have it with her.

“Where is your purse?”

She stopped and looked around as though she’d find it somewhere near her.

“We need to get you coffee. Pronto.” But first I had to figure out where to get some.

I saw my mother on the other side of the room, so I pulled Ella into the shadows of the cantilevered second floor to stay out of her view. Something told me Mother wouldn’t be thrilled to see us together.

Ella jerked against my hold.

“Ella,” I whisper-hissed. “I really need you tonight. I need you to do some research, and you can’t do that if you’re doped up on antihistamines.”

“Sorry for stopping myself from going into anaphylactic shock,” she mumbled.

I groaned. She had a point. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as me,” she said, leaning against a marble support column and closing her eyes. “Gertrude knows I’m allergic to shellfish, yet she invited me anyway and didn’t give me any warning.”

My breath caught as I turned to my cousin. Had my mother purposely set her up to have an allergic reaction? Or had she simply forgotten? Other than Dad’s funeral, how many years had it been since Ella and my mother had seen each other?

Ella seemed a little more lucid, so I asked again, “Ella, where’s your purse and laptop?”

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes as though focusing on my face. “Coat check.”

The coat check was as good a place to go as any. I figured I could also ask the staff about acquiring coffee for Ella.

Given that it was a cold January night and most of the women were wearing sleeveless dresses, we were swimming upstream to retrieve something.

“We need a claim ticket,” the young woman said when I finally got to the front of the line and asked her for Ella’s purse.

“Do you have a claim ticket?” I asked my cousin as I stuck my phone into my clutch.

Any previous coherency was gone. She dug around in her skirt, getting frustrated when she couldn’t find a pocket.

Brushing her hands away, I started looking for the side seam of the dress in search of the missing pockets.

“Hey,” she said in irritation, trying to bat my hands away.

“Looks like you’re having fun,” Heath said next to me.

“I’m busy,” I said curtly. I didn’t feel like discussing Parker and his primary purpose for being here. That was Heath’s job.

“I can see that. Can I help? I have experience patting people down.”

“I’m not patting her down. I’m looking for pockets.”

“I see,” he said, drawing the words out in a lazy drawl. “It’s obvious you don’t have pockets of your own.”

I paused and turned my attention to him, shocked to see his gaze taking in my dress then landing on my face and hair. The look of appreciation wasn’t lost on me.

“What do you want, Heath?” I asked, dragging Ella away from the coat check. If she had a pocket, it was hidden, and I wasn’t about to strip-search her to find it. At least not in public. Besides, we didn’t really need her laptop. We only needed a phone.

“Why didn’t you come when I beckoned you?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

I propped a hand on my hip. “Did you just hear yourself? Beckoned?”

He cringed. “Sorry. Wrong word choice.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Whatever. I need you to look something up for me.”

“What?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

“I need you to look up the founding of this art museum. Wait. No,” I said, shaking my head again. “I need to know if my family has a connection to James Perry. I think he might have had something to do with the curse.”

Confusion filled his eyes, quickly followed by annoyance. “I don’t have time for that. I’m working.”

I’d had enough. “Look. I did what you asked me to do—I got Parker here. The rest is on you, since you refuse to tell me what’s going on. Besides, you have failed to live up to your end of the bargain, which means any agreement between us is null and void.”

“You had an agreement with him?” Ella asked, her words slurred and her eyes barely visible through the slits between her eyelids.

It occurred to me that she had no idea who he was. Not that it mattered. She was trashed. No coffee was going to fix this, and I’d been fooling myself to think otherwise. “Don’t you worry about it. We need to find a place for you to sleep this off.”

“I need to interview the mayor.” She tried to push away from me but stumbled on her heel and her ankle twisted to the side. “Oww,” she said with a perplexed look.

“Ella, you’re not in shape to interview anyone, and at this point, I doubt anything but sleep will help. Maybe you can take a quick catnap and be coherent enough for your interview.” I gave Heath an expectant look. “If you’re here on a stakeout, then I’m supposing you know the lay of the land. Where can she sleep this off?”

“First of all,” Heath said with a scowl, “I never promised to find your missing person, just to investigate. And if you’d come to talk to me earlier, I would have told you—I found out some information about the perp who tried to grab Harriet.”

“What?” I asked, almost dropping Ella. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

He rolled his eyes. “Like I said, you didn’t come when I waved at you. He was hired for the job. Cash. The old lady who hired him matches the description of your Vee, but we’re no closer to finding her. She showed up at his place of work, and they were never in contact over the phone or email. The van was his. Look, I’m sorry, but I have more important things to do than help you find a cot for your drunk friend.”

My heart sunk. This meant Heath’s hunch had been accurate, but it wouldn’t get us anywhere. I’d been so hopeful the arrest would lead to something. “Ella’s not drunk. She’s allergic to shellfish and was inadvertently served it for dinner. She’s high on antihistamines.”

His hard jaw unclenched slightly. “There’s a first aid station. It’s not much, but the room does have a cot. She can sleep it off in there, although I suspect she’d be better off going home.”

“Well, since she and her husband aren’t getting along, I’m not sure he’ll come get her, and I don’t have a car to take her. So the nurse’s office it is. You’re going to help me get her there.”

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yep,” I said. “Let’s get going.”

“Darcie,” he groaned.

“The quicker we get her there, the sooner we get back so I can do whatever it is you want me to do.” I gave him a pointed look. “Because I’m not stupid enough to think we’re done. But be forewarned that I’m not giving you something for nothing this time,” I said as he started leading us back to the other end of the foyer. “You’re going to find my answers first, then I’ll do your favor.”

“That’s right,” Ella slurred, her feet dragging. “Men always want…”

“Good God,” Heath said, giving her a side-glance full of disgust. “How many pills did you take?”

“I took mmm…” Her words broke down into incoherent mumbling.

“Maybe I should get her to the hospital,” I said, starting to worry.

“Let’s look her over once we get her to the first aid station, then decide.”

“Okay.”

“As for your favor, Darcie,” he said in a gruff tone as we crossed the foyer. “That’s not the way it works.” He opened a door with a small frosted window embedded in it, then propped it open with his shoulder as I helped Ella into the short corridor beyond it.

“Sorry, Mr. FBI man,” I said as we headed down the dim hall. “That’s how it’s going to work this time.”

“Shh!” he said, looking around to see if anyone had been listening, but it was just the three of us in the six-foot hallway. “Someone could hear you!”

“Who’s going to hear me?” I asked, then opened a door with a sign that read, First Aid Station.

Ella’s head jerked upright. “FBI?”

Heath scowled. “Go back to sleep.”

I groped around on the wall until I found the light switch and flipped it on. It was a small space, with a built-in desk and chair on the side with the light switch, a cabinet opposite it, and a cot with a fitted sheet and a flat pillow to my left.

“Ella,” I said, “we’re going to help you lie down.”

“I can’t lie down,” she said as I maneuvered her over to the bed. “I have to interview Mayor Heartless.”

“You mean Harless,” I said. I set my purse on the desk and then tugged her arm to get her to sit down.

“Same difference.” She shook her head so hard that she lost her balance and toppled onto the bed.

“That’s one way to manage it,” Heath said.

“You were super helpful,” I said dryly.

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands, palm out, “I found the room with a cot.”

I gave him a forced smile. “How about you extend your usefulness and get her a cup of coffee?”

“No way. We’ve already spent too much time on this as it is. I need to get back out there, and so do you.”

“To do the thing you need me to do,” I said as I grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and spread it over my now-prone cousin.

“Yes,” he said in a tight voice. “The thing I need you to do.”

“You stay here,” I told Ella. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

She didn’t answer, not that I’d expected her to since she was now snoring like a boss.

“Can we go now?” Heath asked.

I had my own business to take care of, so I pushed him through the open door and into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

“What is it that you want me to do?” I asked, looking up at him.

He stared down at me, his gaze sweeping over my face.

My breath caught, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said. I was surprised it wasn’t a reluctant admission.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” I said, suddenly nervous. The energy between us had shifted, becoming more electric, and while I’d recognized from the beginning that he was an attractive man, tonight my body’s reaction to him caught me by surprise. From the look in his eyes, it had caught him unawares too.

I took a step backward, hitting the wall.

“I…” He stopped and started again. “I neglected to ask you how you’re feeling. Yesterday you still had a headache. Should you even be here tonight?”

“Do you want the truth?” I asked barely above a whisper, and a jolt of energy shot through me when I realized his gaze was focused on my lips.

His eyes slowly lifted to mine, the blue still shining even in the light shadows. “Yes, Darcie. I always want the truth from you.”

“I healed myself tonight.”

“You figured out how?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah. My tears. When I grabbed your hands, mine were wet with tears.”

The corners of his mouth tilted down slightly. “You were crying tonight.”

His hand lifted to my previously bruised cheek, his thumb lightly brushing my cheekbone as though he was worried he might hurt me.

A wave of heat washed through me, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady.

“I’m worried about you, Darcie,” he said softly, his hand still cupping my face.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you? Your hair’s nearly completely blond. I suspect that immense detail on the tattoo wings on your back are fairly fresh.”

I couldn’t hide my amusement. “You’re worried because you think I’ve had tattoo work done.”

He frowned. “You think? That’s an odd way to put it.”

I didn’t say anything, mostly because my brain wasn’t working right. Special Agent Heath Stone was leaning over, about to kiss me. To my surprise, I wanted him to.

“Uh…” I told myself to move away, yet I couldn’t find the gumption. “I thought you had a project for me.”

“You said I had to do your research first,” he said, his hand sliding to the back of my head and tilting it up. “I’m enjoying the work so far.”

I grinned. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“I’m going to kiss you, Darcie Weatherby. If you don’t want that to happen, I’m giving you three seconds to walk out the door.”

Butterflies took flight in my stomach. I hadn’t kissed another man in over twenty years. Had I forgotten how? Would it be strange? Heath could be frustrating and arrogant, and I was sure he was using me, but at the moment, I wanted to use him too. I wanted him to be my first kiss as a single woman.

“One,” I whispered, placing my hands on his chest. “Two.”

He studied my face, his eyes lighting up with amusement.

“Three.”

His lips lowered to mine, the kiss a gentle exploration.

I stood on the balls of my feet, pressing my chest to his, and kissed him back.

His tongue grew bolder, and I parted my lips, suddenly needing to taste more of him. Digging his fingers into my hair, he held my head in place as his tongue danced with mine, the pressure pushing me into the wall. His free hand cupped my butt.

I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, needing him closer.

A vibrating sound filled the small hall and he stilled, then pulled back slightly, cursing under his breath.

“Darcie…I’m sorry.”

“For kissing me?” I asked. “I sure hope not.” I realized I’d missed a lot of passion and fire over the years.

Fire.

The thought doused the embers of my desire. I had a purpose for being here, and it wasn’t kissing Heath Stone…although it was a very nice side benefit.

He reached into his jacket pocket and slid out his phone, frowning when he read the text preview on the screen.

“Bad news?” I asked.

“We need to get back out there.” He started to make a move for the door to the foyer, then turned back to me and kissed me again, making my toes curl. “Wasn’t sure when I’d be able to do that again,” he said with a mischievous grin. “And I definitely plan on doing it plenty.”

I chuckled. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

He lifted his hand to adjust my mask, then wrapped an arm around my back and ushered me toward the door. “When I know what I want, I go for it, Darcie.”

I nearly asked him to confirm that it was, in fact, me he was talking about, because the speed with which he was maneuvering me out the door made it clear he was in a hurry to get somewhere else.

“I’m gonna need to call in my favor before yours,” he said, with his arm still wrapped around my lower back. He sounded reluctant instead of cocky.

But I couldn’t give any of that too much thought. In the back of my mind, I felt that same strange pulsing from somewhere above us. From whatever part of this exhibit was related to my family curse.

Destiny was reeling me in.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What do you need me to do?” I asked as he hurried through the foyer.

“I need you to stick with Parker and eavesdrop on his conversations. I just got word that he’s talking to someone important, so you’ll need to slide in and not look conspicuous, which normally that wouldn’t be too hard for you, but tonight…”

I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“The key to good surveillance is to not stand out.”

I stopped in my tracks, and once he realized I wasn’t keeping up, he stopped and turned back to me in annoyance. “What?”

When he saw my expression, hesitation filled his eyes. He looked like someone who’d been told to take a stroll across a minefield.

“You just kissed me like…” I struggled to find an appropriate adjective and came up short. “Like that,” I finally said, “then say I’m not usually noticeable? Are you suggesting that you only kissed me because I look like this tonight?” I waved my hand up and down the front of my chest.

“Yes.” He shook his head. “I mean no.” Cursing, he glanced away and then turned back, determination in his eyes. “Darcie, middle-aged women don’t typically stand out.”

“They’re invisible,” I said. “Unless they’re a MILF, which is how you think I look tonight.” I gave a sharp nod. “Got it.”

“Darcie, that’s not it at all.”

What was I thinking? Heath had told me Parker had been using me, but he was clearly no better. But then I’d already suspected, so shame on me. “You know what, Heath? Screw you. Screw you and every man who thinks women hit forty and lose their usefulness.” I jabbed my finger hard into his chest. “Screw. You.”

I stomped off, entering the open atrium before he could respond. Plastering a smile on my face, I rejoined Cyn, her date, and Parker, who was now talking to an older couple I didn’t recognize.

“Oh, my word,” Cyn gasped. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to wave it off. I couldn’t tell her about Heath. Not yet. Certainly not in front of Parker. “I was just irritated with Ella.”

“You’re pissed because she had an allergic reaction and is doped up on Benadryl?” she asked in a surprised yet somewhat judgy tone.

Well, that did sound bad. “No. I had trouble figuring out what to do with her. You would think it would be easier to deal with an antihistamine emergency. In any case, she’s in the first aid office lying down on a cot, but I have to find a way to get her purse out of the coat check before she leaves. If it’s actually there.” Maybe my mother could help me with that. “Also, when Mayor Harless starts speaking, we need to check on Ella to see if she’s perked up enough to do the interview.”

Cyn’s face twisted into an expression that suggested she doubted that was possible. I suspected she was right.

I caught a glimpse of Heath in the shadows, and he was jerking his head to the side, likely trying to tell me to pay attention to Parker’s conversation.

I shot him a scowl and mouthed, Screw you.

He rolled his eyes, and I turned away. Thankfully, Cyn was too busy drooling over Philip to notice.

“Cyn,” Philip said. “Let’s dance.”

He led her out onto the dance floor, and I moved closer to Parker. When he slipped his arm around my back, it took everything in me not to cringe.

“Got your friend all taken care of?” he asked as he glanced down at me.

“My cousin,” I said, irritated that he obviously hadn’t paid attention to my explanation.

Heath was back to his hiding place in the shadows, watching me with a dark look. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was cozying up to Parker—like he’d asked me to do—or if he was pissed because I’d told him off.

Either way, I had bigger issues to deal with.

The older gentleman in front of Parker turned his attention to me. “Who is your lovely date, Parker?” he asked in a smooth British accent.

I offered my hand and introduced myself before Parker could. “Darcie Weatherby. Nice to meet you.”

The gentleman took my hand and shook it. “Pete Murin, and this is my wife, Tammy.”

His wife looked to be in her early sixties, and she was everything I hoped to be when I was her age—gorgeous, dark skin and hair, and an inner light that shone through her clear brown eyes. She was stunning, eye-catching, only she looked incredibly sad. “Hello.”

“What do you do, Darcie?” Pete asked enthusiastically.

For years I answered that question by saying that I stayed home with my kids, and Richard would always make a snide comment about wishing we could all be so lucky, even though he lost his mind if he ever had a snow day. But I was more than that now—I was an executive assistant at Lisman and Freud, which sounded rather impressive, though the job made me feel used and unappreciated most days. Even more so than being a mom to my kids. Nevertheless, when I opened my mouth to tell him my profession, I wasn’t prepared for my answer.

“Guardian,” I said, the response automatic.

The man’s eyes flew wide and Parker glanced down at me in shock, then released a nervous chuckle. “I think he’s talking about your job, Darcie, not your costume.” Then he turned back to Pete and answered for me. “She’s an executive assistant at Lisman and Freud.”

Heath’s scowl deepened.

The man’s eyes glazed over, and he immediately lost interest in me, changing the subject to the job forecast for Perry’s Fall. He was looking to internationally expand his electronics company, apparently, and he’d decided to scope out Perry’s Fall as a possible location. The mayor’s office was helping him determine if our town had the skilled labor force he needed. Pete and Parker carried on their conversation without so much as looking at Tammy or me, and no one had even bothered to ask Tammy what she did. The resigned look on her face told me she was used to it.

Something in me seethed.

Richard had always been embarrassed to tell people that I stayed home with our kids, and he’d completely ignored my work at Cyn’s coffee shop. No more. I refused to let a man I barely knew treat me so dismissively, and I damn well wasn’t having it for Tammy either. Something about her made me want to protect her from her husband.

“Excuse me,” I said brashly, purposely interrupting Parker mid-sentence, and focused my attention on Tammy. “I didn’t catch what you do, Tammy.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I was talking, Darcie,” Parker said.

“Really?” I said in mock surprise, giving him the look Richard used to give me whenever I dared to speak up during one of his endless teaching tales. “Huh.” I turned my attention back to Tammy. “What is it that you do, Tammy?”

Heath was inching out of the shadows to get closer.

Tammy shot a nervous glance up at her husband, then seemed to grow bolder as she lifted her chin. Her eyes shone with pride. “I’m a nurse.”

Her accent suggested she was British too.

“That’s awesome,” I said, leaning closer. “What kind of nursing do you do?”

“She’s a school nurse,” Pete said with a smirk. “She wipes noses and slaps on Band-Aids all day.” Giving me a look of irritation, Pete turned back to my date. “The economic forecast—”

The anger in my chest simmered.

“Did you really just speak of her so dismissively?” I asked in a cold, even tone.

Parker’s jaw twitched. “What has gotten into you, Darcie?”

“What has gotten into me?” I parroted, my fury rising, yet my voice remained perfectly calm. “Do you even know me well enough to know when something has gotten into me?”

Parker’s face flushed, and his voice shook when he said, “Darcie, maybe you should just calm down.”

Boy howdy. That was not the thing to say to me at the moment. “Calm down? You’re the one who is losing control, Parker,” I said as though trying to reason with a small child throwing a tantrum. “I’m simply trying to have a conversation with Tammy.”

Pete snorted, his eyes full of obvious contempt.

I ignored them both. “So Tammy,” I said, giving her my full attention. “With the rise in peanut allergies and the severity of kids’ reactions, I suspect you’re the first line of defense when a child has anaphylactic shock. You’re literally the person keeping the child alive until the ambulance shows up.”

She stared at me in disbelief, and it took her a second to gather her senses. “Yes,” she said, her face beaming with pride. “There’s much less of that in England, but it’s hard to keep schools peanut-free here. There’s always that one parent who feels like their child’s freedom to bring whatever they like is more important than the children with severe allergies. Last week, a year two student had a reaction from drinking out of the water fountain after another child who had eaten peanut butter in a snack. The girl collapsed onto the floor, her airway constricting so that she could barely breathe. The teacher called an ambulance, but I knew her airway would be completely closed before they ever got there. I gave her a shot from her EpiPen and several doses of Benadryl, then kept her calm until the ambulance arrived.”

I stared at her in fascination. “You saved her life.”

“Anyone could have administered that shot,” Pete said with a scowl.

“I’m sorry,” I said in an ice-cold voice. “Did you just downplay what she did?”

“No, but—”

I held up my hand and pinched my fingers and thumb together as though I were shutting a sock puppet’s mouth. “That’s enough. Zip it. Your wife saved a child’s life last week, Pete. Did you do something that was more important than that?”

His mouth opened and then closed, like a guppy out of its fish tank. Heath was looking down, his shoulders shaking. Was he that furious with me? Then he looked up, and I realized he’d been holding back laughter. His eyes were bright with amusement.

Heat bloomed in my chest. Richard would have been horrified by my “outburst.” I was so shocked by Heath’s response it took me a second to return to Pete with my own.

“Exactly,” I said with a note of satisfaction. “Nothing can compare to that.” I held out my hand to Tammy, and she shook it, her eyes beaming. “Tammy, thank you for everything that you do for the youth of Perry’s Fall. You are safeguarding our highest commodity. The future.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone staring at me from the floor above us. It was Vee, and her eyes were dancing with delight.

I turned to the men, giving them a dismissive glance. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I just saw someone I need to speak to.”

Parker was sputtering as I walked away, and Pete was still speechless, but I heard Tammy say in disgust to her husband, “I’m getting myself another drink.”

I had no intention of drawing the room’s attention by climbing the massive marble staircase at the end of the room, so I made a beeline for the entrance and found a stairwell I’d noticed earlier. I gathered the fabric of my dress by the slit and held on tight with one hand as I sprinted to the second floor, my heels clattering on the concrete steps.

The staircase opened at the beginning of a French impressionist display, and I slowed my pace as I called out softly, “Vee?”

I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t respond. I’d seen her toward the other end of the floor, but I didn’t race toward her. Somehow I knew she wasn’t going anywhere. I’d only seen her because she’d wanted me to, and now she was waiting for me to join her.

I found her in front of a painting in the section of artwork dedicated to Perry’s Fall. A pastoral scene of the town from two hundred years ago held her attention.

“You finally found me,” she said with a chuckle.

“You’re a hard woman to locate.”

Her gaze lifted, her green eyes locking on mine. “You were resourceful. Both your cousin the reporter and your new friend, the FBI agent.”

The skin on the back of my neck prickled. I wanted to ask her how she knew, but it seemed like an unimportant question.

“You know what’s happening to me,” I said quietly as I took a step closer, slipping my mask off my face.

She crooked her finger for me to join her in front of the painting.

I could turn around and run from this, or I could get answers.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

When I closed the distance between us, her mouth crooked up in a satisfied smile. She pointed to the painting six feet in front of us. “Do you recognize this?”

“Perry had that painting commissioned. He wanted to capture the essence of the town before it was settled.”

“True,” she said, “but it’s more than that. He wanted to capture what this place was like before a great man left his mark. This town existed for nearly sixty years before Perry got his bloodstained hands on it, and he acted like that history meant nothing. In his mind, he was the founder of this town, which was why he insisted on changing the town’s name.”

I gave her a side-eye glance. “While this is a history lecture that we didn’t get in school or on Perry’s Fall Day, I have to wonder why you’re telling me now.” I pivoted to face her profile. “Unless this has something to do with the curse on the women in my family.”

She turned to me and smiled. “I knew you were up to the challenge.”

Then she headed for the stairs at the back of the room—the less flashy set, on the side opposite from the grand staircase.

“What challenge, Vee?” I asked, following her.

“How much do you know of the curse?” she asked.

“Not much. Only what my nana’s friend knew.”

“Dorothy,” she said with a nod and affection in her eyes. “People at her age tend to forget details. I paid her a visit a few weeks ago to remind her of what she knew. When I knew we were close to the transition.”

“The transition?” I said in confusion.

She nodded. “This will be easier if I show you what you’re guarding.”

She started to climb the stairs.

Guarding. I’d told Parker’s acquaintance that I was a guardian. When I’d shot fire from my hands, it had been to protect Harriet. And earlier, my hair had glowed when I thought about protecting my daughter.

Yes, I was meant to be a guardian, and the title felt right.

I hurried after Vee, who was moving up the stairs at a steady pace.

“How do you know so much about this?” I asked.

“All in good time,” she said softly. “What do you know about the exhibit?”

Even as she asked it, I felt the familiar tugging I’d felt off and on all evening. It was still distant, but it was getting stronger.

“Not much,” I said. “Only that it contains Greek and Egyptian antiquities and is moved back and forth between here and Birdsboro every fifty years. James Randolph Perry made the arrangements.”

“You’re right, but they’re mostly Greek antiquities,” she said. “Perry found the collection in Europe before his father got fed up with his irresponsible ways, gave him his inheritance, and sent him out to make his way in the world. The collection was the real reason he created the museum. To show off his prize.” She stopped on the top stair and turned to look at me, two steps behind her. “To show off the object you’ll be protecting.”

A chill shot down my spine.

I followed her as she walked toward the other end of the hall, past multiple paintings and statues depicting ancient Greece, Rome, and Egypt.

“Perry was obsessed with what he considered the birth of ‘true’ civilization. He was even more obsessed with the gods.”

My breath caught in my chest, but I forced out, “The gods?”

Like Persephone?

She glanced back at me. “The gods. He found an object he found especially significant.” Gesturing ahead of her, she said, “Let me show you.”

I could feel the pull again, much stronger now. I knew I should be terrified, yet I was excited. It felt as though my true purpose for existence was about to be revealed.

Vee stopped in front of a display area that contained the statue of a robed woman and multiple glass cases of artifacts. Most of the cases contained ancient pottery, but the center case held the patinaed sculpture I’d seen in the old newspaper article about the exhibit. The entire piece was about two feet tall, much bigger than I’d thought, but the flat circular disc the figure was holding added to its height.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It houses that which you are meant to protect.”

Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “What does that mean?”

“What do you know about Greek mythology?”

“Not much,” I admitted, moving around the case holding the sculpture.

“What do you know about Persephone?”

“More than you might think.” I turned to Vee. “Am I turning into Persephone?”

Vee laughed. “No, but she is important. What do you know about her?”

“She’s the Greek goddess of vegetation. The daughter of Zeus and Demeter, who is the goddess of the fertility of the earth. Hades, the god of the Underworld, kidnapped and dragged her to Hell, where he married her and refused to let her leave.”

“That’s true, but around 100 BC a hero sought her freedom.”

“I thought she could leave the Underworld for four months of the year.”

“She could, and she grew to love Hades, but like most gods, he got bored and his roving eye found another goddess. While Persephone was visiting her mother, he moved his lover to the Underworld. When Demeter found out, she was furious and found a man foolish enough to try to save her daughter.”

“You say all of this as though it’s real,” I commented, but without any heat. In the past, I’d thought I had a pretty good grasp of what was real and what was not, but now my tears had mysterious healing power and I caused fires every time I had a hot flash.

Vee gave me a sad smile. “The hero was killed instantly, but he had brought his wiser sister who had a smooth tongue. She convinced Hades to give Persephone more than the prearranged four months of freedom at a time. He agreed to give her two thousand years, but of course he had conditions.”

This sounded completely preposterous, yet I knew in my gut that it was true.

Vee continued, “He didn’t want her to become powerful enough to escape him forever, so he insisted that she be human. A mortal. Nor did he want her to outsmart him again, so every fifty years she’s reborn and the cycle restarts itself. The hero’s sister did get him to agree to one point. Persephone was to be mortal, but with each rebirth, she has a guardian with the power to protect her. One chosen by the relic designed by Hermes and Demeter.”

Hermes. In my research, I’d learned that Hermes was the one who’d convinced Hades to let Persephone free four months out of the year. He was the god of many things, but in this instance, I couldn’t ignore that he was a trickster god.

“The last of the fifty-year cycles starts tonight.” Vee paused. “It starts with you.”

I stared at her in disbelief, then started to laugh. “This is a joke, right?”

I glanced around to look for the cameras that were capturing my reaction.

“No, Darcie, this is all real. You are to become the guardian of Persephone.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “Me? I’m not even Greek.”

A soft smile spread across her face. “Persephone is goddess to us all.”

The wheels in my head were spinning, and as I tried to make the Persephone piece of the puzzle fit, another piece suddenly slid into position.

“Vee,” I said, my heart sinking. “Sylvia. You’re my great-grandma Sylvia.”

“Yes.”

I took a step back and shook my head. “You died.”

“Yes. I did.”

“So you’re a ghost? A ghost guardian?” It sounded crazy enough that I laughed. She didn’t laugh with me, so my laughter trailed off into a shrug. “I mean, you’re protecting a goddess, right? So why not a ghost guardian?”

“No, Darcie. I’m not a ghost. I’m real. I was reborn.”

“Reincarnated?” I studied her more closely. She still looked like she was in her sixties, about thirty to forty years younger than she should. How did that work? If she’d been reborn fifty years ago, shouldn’t she look fifty years younger?

Except a baby couldn’t protect anyone. Had she simply been reborn as a younger version of herself?

“In a way.” She took a step closer. “Darcie, we don’t have much time.”

“You died,” I said, refusing to move on yet. “You broke my nana’s heart.” I shook my head. Did she expect me to leave my children? Because that was not happening. “Why didn’t you tell her that you were still alive?”

“I had to leave,” she said. “So it was easier that way. The exhibit left for England, and I had to go with it. Persephone is tied to the mirror.” She gestured to the patinaed piece.

“That’s a mirror?” I asked in disbelief.

Like the one I’d been given.

“The back is plated in silver. It’s tarnished now, but it works well enough. She can’t be more than five hundred miles from it for more than forty-eight hours or so, or she starts to die.”

“What?” What kind of madness was this? “I don’t understand what’s going on. Any of it.”

“That’s okay,” she said with a sad smile. “You’ll learn as you go. That’s what I did. But some of the other gods aren’t happy that Persephone went free, and I suspect they’ll try to make an example of her for her last fifty years. You’ll need to hide her.”

“You expect me to pack up my kids and move?”

“Not your kids, Darcie. Just you and Persephone.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” I shook my head. “I’m not abandoning my family. You can keep doing it.”

“I can’t,” she said kindly. “And unfortunately, thanks to James Randolph Perry, we don’t have a choice. He tied our family to the exhibit through Clementine, although he didn’t do it intentionally.”

“Clementine? As in the mayor’s wife, Clementine?”

“Yes. At least, she started out as the mayor’s wife. She and Perry moved to Birdsboro together. She was my great-grandmother. The previous guardian was from Italy, and she was the last of her bloodline. So when Clementine visited the museum exhibit, the relic chose her as the next guardian. The sacred duty was passed to us.” She glanced up at a circular window underneath the peak of the ceiling. A full moon was crossing the circle at the center of the patterned glass. It was starting to fill the space, the dimensions an exact match. “We don’t have much time. I’ve left you a journal that details what I went through, just like my great-grandmother left a journal for me. It explains how it all came to pass, but for now, you need to know that you are about to die, but you will reemerge as yourself.”

“So what’s the point of dying?” I asked. “I’d prefer to skip the dying part.”

“You need to die so you can be reborn with your full guardian powers.” She gave me a soft smile as her hair began to glow. “Persephone,” she called into the shadows. “It’s time.”

To my surprise, Tammy emerged from the shadows and gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Tammy is Persephone?” I asked incredulously. This had to be a joke. Sure, I’d felt called to defend Tammy, but I hadn’t gotten the first clue she was the human incarnation of a goddess.

“She will go back to the mirror,” Vee said, “and after your rebirth, she will be reborn as well. You will care for her and guard her until her fifty years is done.”

I couldn’t wrap my head around this. “I’m supposed to take care of a baby?”

Good heavens, I was too old for all of those middle of the night feedings.

“No,” Tammy said, walking toward me. “When I reemerge from the mirror, I’ll be anywhere from ten to thirteen. I’ll have reached puberty. The last time, I was twelve. I won’t remember everything about my previous life or lives in the beginning, but it will begin to return to me as I age. Your job is to raise me and protect me from danger. If I die before my fifty years is completed, Hades will punish me for daring to escape him for two millennia. He’ll put me in the dungeons of the Underworld forever.”

“Hades will send supernatural beings to kill her,” Vee said. “He’s sent them sporadically over the last decade, but this time . . .” She paused. “He wants to make an example of her to all the souls in the Underworld.”

“So?” I said. “She’s going to the Underworld anyway, right?”

“Yes and no,” Vee said. “If she survives the next fifty years, she’ll return to her throne. If she dies, she’ll be in agony in the dungeons forever.”

“So, basically, no pressure,” I said, then pointed a finger at Vee. “And you’re a terrible guardian if you let her marry Pete.”

Vee laughed. “Your children are young. Just wait until they’re older and they start making big choices. See what happens when you try and stop them.”

She had a point.

“While Pete is a terrible husband,” Vee said, “he never physically harmed her. Our job is to keep her from being physically injured. She can deal with her own emotional injuries.”

“That’s not my idea of mothering,” I said in disgust.

“You are not her mother,” Vee said sternly. “You are her guardian.”

I shook my head. “If my duty is to raise her, I’ll do it as her mother. Nothing less. You saw the way I fought for Harriet. A mother does everything in her power to protect her child.”

Sadness filled Vee’s eyes. “Then perhaps you’ll be a better guardian than I was. Only time will tell.”

But I had to admit that the full meaning of her warning was hitting home—the god Hades was going to send supernatural creatures to kill her.

How was I supposed to protect her from that? Even though my role had come with certain new abilities, I hadn’t had time to practice using them. It also didn’t escape me that those same supernatural creatures could do harm to my children.

The moon moved further into the circle in the window.

Familiar heat rose in my chest.

Tammy placed a hand on her chest. “I hate this part, Vee.”

Vee put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, but it will be over soon.”

“If she’s Persephone, why do you call her Tammy?” I asked, saying it aloud before I realized it was probably the least important question I had.

“Sephi picks,” Vee said. “Once she’s reborn, she’ll tell you her name.”

The heat in my chest increased, as if fresh wood had been thrown on a fire, spreading down my arms and into my head.

“Darcie!” Heath called out from the shadows, running toward me.

I held up my hand, panicked that I would hurt him if he touched me. “Stay back, Heath.”

“I’ll get a fire extinguisher,” he said, glancing around as though trying to figure out where to find one.

I started to laugh. “I don’t think that’s going to work this time.”

The moon crept farther into the circle.

“You need to leave,” Vee told him, her hair still glowing. “Now.”

I felt another flash of protectiveness, this time toward him. “He’s with me,” I said. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I’m not leaving, lady,” Heath said, sweeping the lower part of his jacket to the side and pulling out his gun in one swift movement.

Vee’s entire body began to glow and vibrate with a low hum.

“What’s happening to her?” he asked, staring at me in horror.

Tammy moved closer. “She’s turning into a phoenix.”

“A what?” Heath shouted.

I worried that the people below would hear him, but the murmur of voices and music helped camouflage our sounds.

A phoenix. Which meant I was one too. It made so much sense, but now I was even more terrified. The phoenix burned to death and was reborn in the ashes.

“Heath,” I said. “Listen to me. If I don’t . . . if I’m not here when this is done, I need you to promise to make sure my kids are okay.”

His jaw hardened. “You’re not burning up, Darcie. I won’t let you.”

The moon had almost completely filled the center circle in the window.

The heat in my body increased to a painful level.

“Darcie,” Heath gasped. “Your hair.”

I glanced down and saw the ends. It was glowing now, just like Vee’s. “What happens to you now?”

“My time is done,” she said. “I’ll join the previous guardians in the afterlife.”

“You’ll die.”

“Do not mourn for me, Darcie. I’ve lived nearly two lifetimes.”

“And lost so many years with your daughter,” I grunted through the pain.

“It had to be done,” Vee said. “How would I have explained it to her?”

“She would have understood. She would have accepted it. You thought everyone would believe your husband, but in her heart she believed in you.”

Something softened in her eyes. “It’s too late to do anything differently, but I should have known. Tell her I love her.”

A sharp pain spread across my back. Releasing a cry, I fell to my knees.

“Darcie!” Heath took another step toward me.

“Stop!” I shouted at him, holding up a hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“She’s right,” Tammy said. “You have to let her do this. The process of transformation has already begun. If you don’t let it finish, she’ll be destroyed.”

Either I was hallucinating from the pain, or Tammy was becoming transparent.

But there wasn’t time to ask, because the moon completely filled the circle and flames shot out of my skin, engulfing my body.

“Darcie!” Heath tugged at his jacket, fighting with the buttons.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to not try to put this out, because I knew that he would be burnt.

Tears. I needed tears to save me, but it was too late for that.

I was burning alive.

The pain was overwhelming, and I fell to the floor.

My life flashed before my eyes—my parents, my childhood, meeting and marrying Richard—all in the flash of an eye, but it slowed down for my pregnancy with the twins, their birth and their infant and toddler years. Then Elena’s birth and watching her grow. Hugs and kisses and love. So much love. Love surrounded and filled me, easing the pain of life’s trials and tribulations, bursting into a bright light until I was swallowed by it.

Swallowed by flames that gave life rather than destroyed it.

And then I reemerged, rising up as though I were being inflated. I was me, but not me; I was a huge bird, taking flight in the museum. I flew over the crowd of several hundred people, hearing their gasps and screams before I shot through the circular spot in the stained glass window, shattering it.

I soared over the town, my wings spread wide, and a quick glance told me what I already knew. My wings were on fire.

Feelings too big to be contained rushed through me. Joy. Purpose. Freedom. I could fly forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough.

Yet something tugged me back. An invisible cord that tied me to that mirror in the museum. My true purpose was to guard Persephone for the next fifty years.

I would be reborn as a younger woman and start my new life with the goddess.

Something in me rebelled. I wasn’t leaving my children. I wasn’t starting over. I’d gotten this far in the body I had, the life I had, and I didn’t want to leave it. The compulsion was strong, though, and I understood why Vee had left her family, especially because she’d been chained to a husband who didn’t understand or respect her. I understood plenty about that.

I flew back through the window and back to the pile of ashes where my human body had been. Vee and Tammy were gone—a pile of ashes where Vee had stood too. Heath stood there with his jacket in hand, his eyes wide with disbelief and indecision. He jumped back when he saw my bird form landing on the ashes.

I closed my eyes and poured every bit of my focus into my body and my kids, and when I opened them, I was standing in my two-inch heels, wearing my red dress . . . and my wings were spread out behind me, extending six feet on either side.

Heath stared at me, his eyes wide and his mouth open, struggling with what to say or do.

The fire alarms were blaring, and people were shouting down below, but I paid them no mind. My attention was on the mirror. It began to glow, and a white vapor appeared in front of it, slowly taking shape until a small girl who looked about twelve years old materialized. Her shoulder-length auburn hair brushed her bare shoulders. Her entire body was pale and bare of clothing.

Heath must have realized this as soon as I did, because he cried out and turned his back to me, holding out his jacket. “Here! Put this on her.”

The girl stared at me with fear and confusion.

My wings automatically tucked back into the flesh of my back, and I picked up the jacket and wrapped it around her.

“Do you know who you are?” I asked.

She stared up at me. “I think so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Persephone,” she said softly. “And you’re Darcie.”

“That’s right,” I said encouragingly.

“You’re not going to hide us, are you?” Her body shook, but I wasn’t sure if she was cold, scared, or both.

“No, Persephone. I’m not. I’m not leaving my kids.”

Fear filled her eyes. “You’re sending me away?”

I shot a glance at Heath. The shock on his face wasn’t helpful, not that I could blame him.

“I’m not sending you away,” I said. “You’re coming home with me.”

“You can’t do that,” Heath said. “Child Protective Services will take her. Unless you’ve already gone through a home study and been approved . . .” He ran his hand through his hair. “You haven’t, have you?”

“No. But I can’t lose my kids, Heath. I won’t.” Would I be forced to choose between them?

“I know. What if you say she’s the daughter of a cousin who died in an accident? It would make it easier.”

“I hardly have any relatives,” I said. “I’m not sure my kids will believe it, and my mother definitely won’t.”

“What about a friend from college?” he suggested.

“That could work, but what about paperwork? She can’t go to school or get a social security number or a driver’s license unless she has proof of identity.”

Persephone looked up at me, her eyes swimming with tears, and I pulled her into a hug. Despite everything, she was just a child—a child who needed to feel safe and protected.

“Don’t worry about that yet,” Heath said. “We’ll get that part sorted out. Let’s just get her home with you.”

“You’re going to help me?” I asked in disbelief.

“After what I just witnessed . . . I can’t walk away from this, Darcie. I won’t walk away from you.”

Chapter Thirty

I wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but it occurred to me that we had a problem on our hands. The fire alarm and the ruckus down below, plus Parker and whatever he was up to.

“Heath . . .”

“I know, I have an idea for dealing with this.” A smirk tugged at his lips, even as the fire alarm continued to blare. “It may take the fire department a while to get here. Mayor Harless cut the funding drastically. I suspect they’re evacuating the building, but I think we can convince them it was a little living art display that went too far.”

It made sense. People believed what they wanted to believe. That’s why it had taken me so long to get on board with this whole situation.

“But what about Parker? Shouldn’t you be following him?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “After I put the fire situation to rest, I need to find your date before he runs off with the jewels.”

“Jewels?” I asked in disbelief. “I thought this collection was only antiquities.”

His gaze dropped to the girl at my side, and my arm wrapped protectively around her. It had happened on instinct, no thought required.

A hint of a smile tipped up the corners of his mouth, and his gaze lifted to my face. “You were a good choice, Darcie.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I hadn’t chosen my role—it had chosen me. Or rather, Clementine. I also wasn’t about to let him change the subject.

“I realize we’re running out of time, but explain the jewels.”

“We have reason to believe a shipment of blood diamonds was smuggled into the country with the exhibit.”

I gasped. “And you think he’s involved?”

The siren was still going, voices shouting along with it. I was surprised no one had come up to check on the ancient artifacts, but perhaps the fire safety protocol for the building involved saving the people first, the art second. Or maybe everyone was scared they’d get attacked by a person-sized bird if they ventured up to the third floor.

“We weren’t sure it was him at first. We just knew they had someone on the inside, but he’s been acting suspiciously for the past two weeks. When I saw you at Figaro’s, we’d been tailing him for a while . . .” His voice trailed off and his cheeks turned pink. “You disappeared, so I felt I had no choice but to approach him. I nearly blew the assignment.”

“Because you were curious about what happened out back?” I asked.

“That and I was enchanted by you.”

I felt a tug on my arm. Persephone looked up at me and stage-whispered, “I like him.”

Was she speaking as a starry-eyed preteen, or as a grown woman in a child’s body? This was going to take some getting used to.

“If Parker’s after diamonds that were hidden with the exhibit,” I said, “then why didn’t he just take them when it was in the basement at Lisman and Freud?”

“Lisman and Freud isn’t known for storing boxes, but the crewmen are fastidious about checking them for tampering. It would have been noticed. We suspect they were trying to keep the shipping company’s role in the smuggling operation on the down-low so the pathway could be used again. Now that the boxes have all been opened, he can retrieve the diamonds, and no one would be the wiser. But the buyers never expected to have to wait so long. The exhibit was supposed to be moved to the museum over a month ago.”

“They? Who is they?” I asked.

“Pete Murin, that blowhard you were talking to earlier, is part of the distribution network. I think he’s here to make sure the package is retrieved. Based on the intel we’ve gathered, the jewels were hidden in the packing material. I have to get back down to the basement. I’m worried they might use the distraction of”—he lifted a hand toward me and the burned patches on the carpet—“to get them.”

“And you still have to deal with the whole bird situation. You’d better go,” I said. “I’ll sneak Persephone out in the confusion.”

“I’ll check with you later,” he said, taking several steps backward, but he looked reluctant to leave. “Give me five minutes before you head down.”

“I will.”

“I mean it this time,” he said, arching his brow. “No going rogue. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“We’ll be fine,” I insisted. “I’m a phoenix, for heaven’s sake.” It sounded strange coming out of my mouth, but I supposed I’d better get used to it. I’d also have to figure out what exactly that meant. So far, all I knew was that I had wings, the ability to start fires, and healing tears. The rest was a mystery.

He nodded as if to say “to be continued,” then turned and took off running toward the steps in a display that was pretty impressive for a man his age.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Persephone asked as I walked over to my discarded purse. I must have dropped it at some point. Thankfully, it looked intact, protected by the ten-foot distance from the epicenter of my pyrotechnics. I squatted and picked it up, checking to make sure my phone was still in working order.

Persephone was still looking at me, waiting for an answer.

“No,” I finally said. “He’s not.” I couldn’t get over the fact that she’d been a sixty-year-old woman ten minutes ago, and now she was a twelve-year-old girl who looked like a completely different person.

“He should be.” Then she slipped her hand into mine.

“How much do you remember?” I asked as I led her toward the back stairwell. Would it be flocked with people? Probably not, if they were forcing everyone to leave. The guests were all on the ground floor.

“I know I’ve done this before. And I know I’m in danger, but I also know you’ll protect me.”

The fire alarm cut off, a sign that Heath had managed to do something, at least, to control the mayhem. I waited a beat by the door, giving him more time. Somewhere in the silence, it occurred to me that Tammy might have some information that would be useful to Heath. “What do you remember about Pete Murin?”

She blinked up at me, then scrunched her nose. “Who?”

So much for getting insider info. All the same, she was probably better off not remembering the man.

Five minutes had passed, so I prepared to call an Uber to take us home . . . which was when I realized Persephone was barely covered by Heath’s jacket. She’d buttoned the jacket, but he was much taller and broader than her, and the lapels dipped down to her abdomen. Even if the building was still evacuating and everyone was freaking out, someone was liable to notice. Maybe they were even more likely to notice. Going out the front door wasn’t an option. We’d have to find another exit.

I needed help.

I pulled out my phone, only to see ten missed texts from Cyn. She’d seen my graceful exit and reentrance—my plumage as a bird was apparently the same as the tattoo, and she’d read just enough fantasy novels to make the connection—but the fire alarms had freaked her out.

What the actual eff? Are you a bird now? Did you change back? IS THE BUILDING ON FIRE?

I texted her back, roping in Ella. I’m OK. I’ll explain later, but I need help finding a back exit. Can you guys meet me at the fire stairwell on the first floor?

I wasn’t sure either one of them would see the text. If an evacuation was underway, they might both be outside. Or, crap, Ella could still be passed out in the first aid station. I needed to make sure she got home okay.

Persephone held my hand in a tight grip as we carefully descended the stairs. As we got closer, the racket from the guests got louder. Maybe Heath had stopped the evacuation, or perhaps it was just hard to get that many people outside in any kind of orderly fashion. We didn’t see anyone, thankfully, but Persephone got squeamish as we got closer to the first floor.

I soon understood why. A ball of warmth began to fill my chest and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I could feel the outlines of the wings on my back. This was an early warning system, but for what? Human danger or supernatural?

What if I got us both killed within less than fifteen minutes of our rebirth?

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I promised, wondering if I was reassuring her or myself. “I’m hoping my friend and my cousin will help.”

Although neither of them had texted back yet.

She looked up at me with fear in her eyes. “I’m scared.”

I squeezed her hand. “I know.”

I kept the I am too to myself.

When we reached the first floor, I opened the door a crack to look around as the pressure in my chest increased. I saw no sign of Cyn or Ella, but the passage to the foyer—our closest exit—was packed.

I caught sight of Nikki, whom I hadn’t seen yet tonight, accompanied by a date who looked to be fresh out of high school. She had on a poufy white dress that looked like a wedding gown, plus a corsage on her wrist.

Her voice carried over the crowd. “I knew about the display, of course. I’m very close with the planning committee. It came off pretty well, don’t you think? They must have replaced the stained glass with a replica before tonight. Shame about the fire alarm. The system in the building must be too sensitive. So foolish of them to force us to continue the evacuation.”

So Heath’s plan was working. That was good, but if she saw us, it would be game over.

We needed a back exit, just like I’d thought, but where would we find one?

Think, Darcie. Think.

The answer came to me in a blink. While there was likely a side exit on the first floor, it might be locked or blocked, and finding it would take searching. But there had to be one in the basement. I knew for a fact that the exhibit had entered the museum through a loading dock down there.

It wasn’t lost on me that Heath was down there. If we went that way, wouldn’t I be leading Persephone into more danger?

But the burning in my chest grew more intense, and I sensed that the real danger was beyond the stairwell door. The threat lurked in that crowd. Maybe it had something to do with Mayor Harless, or heck, for all I knew Nikki’s date was the minion of some god. I didn’t know what we were dealing with. I only knew being in the basement would be safer.

My hand tightened around Persephone’s. “We’re going down to the basement.”

She didn’t protest, just hurried down the stairs next to me, my heels announcing us with every clap.

Crap. I’d known the heels were a little much.

Stopping, I stepped out of my heels as Persephone watched with a questioning look. I didn’t say anything as I picked up the shoes and slung the straps over my fingertips. I wasn’t just taking them in the hopes of keeping them, though they had been expensive. If I left them, they would alert anyone who came down the stairs that I’d come this way.

When we reached the bottom, I slowly pushed the door open to get my bearings and listen for voices. The dark hall was silent, so I slipped through the opening, tugging Persephone with me.

Where to go? I’d been counting on the basement being like the one at Lisman and Freud. Cavernous, well lit (enough), and easy to navigate. But this place was dark and unfamiliar. Taking a second, I tried to get my bearings with the building above.

“This way,” I whispered, leading her to the right. The hallway was short and the door at the end had a plaque that said, Loading Dock.

I was going the right way.

My purse was still tucked under my arm, and my shoes were hanging from my fingers. The pressure in my chest had subsided, but I knew we were facing human danger on the other side of the door, and I needed to be ready to act. I handed my phone to Persephone and whispered, “Hold on to this.”

She shook her hand free of Heath’s long sleeve and took the phone, staring at it as though unsure of what it was.

“Don’t get used to it,” I said. “In the Weatherby household, you have to be thirteen to have a cell phone. I’ve only got appearances to go on, but you’ve got at least another year.”

I didn’t give her time to launch a protest. Instead, I opened the loading dock door and slipped us both into the darkness, ducking behind a stack of shelves covered in cardboard boxes. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. We were behind the last of three ten-foot-tall and twelve-foot-wide shelves, which were a good four or five feet below the ceiling. In front of us was a concrete platform and a large garage door, big enough to fit the back of a semi. Next to the garage door was a smaller exit.

Seeing it like that, so out in the open, I started to wonder if it was a good idea for us to try to slip out this way.

If the FBI was watching for Parker or Pete, there was no way we could escape unnoticed. Maybe we needed to wait it out, at least for a little while.

Setting my shoes and my purse on a shelf, I gave Persephone a “stay put” signal, accompanied by my best mom look, and walked to the end of the unit we were hiding behind. No sign of Heath, but I knew that didn’t mean anything. Since we couldn’t wait out in the open, I looked for someplace to hide. I crept over to an office a few feet down and to my right, but it was locked.

I was about to search the next row when I heard a sniff that was decidedly human.

I froze and my heart began to hammer.

Then I heard a male voice. “If you don’t find them, it’s both our heads.”

It was Pete, and his voice was coming from the other side of the room.

“We’ll find them,” Parker said in a tone I’d heard him use when he was trying to placate Nikki.

My gaze shot to Persephone to gauge her reaction. Pete would never recognize her, but would hearing his voice trigger her to remember him?

Fear filled her eyes, but it didn’t seem to be because she knew him. She was terrified in general.

I had to get her somewhere safe, if for no other reason than to protect her from human bullets. On one of the bottom shelves next to the side wall, I noticed a large metal case with a narrow gap behind it.

I crooked my finger to Persephone as I grabbed the handle of the large case and shifted it to the side, being careful not to scrape it on the shelf. If I could hear Parker and his buddy, they’d be able to hear me.

Persephone looked up at me, and the trust in her eyes stole my breath.

How had I been put in this situation?

I motioned to the eighteen-inch-wide space, and she crawled into it, lying with her back to the wall and her knees pressed to her chest.

She’d obviously done this a time or two. Was she basing her actions on memory or instinct? I was going with the latter.

Once she was in place, I quietly shifted the case again, placing it sideways in front of her. I could only hope the metal was dense enough to absorb any stray bullets that might come her way.

I could still hear Parker and Pete’s muffled voices on the other side of the large room, to the left of the loading dock. Hopefully, they’d retrieve their jewels and Heath would catch them in the act.

I was prepared to wait it out. It seemed like the safest option. At least it was until the burning in my chest roared to life.

The danger from upstairs had found its way down to us.

Chapter Thirty-One

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“I gave you one job,” Pete said. “One job and you completely blew it.”

“I tried to get them to move the collection on Monday,” Parker protested. “But they said it couldn’t be done until yesterday. And then I tried to retrieve them here yesterday, but they were still crated up. People were around all day.” He took a deep breath, as if aggrieved that anyone should question him, then said in a whine, “I tried.”

“You tried,” Pete grumbled. “My fool of a wife could have handled this better than you.”

The burning in my chest was growing more intense. The wings on my back began to itch, and I knew they were preparing themselves to unfurl, which was a terrible idea. For one, there wasn’t enough space down here for that to happen, but most importantly, there was no way I wanted anyone to see me—at least human me—with wings. Particularly Parker, who’d recognize me at once. There had to be a better way.

I could use fire.

That seemed like a terrible idea too. I was surrounded by cardboard boxes. This place would burn up in no time, not to mention there were several hundred people over my head. In attempting to protect Persephone from whatever danger was approaching, I might accidentally kill her instead.

But one thing was certain—Parker and Pete’s squabbling was about to become pointless, because whatever supernatural creature was stalking Persephone was about to burst out through the door. I wished I had my phone so I could text and warn Heath.

“Ah-ha!” Pete exclaimed, his voice echoing throughout the space.

“We found it!” Parker exclaimed.

“I found it,” Pete said in disgust. “You merely babysat the boxes.”

“You can’t keep me from getting my cut,” Parker said. “We had an agreement, and I earned it.”

“Don’t worry. You’re getting what you earned.” Pete’s response was quickly followed by two gunshots.

I released an involuntary gasp, then covered my mouth with my hand.

“Who’s there?” Pete called out, sounding curious and nonthreatening. I wasn’t sure who he thought he was fooling. Even Nikki’s ditsy Super Sort and Seal rep would have known to be terrified.

The pressure in my chest was making it difficult to breathe, which meant my time was running out. I wasn’t sure which threat would reach me first.

This was all about to take place too close to Persephone, so I made my way toward the dock platform, putting distance between the two of us.

“Where’s Parker?” I asked, sounding slightly breathless and purposely clueless.

“Darcie?” Pete asked in surprise. “There’s danger down here,” he said, making himself sound concerned. “Come. We need to get out of here. Didn’t you hear the alarm?”

Getting out of here was a great idea, but I suspected Pete and I had two very different ideas about how that was going to happen.

As I walked toward him, something else occurred to me—where was Heath? Shouldn’t he and his associates have jumped out brandishing guns, after Pete’s attempted murder?

Or successful murder. Was Parker dead?

My stomach churned. What the heck had I gotten myself into? But there was no turning back now, and the evidence suggested Heath hadn’t made it down here. It was up to me to protect Persephone from Pete and whatever was about to burst through the door.

Pete seemed like the lesser evil, so I was about to step onto the open platform when the stairwell door opened. I braced myself for anything—the Greek gods had been known to appear in many different forms, hadn’t they?—but to my shock, Philip, Cyn’s date, walked in.

I was about to shout for him to run, but the burning in my chest was hotter than ever.

Philip Hinkle had been sent by the gods to kill Persephone.

Crap. How did I break that to my best friend? Uh, Cyn? You know that hot guy you were crazy about? He’s a hit man who goes after Greek gods.

Talk about the ultimate bad boy.

“Oh, hello,” Pete said in his rich accent, holding the gun at his side in an attempt to hide it from our new visitor. “Philip, isn’t it? You’re Darcie’s friend’s date.”

“Where is she?” Philip asked with an inhuman growl.

“Darcie?” Pete asked, then beckoned with his free hand. “She’s down here. Come join us.”

If Pete expected me to tell Philip to run, he’d bet wrong. He’d also bet wrong when he’d assumed Philip was the buttoned-up entrepreneur he seemed to be.

In the blink of an eye, a long black tentacle shot out from Philip’s hand. It wrapped around Pete’s throat and lifted him ten feet off the ground.

“Where is she?” Philip growled again, sounding even less human. Or maybe the tentacle made it seem that way.

Pete kicked his feet and pried at the appendage around his neck, desperately trying to free himself.

As much as I detested Pete, I couldn’t hide in the shadows and let Philip kill him. Not when I might be strong enough to do something about it.

“I’m here,” I said as I walked into the open. “Why don’t you put Pete down?”

Philip’s gaze shot to me and an evil grin lit up his face. He threw Pete across the room as if he were tossing an empty can into the recycling bin. His body slammed high up on the wall with a sick thud, then fell on top of the shelving.

So much for preventing another murder.

“Where is she?” Philip snarled as his tentacle waved in the air over my head.

My breath came in short bursts, but determination filled me as surely as the fire in my gut. I had to save Persephone. I was the only one who could.

“Hidden,” I said in what I hoped was an authoritative voice.

“You’re the weakest one yet,” he said, taking a cautious step forward, but I knew it was for show. He thought he had the upper hand.

“You knew the others?” I asked, genuinely curious and choosing to believe he was trash-talking. Jack heard it all the time on the basketball court.

“I’ve known them all. Hades sends me to watch. Observe. With few exceptions, you all do the same thing. Run. Hide. Lie low and live a quiet life.”

I released a short laugh. “Then you pegged me wrong.”

But I suspected I was predictable in another way. I wouldn’t attack him first, and he knew it.

“You don’t intend to hide?” he asked in surprise.

“No,” I said. “I’ve let men run roughshod over me my entire life, and I’m done. So I’m standing up to you and to whoever else comes after us. I’m not giving up my life, and I’m not letting you hurt a child.”

“She’s not really a child,” Philip said with a grin. “She’s a goddess who’s lived more lifetimes than you could dream of. The gods are selfish, Darcie. Why saddle yourself with a selfish goddess who doesn’t give a single shit about you?”

It wasn’t a bad question—I certainly hadn’t asked for any of this—but ultimately it didn’t matter. No matter how old she was, or what she’d done in her previous incarnations, I would not hand over a child for slaughter.

“I won’t give her to you,” I said. “So save your time and turn around and take a message to your friends.”

“You confuse me with Hermes,” he said with a chuckle. “In fact, I’m not a god at all, just a soldier for the Underworld.”

A soldier? That didn’t sound good.

“I’ll give you one more chance, Darcie,” Philip said, taking a half dozen steps closer before he stopped several feet in front of me.

I wasn’t playing along, but maybe he’d be more chatty if he thought I was open to his mind games. “Why do you want her?”

His eyes lit up with satisfaction. “She cheated the Underworld. If she survives this cycle, she’ll never have to return to her throne. The Underworld will devolve into chaos.”

That wasn’t what Vee had told me. So which one was correct? I decided to trust neither explanation.

“So you want to kill her now and be done with it?”

“Only her human shell will die. She’ll live on, only she’ll do it in the Underworld. Where she belongs.”

His explanation sounded reasonable, yet something felt off.

“What else happens?”

“You’re smart,” a woman said from my right. I started to panic, thinking an innocent bystander had walked into this mess, but then I caught sight of her. Her long brunette hair was woven into an elaborate half-up, half-down style, but it was her flowing white robe—drifting on a breeze that didn’t exist—that suggested she was a goddess.

Why hadn’t my inner alarm gone off for her?

“Demeter,” Philip said, deflecting his gaze to the floor.

“Did Hades send you to collect my daughter?” she asked in an icy tone.

“You know he can’t allow this cycle to complete.”

“And not for the reasons you tell the guardian,” she said sadly. Her gaze turned to me. “If the cycle doesn’t complete, then Hades will be granted access to our world.”

“What?” Demeter was the goddess of the land. She was responsible for life. Hades ruled the dead. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.

She gave me a slight nod. “I can see you’re putting things together.”

I was, all too well. Dread drenched my body. “The fate of the world depends on me keeping your daughter safe.”

She nodded again.

“Why don’t you send your own minions to help me?”

“I’ve been forbidden to give assistance in any way.”

Which meant she wouldn’t be able to personally intervene either.

That was when Philip struck.

His exposed tentacle shot out and wrapped around my neck, lifting me off the ground. He laughed as I kicked my legs. “See? Weakest one yet.”

My chest burned, and I pushed the heat into my neck, cranking up the intensity.

He cried out in pain and released me.

I started to fall, but my wings instinctively unfurled and slowed my descent, allowing me to touch down gracefully on my feet.

Smoke rose from Philip’s tentacle and rage covered his face. “Where is she?” His head whipped around, taking in the space around us. “She can’t be far from you, which means she’s down here.”

A new tentacle shot from his right hand. It wrapped around the support of the shelves next to me and shoved them over. The unit fell, its boxes and contents crashing to the concrete.

He was going to destroy everything in his path to find her. To destroy her.

He laughed. “If you bring her to me, I’ll make sure her death is painless.”

I shook my head. “No.”

He knocked over a shelf on the opposite side, and I saw a body on the floor between the shelves. At first I thought it was Parker, but this man wasn’t wearing a jacket.

It was Heath.

Philip had begun to knock the next shelf over, which would crush him. Out of instinct, I shot toward Heath. Scooping him up into my arms, I flew straight up to the ceiling as my mind raced with multiple thoughts.

Was Heath okay?

Where could I place him to keep him safe?

Was Philip immortal? If so, what was his weakness? How could I stop him?

His tentacle whipped up toward us, wrapping around Heath’s abdomen, and gave a hard yank.

I held tight and my wings flapped furiously behind me, trying to keep Philip from reeling him in. I had to get Philip to release him, but I couldn’t risk burning Heath in the process. Lifting one hand, I sent the heat in my gut to my palm and focused on a section of the tentacle several feet down. A white-hot flame shot out, and smoke wafted from his appendage.

Philip screamed, but I kept the flame focused on him until his grasp on Heath began to slip. Finally, six feet of his appendage fell to the ground, freeing Heath.

I shot an intense flame toward the loading dock door, and the metal of the entire door turned a glowing red and then melted onto the floor. I flew through the opening and across the parking lot. Placing Heath on the asphalt next to a car, I took a couple of seconds to look him over.

“Please don’t be dead,” I begged, my voice breaking with tears. I was surprised not to find any bullet wounds, but he had a gash and a huge knot on the back of his head.

He cracked his eyes open. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

I nearly collapsed with relief.

“Go fry his ass.” Then he winked.

I shot back into the air and released a loud war cry as I flew back through the melted door and charged at Philip. He’d turned over several more shelves and was now searching through them, calling out Persephone’s name.

Demeter stood to the side, fury filling her eyes. To my surprise it was directed at me.

“You dared to leave my daughter alone!” she shouted.

“I didn’t ask for this job,” I said, letting the heat build in my chest. “So don’t try to tell me how to do it.”

Philip turned his attention in my direction. “Where is she?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

I launched myself at him, my wings helping me close the distance. I wrapped my hand around his left arm and sent my heat into his flesh.

Hate filled his eyes as he wrapped his injured tentacle around my neck, cutting off my air supply.

He screamed and thrashed, and I felt my vision fading, but I forced all of my concentration into severing his arm with intense heat.

The limb fell to the floor, but the strangling continued. He flung me across the room then, and I slammed into the shelving where Persephone was hiding. I fell to the ground in a heap, my body spasming with pain.

A whimper caught my attention, and I turned my head to see Philip dragging Persephone from the bottom shelf with his damaged tentacle wrapped around her ankle. A murderous gleam filled his eyes.

I pushed myself to my hands and knees, my body protesting. Why had they picked a woman in her forties to protect a child? Then I reminded myself I should have been reborn younger. I’d chosen to keep this well-worn body.

I was going to make the best of it.

Persephone grabbed the shelf support and hung on, sobbing as Philip continued to pull.

“Do something!” Demeter screamed.

I was struggling to get to my feet, but I didn’t need to stand to finish this. I just needed to make sure I didn’t miss.

A sharp pain shot through the side of my chest, but I wouldn’t let that stop me. I wrapped one arm around my side as I crawled toward them. When his head was in full view, I lifted my left hand. A fresh wave of pain washed through me, stealing my breath, but I ignored it and sent out a stream of fire, torching his head and shoulders. He screamed and fell to the ground, but I continued blasting until his screaming stopped.

The smell of burning flesh filled my nose. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and I tasted metal. But I couldn’t let any of that distract me. The boxes on the shelves behind him had erupted into flames, and the fire was moving fast.

Persephone pulled free from his tentacle, then scooted the few feet between us. “Darcie!”

“I’m okay,” I lied. “Come here.”

Smoke poured from the shelves, and Persephone began to cough.

I wasn’t sure my legs could hold me, but it wouldn’t be safe to fly. Black smoke began to fill the room as the fire raced along the shelves. I knew I’d be safe, but Persephone wasn’t. I had to get her out of here or she’d die of smoke inhalation.

Using all the energy I had left, I got to my feet, took her hand, and led her out the back door into the cold night air.

Into our new life.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Perry Art Museum suffered extensive fire damage, although it would have been much worse had the fire trucks not already been on their way. The fire had been contained, but some of the artwork had suffered from smoke damage.

Once I’d gotten my senses about me, I’d called Cyn, who’d sent several more frantic texts in response to mine. Turned out she’d missed my earlier text while helping evacuate Ella from the first aid station. I didn’t say anything about Philip, mostly because you couldn’t inform your best friend over text that her date had turned out to be a murderous tentacle creature. She deserved a face-to-face explanation, and she’d get one.

Heath had a concussion. Pete had snuck up and pistol-whipped him. We all knew how lucky we were that Pete hadn’t shot him in cold blood, but Heath surmised he’d been trying not to spook Parker. Since both men were dead, we’d never know.

I wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but Heath’s explanation for my flight through the stained glass window had caught some traction. Everyone was whispering about the unexpected living art display that had gotten out of hand, and some were even claiming they’d been in on the whole thing. The fire in the basement had been pinned on Pete. The FBI theorized that he’d set the fire to cover up his crime, and for some reason he’d climbed a shelf and had fallen, explaining the broken bones in his body. They found a large pile of diamonds by his body.

If Mayor Harless had some connection to what had happened—and my new role with Persephone—I still didn’t know what it was.

I’d tried to heal Heath and myself with my tears, but they hadn’t helped him at all, and only a few of my bruises had disappeared.

“Did you lose the ability to heal after your change?” he asked.

I had no answer.

I’d resisted going to the ER—twice in one week seemed excessive—but Heath had insisted, saying we should go together. The only wrench in that plan was Persephone. Not only would they not let me keep her in the exam room, but she was scantily clothed. So I called Nana Stella and asked her to meet me in the ER parking lot, telling her what Heath’s car looked like. She arrived twenty minutes later, fear filling her eyes when I got out of the car and she saw I was covered in soot. I assured her I was mostly fine and that I needed her help with something else. Then I opened the back door.

“Nana, this is my new daughter, Persephone. Persephone, this is your Nana Stella.”

Bless her heart, Nana didn’t bat an eye, simply started fussing over her as she led her inside to change clothes and wash up in the hospital’s public restroom. They both stayed in the waiting room until it was determined that I’d cracked a rib and was banged up from my fall while escaping the fire—my cover story. Heath had a moderate concussion, so they decided to keep him overnight for observation.

“Hey,” I said, poking my head into his exam room after I’d been released. “I’m free to go, but I’m worried about leaving you alone.”

A devilish grin lit up his eyes. “Can’t keep me down, but I wish I were going home with you.”

“Slow down there, cowboy. I’m the mother of four kids now. I have less time for romance than I did before.”

“We can get creative.”

While I was very attracted to the sexy man on the hospital bed next to me, I had a lot of responsibilities on my plate. I wasn’t sure that romance would make the top five priority list, let alone the top ten. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”

“I can live with that.”

Nana took us home, and I texted Cyn and Ella to let them know I was fine. They’d checked in several times while I was in the ER, wanting to come sit with me, but I’d assured them that Nana was with me and I’d see them the next day.

I didn’t tell them about Persephone. Like the whole Philip debacle, it seemed like an in-person conversation.

Nana pulled into the driveway, and I was sure that every light in the house was on.

“The kids are still up?”

“You really think they were going to bed after they heard you were at the hospital?”

No. It was a wonder they hadn’t stormed the ER doors in search of me. Even after my many texts and video calls assuring them this was just a formality. That I was fine.

Was I fine? I was terrified. More monsters would come for us, which meant my whole family was in danger. But we would get through this together, just like we’d gotten through everything else life had thrown at us.

“I have things to tell you, Nana,” I said quietly. “I know what happened to your mother.”

“You can tell me later. After the excitement dies down.” She watched the house for a couple of seconds. “My mother died in a fire, but you survived.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Nana.”

She glanced back at Persephone and nodded. “I can see that.”

Persephone slipped her hand in mine, watching me with trepidation.

“Don’t you worry,” I said. “Everything will be fine.”

I planned to do everything in my power to make sure that was true.

* * *

Thanks so much for coming along with me on this new trip down a rather paranormal lane. I hope you are as excited as me to see what happens next in Breena’s over forty journey! There will be more action, serious amounts of Advil, and some more overheated hormones.

Check out the second book in “The Forty Proof Series”

“Fairy Crossed Bounty” April 2020

Need more than that to tide you over? You can check out more of the amazing authors in paranormal women’s fiction genre at:

www.paranormalwomensfiction.net

OR you can check out my big list of books at:

www.denisegroverswank.com

Sign up for my Denise Grover Swank newsletter to get up-to-date information about releases, preorders, sales, and bonus content.

Reader Named Characters

Readers named all characters in the book via my DGS FB Readers Community

Characters and the reader who picked the name

(mostly in order of appearance)

Darcie: Kirstie Clements

Nikki: Christy Anderson

Parker: Tanya Tidmarsh

Kristie and Chris: Kristie Ivey Pensinger

Richard: Angie Shreeves

Jack and Harriet (twins): Kirstie Clements

Elena: Mary Wille

Minka: Kate N Dennis Korzekwa

Hayley: Emiloly Ramsay

Eunice: Megan Melnyk

Sue: Brandi Crawford

Sue’s dogs Cooper, Doozee, Rowdy, Peewee and Tina Fey: Debbie Suter

Cyn: Cynda Hollenbeak

Logan: Corinne Myszka

Brayden: Jan Hinds

Jeremy: Susan Wilson Reynolds

Nana Stella: Kim Smith

Sally Jo: Deb Davis

Tiffany: Tracy Ann M

Irene (Harriet’s friend): Jamie-Kay Whatley Raney

Lizzy: Liz Bottomley

Grandma Emily: Lila Rodgers Heidlebrink

Special Agent Heath Stone: (Stone) Izzi Park

Mr. Afful: Laila Nelke

Billy Ranier: April Link Baldi

Breanne (Elena’s friend): Cindy Knox

Declan (Elena’s friend): Marissa Noelle

Gertrude: Tonya Woosley Shannon

Mayor Harless: Denea Lueker

Ella Hughes: Teresa Sambook (a contest winner)

Katherine (dance teacher): Sara Weaver Mayberry

Janet Buxton (Mayor Harless grandmother): Erica Roseberry

Arthur Gagliano (museum curator): Gabrielle Land Reed

Charles Fink (mayor fifty years ago): Nicki Pipes

Baxter Payne (In photo at exhibit): Jenni Lauren

Indigo Adams: Jodie Pascoe

Phillip Hinkle (Cyn’s date): Sue Humphrey

Nolan Hughes (Ella’s husband): Cassie Hambleton

Dexter (Ella’s son): Karen Rissmann

Dorothy Fredrick (Sylvia’s friend): Liz Bottomley

Matthew: Cassie Hambleton

Tammy: Megan Frerking

Town Details:

Perry’s Fall: Cynthia Moyer

Bearfolk (previous town name): ChelleeLeigh Bean

Birdsboro (England): Tara Grace Pusczykowski

Callaway University: Lynn Rychlinkski Havener

Franklin Tech University: Emily Martin

Also by Denise Grover Swank

Rose And Neely Kate reading order:

Family Jewels

Trailer Trash

For the Birds

Hell in a Handbasket

In High Cotton

Up Shute Creek

Come Rain or Shine

Dirty Money

When the Bough Breaks

Rose Gardner Investigations

Family Jewels

For the Birds

Hell in a Handbasket

Up Shute Creek

Come Rain or Shine

When the Bough Breaks (April 21, 2020)

Neely Kate Mystery

Trailer Trash

In High Cotton

Dirty Money

Carly Moore

A Cry in the Dark

Her Scream in the Silence (March 10, 2020)

One Foot in the Grave (June 2020)

Magnolia Steele Mystery

Center Stage

Act Two

Call Back

Curtain Call

Darling Investigations

(Humorous mystery romance)

Deadly Summer

Blazing Summer

Rose Gardner Mysteries

Novellas are bonus material

TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES

TWENTY-NINE AND A HALF REASONS

THIRTY AND A HALF EXCUSES

FALLING TO PIECES (novella)

THIRTY-ONE AND A HALF REGRETS

THIRTY-TWO AND A HALF COMPLICATIONS

PICKING UP THE PIECES (novella)

THIRTY-THREE AND A HALF SHENANIGANS

ROSE AND HELENA SAVE CHRISTMAS (novella)

RIPPLE OF SECRETS (novella)

THIRTY-FOUR AND A HALF PREDICAMENTS

THIRTY-FIVE AND A HALF CONSPIRACIES

THIRTY-SIX AND A HALF MOTIVES

SINS OF THE FATHER (novella)

The Wedding Pact

(Humorous contemporary romance)

THE SUBSTITUTE

THE PLAYER

THE GAMBLER

THE VALENTINE (short story)

Bachelor Brotherhood

Spinoff of The Wedding Pact series

ONLY YOU

UNTIL YOU

ALWAYS YOU

Young adult contemporary romance

ONE PARIS SUMMER

Off the Subject Series

(New adult contemporary romance)

AFTER MATH

REDESIGNED

BUSINESS AS USUAL

Also by DG Swank

CURSE KEEPERS WORLD

(Urban fantasy)

Curse Keepers Trilogy

The Curse Keepers

The Curse Breakers

The Curse Defiers

Curse Keepers Collection (box set)

Piper Lancaster Series

Of Ash and Spirit

Of Fire and Storm

Of Blood and Monsters

The Chosen Series

(Adult urban fantasy)

Chosen

Hunted

Sacrifice

Redemption

Book of Sindal

Descended from Shadows

Reign of Mist

Crown of Blood

On the Otherside Series

(Young adult sci fi romance)

Here

There

About the Author

Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomad, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

For urban fantasy: dgswank.com

For mystery and romance: denisegroverswank.com

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