Page 160 of Blue Moon Mistress

They burn to dark embers quickly, leaving a messy spider-like clump of remains behind.

I could bury them, but first…

Looking over my shoulder to the jogger and the man still on the other end of the beach, I reach my hand out toward the sea, and with a thought, with the barest movement of my fingers, I beckon the next wave to crash a little harder. It sends the thin layer of saltwater further up the beach, spilling into the hole, filling it and drowning out the last of Aphrodite’s hold.

Thirty

I should go home.

My phone has been silent. They don’t want to talk to me.

And one little warnaway at Mrs. Miller’s house isn’t enough to cause any real harm.

But I need to be certain they’re okay.

I just need toseethem.

It’s early, but I know at least one of them will be home.

When I pull up in front of the house, however the windows are all dark.

Maybe they took off for a few days.

The idea of abandonment sits in my stomach like a stone. Heavy, hard, and cold.

I should go home. Focus on what Icando.

But this ugly feeling in my stomach isn’t going anywhere soon, and my mint plant died yesterday…

I turn the car around and in a blink, I pull into a spot near the boardwalk.

The drizzle that’s started is more annoyance than actual rain, and I don’t bother with an umbrella as I rush across the nearly empty highway.

But the store is dark when I get there.

For a moment, I question what time it is, but the store should be open.

When I touch the door, it swings open, not locked.

I walk through the storefront quietly, a different kind of dread seeping through me. Solidifying when I see Anthony’s wingtips, the bottom of his pinstriped pants disappearing behind the counter.

Hurrying past the last of the displays, I step over him, holding my breath until my fingers find his pulse.

He’s unconscious, but alive.

“Anthony?”

I shake him, just a little, and the arm that had been draped over his waist falls to his side. There are at least a dozen cuts across it.

A quick check tells me the other arm is the same.

If any of them had been deeper, he’d be dead.

Scrambling to my feet, I rush through the shop and grab the pouch of healing herbs he sells.

I hold the sachet to my lips, whispering the incantation as I sink to my knees beside him. This close to my nose, I can smell each of the dried herbs he’s packed inside, so I know it will serve my purposes.

It won’t do anything for the cuts, but for the mind…

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