Page 75 of Evidence of a Folktale

“When I learned about the accident, I got the most horrible déjà vu,” she cried. “I almost threw up…. How is she?” She glanced over her shoulder to where Eamon stood watching them from the kitchen.

“Surprisingly okay, considering she survived a choking and a car crash,” he answered. “The snow’s so deep, it cushioned the car’s impact, so she escaped without any broken bones or stitches. She’s banged up, and her throat will hurt for a while, but she’s all right.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Violet lay back down on Bel, and the detective chuckled despite the pain.

“What’s with the groceries?” she whispered in a voice almost as rough as Eamon’s.

“After I heard about the crash, I had a full-blown panic attack and had to sit on my kitchen floor. I never sit on the floor. My cats were freaked out, but my brain kept replaying that news report about your faked death. Thankfully, Eamon found your phone, and he answered when I called you.” Violet shifted on top of her, and Bel couldn’t figure out what her friend was doing until a palm pressed against her chest. She was searching for a heartbeat, and that simple touch broke Bel’s heart.

“He told me you were at the hospital, but they expected you to come home tonight,” Violet continued. “I asked if you needed anything, and he texted me a grocery list for soup.”

“I have soup in the pantry,” Bel whispered. With her ears so close to her mouth, Violet could hear her low words, and Eamon’s senses could pick up even her faintest sounds. It was an inconvenience when she muttered under her breath in annoyance at him, but it came in handy now since speaking set her throat on fire.

“I’m not feeding you canned soup,” Eamon said as he dug through the groceries. He hadn’t relaxed until they arrived at her cabin, but his muscles still hadn’t fully released their tension. Much like Violet, the accident had resurrected his crippling despair and anxiety. He was trying to hide it, and to anyone else, he seemed unbothered, but Bel knew him. He was fighting not to fall apart, and now that she was safe on her couch, she felt horrible about crashing the car. In the heat of the moment, it was all she could think to do, and while Eamon and Griffin agreed her actions were the reason she and Taron were alive, the scene sliced open the wound Blaubart had inflicted when he faked her death.

“And I wasn’t about to leave you alone, so I asked Violet to shop for me,” he continued.

“It was no trouble. I needed to see you anyway.” Violet finally pulled herself off Bel’s chest and settled beside her on the couch, clutching her hand as Cerberus debated whether to join the women for snuggles or beg Eamon for scraps.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Eamon asked. “I’ll cook the meat in a separate pan.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Violet said. “I just needed to prove Bel is alive.”

Eamon stiffened almost imperceptibly at her words. “It’s no intrusion,” he said. “You bought the groceries. At least stay until the soup is done so I can send you home with a container.”

“You sure?” Violet glanced at Bel, who nodded her agreement. It was comforting to have someone hold her hand while Eamon cooked, plus he needed another person to help him bear the burden. He was struggling after the crash, and having Violet present to watch over his girlfriend while his back was turned clearly brought him comfort.

After Griffin arrested The Wolf, Olivia called with an update on the bomb threat. They’d successfully evacuated the hotel, and a neighboring SWAT team had arrived to take over. They found no evidence of explosives, which proved Eamon’s theory that The Wolf never intended to blow up the building. He merely used the threat to control Taron, and ultimately Bel. The SWAT team still planned to conduct a thorough investigation, but they didn’t expect to find anything. The bomb was a ploy. One everyone fell for.

Griffin had then visited the hospital to get Bel’s statement, knowing she needed an update as badly as he needed to see her exam results. It seemed everyone refused to believe she was alive until they witnessed her breathing themselves. Griffin had gone so far as to press his fingers against her throat when they hugged goodbye so her heartbeat could echo against his skin, and after the doctors discharged her to Eamon’s care, her boyfriend drove the entire way home with his grip wrapped around the pulse in her wrist. They’d opted to stay at her cabin for the night, the familiar setting cozier for her recovery, and he hadn’t left her side since.

Violet remained with Bel as Eamon cooked, the women holding hands as they watched sitcom reruns. Before long, the kitchen turned aromatic, and the trio ate on the couch together. It hurt Bel’s throat to swallow despite the pain pills, but she managed most of her soup. It made both her friend and boyfriend happy that she’d eaten, but the minute the meal hit her stomach, fatigue assumed control of her body. She sagged against Eamon, drifting between consciousness and oblivion, and the last thing she remembered was Violet creeping for the front door in an attempt not to wake her.

A weird gruntingshoved through her dreams, and Bel opened her mouth to ask what was making such a peculiar sound so ungodly early, but only a groan escaped her lips, pain igniting her body like a live wire as she rolled onto her side. She breathed through the sharpness, and when her nerves settled, she peeled her eyelids open. Eamon sat at her kitchen table, working on his laptop with one hand while gripping a toy rope in the other. His incredible strength made for an ideal playmate, and Bel realized it was Cerberus’ grunts and growls as he fought an epic game of tug-of-war that woke her. She also realized it wasn’t morning, for the red clock on her microwave read thirteen minutes past noon.

“What happened to my alarm?” she whispered, her voice achingly hoarse, but Eamon heard her despite Cerberus’ piggish grunting.

“I turned it off.” He released the toy, and her dog bolted for the bed, assuming he’d triumphed in the war. He climbed onto the mattress and plopped across her thighs to chew his hard-won prize.

“Why?”

“You need the sleep.” Eamon filled a glass with filtered water and brought it and her painkillers to the bed. “Besides, Griffin made me promise. He swore he’d arrest me if he saw you so much as drive by the station. He’ll call once he has news, so if you can’t go to work, what’s the point of waking you?”

“Thanks.” She popped the painkiller into her mouth and swallowed it, grimacing as the cold water burned her throat.

“How do you feel?” Eamon settled on the mattress beside her.

“Like I was in a car crash and then choked.” She reclined on the pillows as she folded her fingers into his grip. “Oh… what was that pill?”

“Not your painkillers. They’re stronger versions of what I gave you for your hangover. I could barely sleep because you kept groaning… and then your neck. Don’t look at yourself in the mirror if you can help it.”

“It’s that bad?” Bel fingered her throat.

“I can’t bear the sight.” Eamon wrapped both his hands around hers and collapsed forward until their foreheads kissed. “I can’t give you something that’ll heal you. Your throat is too visible, and the sudden absence of bruising would raise questions, but I put in a call to my witch contact. She overnighted these pain pills. They’re significantly stronger than pharmaceuticals, so at least you won’t suffer.”

“I already feel better.” She sighed as she settled deeper into the pillows. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “It was selfish, really. I can barely look at you. I’m a coward, but it’s why I wasn’t facing you in the kitchen. I couldn’t get to you in time, and you almost died.”

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