Page 24 of Haunted Eclipse

“I’m talking about the real deal. This isn’t some guy who’s leeching off of her. I’m talking full out psychic vampire whose draining her dry. Don’t tell anybody anything if they ask about her. You don’t know where she is, you don’t know why she left, all you know is that she hasn’t been into work. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can,” he said. “You can count on me. And Devon doesn’t have to worry about her job. It’s here when this is over.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get back, I have a clientcoming in in 20 minutes. And we are talkingbridezillahere. I’m not looking forward to this.” He waved and left my shop.

Astra texted me.I’m catching the 4 o’clock ferry. I’ll be home at about four forty-five.

I’ll see you then.”

I glanced at the clock. It was quarter to four. I closed up early and decided to head home. Auntie had her car, so she wouldn’t need me to pick her up at the dock. But as I got into my car, a thought occurred to me. I pulled out my phone and searched on directions to Justine’s Employment Service. It wasn’t far from here, on Ferry Street. Deciding on a quick drive-by, I headed out.

Ferry Street led from the center of town all the way down to the shore. Not only were the docks for the ferry there, but running to one side of the ferry was Shorestar Park, a long and narrow strip that was at least 20 acres. Behind the park was a thickly wooded copse at the base of one of the island’s hills. With nature trails, and a self-guided estuary tour, Shorestar Park was a peaceful place to walk or sit while you were thinking. It had a magical feel to it, one that was hard to ignore. Sometimes it could feel dark and menacing—like you might turn the corner and meet a troll.

I parked in the lot next door. The parking lot served both the ferry and the park. I buttoned my jacket, then headed down the trailhead, through the snow shower, toward the shore. The beach—the merging of water and earth—seemed to be the best place to clear my thoughts.

There were few people in the park today, given how cold it was, and I found myself slowing down, walking next to theguardrail that kept hikers from dropping over the edge down to the beach, about an ten foot drop. Every so often there was a gate, with a staircase leading down to the shore. I took the first one, walking out on the sand as I stared at the rolling water.

The Strait of Juan de Fuca fed into the Salish sea, and the wind kept up a perpetual moaning. I walked over to one of the large driftwood logs that sat on the shore. It had been chained, embedded in cement buried deep in the sand.

People who weren’t from our area didn’t understand how dangerous these driftwood logs could be. Formed from tall timber that crashed into the ocean, they’d been stripped bare of bark, and weathered as they bounced through the waters. Periodically the logs would wash up on shore. If you were in the way when timber-laden tides came in, you could easily be pinned or knocked down and dragged under. But the logs made for good benches, and so the city would cement them down so they wouldn’t float away in the high tide. I sat on the nearest one, staring out at the rolling waters.

The waters on the Pacific coast were icy, seldom temperate for swimming, even in summer. But they were a goldmine of seaweed forests and fish and crabs. As the wind caught my hair, tossing it around my shoulders, I turned my face to the ocean, and closed my eyes.

I needed to do this more often. It helped me ground, and focus on what I needed to think about. I leaned back, resting my hands on the log behind me. It was at least five feet in diameter, and here and there I could see sand fleas hopping around. I let out a long breath, trying to clear some of my tension with the breeze.

Sure enough, a few moments later my mind felt clearer, and I felt calmer. “Well, at least life here isn’t going to be boring,” I said to myself.

You can say that again.

I jumped. The voice felt like it was coming from beside me, but no one was there. I reached out, trying to feel whether a ghost was near me, but I couldn’t sense anything. Maybe it was a guide, or maybe it was simply my inner self.

“I’m not sure what to do about Devon,” I said. “Or even Brenda. This isn’t working out the way that I hoped it would. I thought I come back home, open my business, and be a heroine for finding so many people there matches. Come to find out, I can’t even find a simple star witch for my first client.”

Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.

I jumped again. Now I reallydidwant to know who was nearby, because that wasn’t me thinking—I could tell that much. And while I wasn’t proficient with death magic, I was used to ghosts and spirits. And this didn’t feel like either one.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Why don’t you show yourself?”

Again, there was no answer.

I stood, and began to walk along the water’s edge, keeping my eyes on the rolling waves so a rogue surge didn’t catch me up and drag me away. The rip tides were dangerous, and the undertow, deep. If I happened to get knocked down, I might not make it back to my feet in time to keep from being swept out to sea. I was a proficient swimmer, but with riptides that didn’t matter all that much. People died in them.

I picked up a rock, rubbing my fingers over the smooth surface, and tossed it out into the ocean. It skipped across the water before sinking.

Do you ever ask yourself why you really came home?

I let out a sigh. Whoever it was, they were determined to make me think. “I came home because my house burned down.”

Are you sure?

“Of course I’m sure,” I said. But inside, something stirred. Had I really come home because of that? I wasn’t entirely sure, now that I thought of it.

For a long time, I had been restless. Ever since Dan died, everything had changed. Even my job. Of course I had beenunhappywithout him, missing him greatly, but when I really thought about it, I sensed there was more to it than that. I had felt adrift, without a real purpose. Oh, I loved matchmaking, but it didn’t feel likeenough. I didn’t feel like I was making that much of a difference in the world.

“So, if I came back for reason, can you tell me what it is?” I waited.

The wind ruffled through my hair, as the waves crashed against the shore. The frothy whitecaps inched higher up the beach each time they rolled in. The tide was coming in, and soon the driftwood log I had been sitting on would be covered. The water would go right up to the cliff, leaving no sign of the shore. I decided that it might be time to turn back.

As I headed back to the staircase leading up to the walkway, I noticed signs on the beach warning against loitering during high tide. In fact, the tide tables were posted every 10 feet or so near the cliff, on waterproof signs. I glanced at one. High tide would crest in about two hours, so I sat on the steps, watching as the waters inched in.

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