Page 62 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
In a way that made her stomach twist.
Like something had poured itself into her when she wasn’t looking.
She’d noticed the pattern.
The glow came when she was aroused. Or angry. Or afraid.
It responded. Like a tide.
But it didn’t feel like hers.
It felt like the land was listening, and marking her back.
She pressed her fingers to the mirror. They looked normal.
But when she pulled away, the glass shimmered faintly.
Like heat. Or light. Or something bleeding through.
She laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound.
When she finally got in bed that night, she didn’t expect to sleep.
She didn’t expect dreams.
But her body was exhausted.
And the desert is patient.
***
The next morning, she went back out to her car.
This time, she wasn’t running.
This time, she needed answers.
The road blurred past in waves of heat. The farther she drove, the more the world seemed to soften, like the desert was letting her pass. Like she belonged to it now.
The shop was quiet when she stepped inside.
The bell over the door gave a half-hearted jingle.
Opal stood behind the counter like she’d been waiting. A gauzy black dress with the moon phases stitched into it hung beneath her denim vest, enamel pins glinting. Her silver hair was caught in a messy half-knot. A bone charm dangled from one earring, and her rings clicked as she moved. Tarot cards were scattered across the counter, half-covered by a coffee mug.
She didn’t look up.
“You’re changing,” she said softly.
Nora stepped farther in, fingers grazing a shelf of smoky quartz and desert glass. “How do you always know?”
Opal snorted. “People think I see the future. I don’t. I just pay attention. And eavesdrop. A lot.”
Nora almost smiled. Almost.
She took a shaky breath. “The obsidian stone stopped reacting. I think it’s broken.”
She held it out. It had gone cold after she screamed at him.
