Page 107 of Live To Tell

Annabelle now stands beside a group of mothers watching their offspring, her attire aiding her with blending in.

why? who followed?

who knows?

“That's not helpful, Violet.” Rowan takes the phone.

“Is Grayson nearby?” I ask.

“Yeah, he's at the trees at the edge of the park.” Rowan points. “Well, in a tree.”

“Which won't look odd in the slightest to anybody who sees him,” I mutter.

“Nobody will. He's a predator, remember?” I meet Rowan's eyes, surprised how pointed the comment is. “Grayson stays hidden until he's ready.”

Another message appears.

I'll leave what I have in the trash can by the car park

no, we want to talk to you

I jump to my feet as Rowan types the message, ready to pursue Annabelle as she hurries away.

“You should've stayed hidden too, Violet,” says Rowan tersely. “Come on.”

“I don’t like climbing trees,” I inform him as I follow.

We tail Annabelle at a short distance, and I dart a look around in case she’s worrying for a valid reason, and a supe followed. Did she choose to wear joggers for a fast getaway? “What type of witch is Annabelle?” I ask Rowan.

“I never asked. She can't be practicing, or I would know the name.” Our shoes scuff across the gravel as we speed up, although I’m careful not to reach my personal speed.

Besides the railings surrounding the car park, food packaging and plastic bottles fill a tall metal trash can to the brim. As Annabelle passes, she pulls something from inside her jacket and drops it on the top without pausing, then begins to jog towards the cars.

“Annabelle can't leave!” I protest. “Grab whatever she left in the trash, and I’ll stop her!”

I'm perfectly aware my appearance doesn't help in my decision to pursue Annabelle—the weird looking Goth girl stalking the ordinary human mum. Rowan’s equally aware and catches me by the arm before I get far, the pair of us positioned between two family size cars with a view to our mark.

“No way will Annabelle talk to you if you accost her, Violet. Something obviously worries her. Don’t make things worse.” I remain at Rowan’s side and rest against the red car as Annabelle approaches a silver minivan favored by humans who have a collection of offspring. I could easily pull away and chase Annabelle, but grit my teeth and accept Rowan’s decision.

“What did Annabelle leave in the trash?” I ask.

Rowan holds an A4 brown envelope in his hand, and he guides me away with his other, back towards the bench. Annabelle’s already driving towards the car park exit, and I’m itching to follow the car containing someone filled with information. But, as I promised him, I consider Rowan’s opinions on what to do. I understand—Annabelle's scared of someone, or something related to the tiara murder.

We walk back to where Grayson now sits on the back of the bench, his boots on the seat, watching the ducks. His head turns before any normal person would know someone approached, but he doesn't move or speak until we reach him.

“Where is she?” he asks, eyes going to the envelope.

“Violet scared her away.”

Grayson's eyes roll. “Violet... what did you say to her?”

“Nothing! I never had the chance,” I retort.

He takes a slow look the length of me. “Next time you insist on meeting scared witnesses in public, borrow Holly’s clothes again?”

“I am not physically overbearing, and hardly imposing to humans,” I reply.

“Yeah, but the black and your accompanying death stares don't help the aura you give off to people. Annabelle—or those watching her—would know straightaway who you are.”

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