Page 42 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“Where are we going?”

“The dock, before the mosquitoes unionize.”

The rain has eased into warm mist by the time we step outside. Cypress trees sway gently beyond the yard, while soft lantern light runs along the narrow wooden walkway toward the water. Scarlet has hung fresh jars along the railing since yesterday, fireflies drifting slow and bright inside them.

“You caught lightning bugs.”

“Can’t a swamp witch be full of whimsy?”

The laugh that comes out of me is sincere enough that she looks satisfied, which is its own reward.

The dock stretches quiet beneath the storm clouds. Water laps softly against the pilings while frogs call somewhere deep in the reeds. Scarlet lowers herself onto the edge first, dangling her bare feet above the water.

I sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch.

She glances at the contact.

I give her time to move, but she stays.

“You grew up here?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Mostly.”

The wind lifts strands of hair across her cheek.

“My parents weren’t bonded,” she says after a moment. “They loved each other, but not like this place expects.” Her fingers trace absent patterns against the dock wood. “They died when I was little, boat accident during storm season.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs once, but grief moves differently through the body than indifference does. I see it in the tension that remains around her mouth after the shrug is finished.

“My grandmother raised me out here.” She gestures toward the swamp. “I learned plants before algebra, which honestly feels more useful now.”

“Debatable in certain professional contexts.”

She shakes her head in amusement before turning serious. “In some ways, it was easier out here.” Her mouth curves faintly. “You know, the first time I knew a bond was wrong, I was nine.”

I can’t help the slipped gasp of surprise. She keeps going anyway.

“There was a couple near the springs during festival season. Everybody loved them. Perfect sweetheart story.” Her mouth twists. “The omega cried every time her alpha left the room. Everybody thought it was romantic.”

I can already see where the story is going.

“I asked my grandmother why someone looked that scared if they were supposed to be in love.” She rubs her palms slowly against her thighs. “Three days later, the bond fractured.”

Rainwater drips steadily from the cypress branches overhead. The water below us holds the last light.

“No one forgot after that,” she says.

The loneliness in her voice belongs to a person who has spent years being the thing people fear. I don’t think the townspeople dislike her because of anything she did. They dislike that she notices what is already wrong before anyone else is ready to admit it.

“You were a child.”

“Sweetheart Haven doesn’t really factor that in.”

I bet.

A mosquito lands against her shoulder. I brush it away without thinking, my fingers sliding briefly across her warm skin.