Page 50

My body sharpens. The grain of the wooden seat presses against my thighs. Spray lands cool on my forearm. Sunlight warms my face where it slips through the cypress canopy.

Pepper asks, “How solid?”

“Enough to feel that Theo needs to sand this bench.”

“It is sanded,” Theo says.

“Then the tree died angry.”

Pepper smiles, but her eyes stay on my hand. She rests her knee against mine.

The channel narrows beyond the caretaker property. Cypress roots push through the bank like knuckles. Pickerelweed crowds the shallows, purple flowers bright against green.

Pepper studies the current more than the shoreline, following bends where the water slips toward the cemetery property boundary. Theo paddles without wasted movement.

“We checked this area before,” I tell her.

Pepper looks up. “How much?”

“Everything we could think of when I started fading.”

Theo’s jaw shifts.

I keep going. “We searched the house, cemetery, dock, and spring for anything that changed the fading. We compared locations, times of day, weather, and whatever else we could think of. We took pictures at different times of day. Tested sleep, food, scent blockers, supplements.”

Pepper’s brows lift. “You collected data?”

“He made spreadsheets and color-coded them,” Theo says.

I turn. “You promised never to reveal the color-coding.”

Pepper’s delight is immediate but gentle. “Have you shown anyone?”

“Doctors. Bond specialists. A neurologist. Two paranormal researchers who charged too much and blamed childhood trauma before lunch.”

Theo’s paddle enters the water harder. “No one had a useful answer.”

“Most didn’t believe the physical changes,” I add. “The ones who did wanted to keep me as a lab rat.”

Pepper’s hand closes over mine. “We don’t have to do anything today that you don’t want.”

The old fear loosens one notch. “I want to keep going.”

Theo’s next stroke takes us around a low bend where the current moves faster.

Pepper sees it first. “Stop.”

Theo backpaddles.

A strip of white cloth is tied to a cypress root above the ordinary waterline. Time has grayed it, frayed the ends, and stained one edge with rust-colored water.

Pepper leans closer without leaving her seat. “Loose slip knot. That isn’t how the relief bundles were tied.”

Theo keeps the canoe steady while she photographs it. “Relief bundles?”

Pepper lowers her phone. “Right. You both probably heard pieces, not the entire mess.” She looks from Theo to me, gathering the explanation before she speaks. I can see the hesitation in her eyes. She opens her mouth slightly and hesitates before continuing. “About six weeks ago, the museum’s Love Stone disappeared. While everyone focused on the theft, omegas around town started getting sick or experiencing bond distress after using little ritual bundles.”

I glance at the white cloth.