“Good for him,” Lindsey chirped, saving me from having to reply.
“So are y’all coming?” Faith pressed.
Lindsey fiddled with the fitness watch that left subtle tan lines on her golden-brown wrist, waiting for me to say yes before she accepted the invitation. I could tell Levi’s homecoming had already raised her hackles, but she didn’t need to worry about me wasting any energy on him.
“Yeah, sounds fun,” I said. I only had one summer to soak up time with people I’d miss—people who’d miss me back.
The twins drove me home first, past acres upon acres of pines and meadows. When we jostled over the gravel driveway toward my family’s yellow farmhouse and the guesthouse my dad had converted into a veterinary office, Maverick and Ranger, our cattle dogs, scrambled from the front porch to greet me.
“See you at graduation!” Abbie sang out the window. I waved and scratched the dogs’ mottled gray-and-black coats before checking the mail, finding graduation cards from relatives and a hefty packet of summer training and nutrition tips from my future coach.
But when I shut the squealing mailbox, I noticed something odd at the base of the nearest fence post: a smooth stone with a neat engraving. I bent to scoop it up.
My mouth went dry as I traced my thumb over each familiar component of the design. A triangle pointing down with a horizontal line through the bottom third. Earth.
Two diagonal lines crossing through the triangle. Bone.
A smear of dried, dark red at the center. Blood.
It was the Malachian mark.
TWO
Fear caressed my vertebrae, one by one.
A staggered procession of identical talismans followed the fence posts in both directions, stretching out as far as I could see.
It had to be a hoax, right? Probably the boys’ track team. A few weeks ago, we’d stolen all their car tires during practice and devised a scavenger hunt that took them hours. Capitalizing on the massacre anniversary to retaliate was wicked, but admittedly clever.
I imagined the boys meticulously carving each symbol, mixing corn syrup and food coloring to add that macabre touch of fake blood. I admired their dedication. Still, I couldn’t leave the stones for someone else to find. Even my levelheaded parents might get upset. They had let the local news interview us for a profile, hoping to get ahead of the publicity, but they were tired of the attention and disruption. My dad might mention the talismans to the sheriff, and then one of these idiot boys would get in trouble. I didn’t want that to happen.
Jamming the envelopes back in the mailbox, I made a basket out of the hem of my tank top and started collecting the stones. Maverick and Ranger loped ahead of me to follow the scent of cow patties, their twitching noses as purposeful as divining rods. By the time I had amassed a pile, I dabbed my temples and stared down the road. How many more could there be? The boys’ most elaborate prank so far had involved wearing masks to scare us during fall cross-country practice.
I studied the engraving again. The lines were careful, precise. Other than the copper-red smear at the center, each stone was identical to the last. This had taken time, skill, maybe even special tools.
The sputter of an approaching engine startled me. I looked up to see a rusty blue pickup slow to a stop on the road.
I dropped my collection of stones, watching them tumble to the grass underfoot. My heart clambered up my throat as though trying to escape the inevitable. But I tightened my wilting ponytail and put on a smile.
To my surprise, Levi Langford didn’t just shout hello and drive by. He pulled over into the grass on the side of the road, got out, and rounded his truck to greet me.
It had been so long since I’d seen him that I couldn’t help looking him over. He was redheaded, tall, and broad-shouldered. Fine lashes fringed his deep-set hazel eyes. Full, almost pouty lips softened the angles of his square, clean-shaven jaw, and a pale dusting of freckles across his ruddy complexion made him look utterly guileless.
“Nat Colter,” he said, sliding his arm around me in a polite hug. If he minded my sweat, he didn’t show it—and if he’d seen me collecting rocks, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Levi Langford. Good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be home.”
A few feet of distance rematerialized between us. He tucked his hands in his pockets and the veins in his arms swelled beneath the sleeves of his gray tee. Whatever else I thought of him, those arms were the Lord’s work.
“What are your plans this summer?” I asked, wondering if they included staying longer than a few days. He hadn’t even come home for Christmas.
“Nothing exciting. Cutting lawns and helping my mom around the house. What about you?”
“Babysitting again and volunteering with the Heritage Festival.”
“Interesting year to be a part of that,” he said, furrows manifesting on his freckled forehead.
“Interesting year to live in San Solano at all,” I replied. I nearly brought up the talismans just to have something to talk about, to squirm out of the awkward silence I could see coming from a mile away.
But he patched over it quickly. “Congrats! I heard you swept regionals and took fifth at state in two events. You’re heading to Louisiana in the fall, right?”
“That’s right. I heard you had a couple poems published.”
“Yeah,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he deflected. “What are you majoring in?”
“History. I either want to teach or be a library archivist.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” he said. He looked down at his shoes while I watched the sun droop like a ripe apricot.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I gave you whiplash. Before I left. I know it must have felt…abrupt.”
The straightforward apology threw me off. By the most generous estimate, our romance had lasted less than a minute.
One encounter. One kiss.
It happened at his going-away party. We’d been standing in Maggie Arthur’s garden, swathed in the fragrance of flowers and fresh-cut grass. The secret kiss had tasted like a pinch of salt in clear water as the tiniest beads of sweat had found their way into our mouths.
A perfect storm of raw emotions and attraction. That’s all it was. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel anything else. That brief encounter didn’t warrant feelings.
But his apology broke the levee I hadn’t even realized I’d built. At once, I recalled every succulent detail, the sudden charge of intensity that came like a crack of white lightning, the way it felt to rake my fingers through his shock of red hair. How it had taken him leaning down and me standing on tiptoe for him to kiss me good and proper. Hold the proper.
My voice shook a little as I said, “I know you were going through a lot with your dad passing away. I didn’t expect…” I trailed off with a dismissive wave.
“I’m still sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.”
He cleared his throat. “Do you want a ride home?”
Glancing back, I realized I’d walked farther down the road than I’d thought. My family owned thirty acres. The crickets had started to trill their twilight tune, and I didn’t want to be out alone after dark. I hummed my indecision and finished with, “Sure, thanks.”