Page 66 of Within These County Lines

“Oh, right, the ghost.” She taps her forehead. “I wasn’t listening before.”

“Okay.” I huff. “He’s not a ghost. Now you’re being rude. I’m trying to open up here.”

Whitley folds her arms. “You really think a witch cursed that tree?”

“I know how it sounds. But I didn’t tell you before because it sounds ridiculous—”

“It is ridiculous,” she hisses. “But . . . it makes you and Murray look less crazy.”

“And you already had your dad and a wild coyote to worry about. I didn’t want to add curses to the mix. I put some thought behind this . . . even if you don’t believe me.”

“I’m coming around.” She nods. “I know you’re too smart to make up something this dumb.”

“So, will you help me?”

She shrugs. “What can I do?”

“There must be a way to reverse what’s happened to Xander and me. We just don’t know why he disappeared at the pool, and I disappeared at the tree.”

She squints. “Who hacks at the Ardor Tree? That’s a mortal sin in this town. No wonder you’re half dead. What the hell were you thinking?”

I sigh. “I wasn’t. My emotions got the best of me.”

Whitley steps forward and wraps me in a hug. My body slumps against her, letting myself lean into the warmth radiating from her body. Sunlight filters through the window and we sway lightly like trees in a soft summer wind when the woods are at peace.

“I need more time to process this whole curse thing,” she says, her voice calmer. “But I’ll do what I can to help.”

“I knew you would,” I whisper. “I don’t want to deal with this alone anymore.”

“You never had to.” She pulls back, then rips another paper towel from the roll and dabs at my cheek. “I’m glad you finally get that,” she says.

I sigh as my shoulders sag.

“I’ve been here the whole dang time, Stetson. Stop keeping secrets.” She pushes my wet hair from my face. “We’re almost out of this town. Don’t break our pact now by putting a wedge between us.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“So, what’s my first mission?”

“Can you see if the lifeguards you’re interviewing for your research know anything about Rainbow Valley Swim Club? Or when it used to be Pinehurst?”

She nods.

“Maybe it’s, like, an urban legend among the lifeguards.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” She grabs her phone. “What were those witches’ names again? I need to look this up.”

“You sure? The story is freaky.”

Whitley scoffs. “I ain’t scared of witches.” She snarls. “I hope this Xander boy is nice. Coyotes aren’t the only thing I can hunt.”

30

It’s ninety-nine degrees on the Fourth of July. I sit on my bed in just my boxers with my face inches from the pedestal fan, humming into its spinning blades while debating what to wear.

Whitley, in all her persuasive glory, scored us an invite to a lifeguard party. She asked one of them about Pinehurst Swim Club, and after their face went ashen, they said they could help her out. But only at the party. They didn’t want to discuss what they knew at work.

And by us, I mean Xander, Whitley, and me. I’m bringing the group together for the first time.