Page 11 of Veil of Blood and Bone

The bird watches without blinking. Not afraid. Not flying away when I scoot closer.

It’s not the raven though. The impression of being watched tugs from all sides like strings of a cobweb. The niggling tension I’ve carried in my chest since this morning spreads along muscle and sinew, then straight up between my eyes in a warning.

My sixth sense is screaming, and I can’t figure out what it’s saying.

The awareness deepens, discomfort spreading out from my head and heart until the tips of my toes tingle. I twist around, the seams of the costume pulling tight.

This is different.

Something’s changed.

The tone of the air, the noise level of chatter... What is it?

I’ve always had a strong intuition, the kind you learn to trust without words, and I’ve never felt anything like this before. Things are watching me. Some mark me.

Some are malicious.

Audra snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Hel!”

I stifle a gag, the weird change in the wind hitting me like a gut punch of adrenaline and anxiety.

“You’re white. Is it the meatballs?”

“I’m—” I break off on the fine I want to hurl out.

“Look, I had my time. Why don’t you take a walk and clear your head? I’ll man the booth for a few minutes,” she offers, round eyed with worry.

I push a hand against my roiling stomach. It’s not the meatballs. Instead of telling her the truth, I skirt around the table. The raven snaps its beak at the last piece of bread and eyes me but doesn’t hop away.

“Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.”

As slowly as we made it to the stand, I bolt, stealing whatever precious seconds I get. It’s no easier to breathe through the labyrinth of festival goers. The fireworks show is slated for eight, and before then, they’ll start calling out the ticket winners for the raffle.

The sensation sinks its claws into me. It spreads with rot and disease speed.

I knock into someone’s shoulder. They stop talking but offer no apology, and I keep walking. The tree line is right behind me. An entire forest to escape inside...

Where I'll be closer to those eyes, in the branches, in the bark. Watching.

My mouth dries, the queasiness twisting into something sinister.

“Honey, if you need a break, you’re welcome to sit here with me. It’s a safe space.”

Esmerelda pauses her needlework only long enough to see it’s me, then ducks her head down. The gold, aubergine, and sandstone strands will come together in one of her famous pumpkins by the time she’s done.

“You look like you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have, Miss Blake,” she adds.

I scrub my temple and inhale. “People overload. Thanks for the offer.”

The owner of the antique store has always been sweet to me despite Mr. Barnes quasi-encroaching on her territory. A town this size has space for two consignment businesses, but Esmerelda set up shop first. If you believe the gossip around the twenty-five year-old feud.

And Barnes always said he’d stick to books.

A glint of burnished gold on the table catches my eye. It’s⁠—

Oh. Shit.

Shock becomes a cold weight in my abdomen, sinking lower. The world presses in, my temporary peace shrinking, and suddenly the festival is too small and cluttered to contain my emotions.